Orcs of the Red Blade

 
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Shoutbox

Zakarah:
2023 Dec 29 20:06:51
I think Rashka.exe has stopped working.
Rashka:
2023 Dec 28 19:49:43
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA... A.
Realyn/Eliff:
2023 Jul 22 21:17:06
Such shouty people in here, gosh.
Rashka:
2023 Jul 20 00:42:16
Remember to shout your lungs out every once in a while!!
Kozgugore:
2023 Jul 08 16:30:53
Shouting here to make sure everyone knows that I'm still here!
Ootah:
2022 Jan 24 22:27:52
Wow I can't believe I remembered my password!
Razaron:
2021 Dec 18 14:37:28
<dances>
Vraxxar:
2021 Nov 10 11:24:52
Remember to check both ways before crossing the plains!
Vraxxar:
2021 May 22 13:10:40
I too am testing the shoutbox for non-nefarious reasons.
Kozgugore:
2021 May 22 12:55:49
This is me testing the shoutbox, because shouting is a great stress relief and it would be a shame if it doesn't work.
Rashka:
2021 Mar 25 02:38:20
IM SHOUTING SO HARD RIGHT NOW YOU GUYS.
Claws:
2020 Nov 19 23:14:09
Ice cream for all
Realyn/Eliff:
2020 Oct 09 08:49:55
Happy Anniversary!!! It's party timeeee!
Vraxxar:
2020 Sep 24 11:39:42
Oh god. The warlock found the shoutbox!
Gashuk:
2020 Sep 23 15:42:21
THE SHOUTBOX. Omg. This was like proto-Discord.
Vraxxar:
2020 Aug 23 08:36:02
*Grabs a camera to record what happens*
Nakobu:
2020 Aug 22 15:24:43
*prods shoutbox*
Razaron:
2020 Jun 16 09:34:12
<dances>
Vraxxar:
2020 Jun 05 12:32:27
Swedish Pagans?
Kozgugore:
2020 Jun 01 08:45:09
You're invoking the wrong gods in this place!
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Author Topic: Something like fear  (Read 1076 times)

Tahara

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Something like fear
« on: December 07, 2019, 07:10:59 PM »
Her hands are stuck.

Not true, she thinks, as she slowly wraps the bandages around his shoulder, trying not to hear his pulse and trying not to smell the soap he uses and definitely trying not to smell what’s underneath that. Her hands are close enough to his chest that his heartbeat plays at her fingertips.

She knows, in theory, what the colour of his skin means and represents, knows the word fel in her mind, but those are not the images coming to mind.

For someone with no love for the wilds he is the picture of primal. Her heart sees light and shadow flitting over dark green and thinks of Zuldazar and the lush jungles. Where a shoulder and an arm should be she sees leaves and vines, tangled and tempting and filled with life. In the dark of the tent his hair is the same colour as the bloody trails she follows at midnight. She swallows and thinks of hands around her throat and something like fear.

She adjusts the bandages a seventh time, as her eyes look but don’t see, as she thinks as hard as ever but her mind is still blank, somehow.

Green is her favourite colour, but that doesn’t matter.

Her stomach sinks, reminding her of something she knows, so deeply and instinctively as she knows few things in life.

She can’t want. Can’t want the thing that killed - destroyed Masha. She tries to hold on, to keep the memories separate and whole and not let one crush the other but before the heart under her fingers beats a second time the jungle is filled with screams, the blood no longer spilled in a hunt and the feeling in her chest quietly, slowly, steadily turns from something like to fear.

When the jar crashes to the floor she’s grateful, only needing to pick up the shattered pieces of the clay pot - not her own.