* when sun has killed moon ( chyrie / closed )

[Embers]

HESPERA

The trees hold the sun in their green hands as would a lover. Noontime stills the bleating wind, allowing heat to rise and round the Orchard in a falcon's careful circle. The three trees are immobile. They strike pageant poses, arms splayed above them, their craned necks tall as ever. Jointly, they orchestrate the hush.

I am bitter for want of my tall, dusk-time shadow. It is indicative of growth, of the accumulation of knowledge. Wreathed in the shade of my own body, I am no better than a stone stamped into a river's bed with the water hurrying heedlessly onward. This time of day is fruitless—not a single chrysalis has so much as chipped for fear of the sun. Now, the sun I have found to be predatory, though it is only a single eye overhead. It's stare can bake the carcasses of insects until they flake to ash. The eldest flowers wilt beneath it, and the rivers thin to streams. Of course, it must be considered, that the sun proffers light. But let it also be considered that the sun surrenders us all to the haunting nighttime. Two evils, but which of them lesser?

My recitations are few today. Three hundred and forty four Cerasus berries. One hundred and thirty eight chrysalises. Twenty nine passing birds. Eleven black ants. Four passers-by. I recite again, least to greatest, and then again, omitting odd numbers. I've taken shade beneath the crook of the Cerasus tree, my usual position. For the past few sun cycles, I've left for water only as the moon breaches the horizon line, and return by the time it arrives at its pinnacle. The moon safeguards all from darkness. It lacks the oppression of the sun, and allows me to look upon it without scorning me with blindness. Since my birth, I've noticed the moon has been losing itself with every dip underground. I fear the sun has been grinding it down. And when the moon is no larger than a pinprick, what then? Then we must be diligent.

Perspiration leaves salt on my tongue, and I preen my fur to forget the taste. These heat sweats are a certain prelude to struggle. I anticipate a difficult future.

This table is for use by Embers on A False World only

WORD COUNT 368

[Deleted]

( trying out first person for the first time, please excuse any mistakes. )

Bathed in heat, ancient bark writhing under bitter rays. Looming ominously above, a darkness of light. Swamped with warmth my thoughts are fuzzy today, and increasingly few. Though for a nap it is perfect, delightfully splendid for a bit of rest. The lullaby drowses my already weary frame, and yet there are other activities I had planned for the day. And yet the sun catches me off guard, I simply cannot resist the idea of a light sleep. And then a silhouette, light coloring enhanced by bright rays. My own pelt is ginger, the sun setting it ablaze. All I have to do is look at a tiny paw, and then I can gaze at my own fire. Who was this? Perhaps a youngster like myself, new to the world. Or an more mature traveler, there is only one way to figure this out.

Drowsy I rise, stumbling a bit with the first steps. Who was this? I was not satisfied with my guesswork, the question flooded my mind with more possibilities. With such intensity I wanted to know, I needed to know. Something I needed but was not technically necessary, but my thoughts ended. A burst of hot pain, coming from my left paw. Sudden rage would fill me, awakened by the pain and my full resurfacing to consciousness. The memory of tripping would flood back, followed by the odd twisting sound. My ankle was bruised, and the paw had a sharp twig in it. I remembered why I was here, the unfortunate past days, and the fact that my travels were restricted by injury. Mad, I was enraged. Why? How could I have been so clumsy?

And her sight no longer intrigued me, the calmness only further stoked my fire. I wanted her gone, because I was jealous. The alabaster had what I did not have, and I felt like I was about to break down. There was no escaping, no time. "Why do you have to be here! Go away! Go away! Leave!" I could only snarl and sob, my emotions flooding out before me. "Why are you here? Go! Go! Away!" I wanted her to feel my pain, the suffering, the helplessness. "Why...are you here?" tears could no longer be held in, I wanted to inflict damage.

[Embers]

HESPERA

As rapidly as the onset of a fever, noise ripens. First, grass crinkling underfoot. Then, an insect hum as the flies and ladybirds are startled from heat-induced naps. And finally, breathing. Five passers-by. I amend the recitation. The top of a canine head crests the hill, its ginger ears illumined by the sun. It moves with the precision, or lack thereof, of a drunkard. Paws criss-cross as it stumbles across the Orchard, eyes nearly lulled shut, its breath perfuming the air with much-needed sound. I've yet to be spotted in my days at the base of the Cerasus, but the canine bee-lines toward me. Concern tickles the back of my throat. The disconcerted movements of the dog only seem to increase, and I am inclined to believe it has been hexed by none other than the conniving sun.

I begin to count the steps the dog has taken toward me. Thirteen. Then the times it has stumbled. Six. And then, on the seventh stumble—the slightest of clicks. And like the chrysalises spun too far by an arrogant breeze, the leg of the dog snaps where it is weakest. Whether broken or simply sprained, the blunder trips a wire, and a female voice splinters whatever fragile silence had remained.

"Why do you have to be here! Go away! Go away! Leave!" The floodgates open, and I watch passively as the canine looses emotions I've yet to experience. It takes me a few breaths to realize that her words are meant for me. Why am I here? Nodding as though engaged in an enticing conversation, I consider the beaming predator in the sky and my census counts of newborns. Evenly, I tell the dog, "I'm standing watch." My voice bears no urgency, but I am suspicious that sun is hellbent on ending my vendetta against it. I lock gazes with sunbeams reflected in the canine's irises.

I wonder briefly if this native will launch herself upon me, each zealous claw content to deface and to cripple. Could someone be so impulsive? Could the sun?

This table is for use by Embers on A False World only

WORD COUNT 340

[Deleted]

Pain and frustration form an alliance to torment me. Why has she not departed? Left me to rot in the raging of emotion? Surely the pureness of my aura has been tainted, disrupted by such violent emotions. A whirlwind of chaos storms inside, angry only at me for it's containment. Freedom long overdue the winds are unusually hostile, strengthened by the addition of publicity. "Why? What do you have to gain?! Stop tormenting me! Your presence will speed the tainting, my aura will become unpure!" now panic is added to the concoction, it is poison to any hope of relief. Inside my guts turn, unsettled by the racing of my heartbeat. A foul taste forms in my throat, a new flavor that I can barely choke back. It is sour, yet I almost felt relief. Is it the pureness of my aura, draining out of my body? The though sickens further my stomach and I can barely suppress.

Disturbed I can only lash out further, wishing only for a bit of comfort and relief from the hurricane. "Leave! Leave! Leave! Tainted....no, no, no!" collapsing my head hits the ground hard, creating more tears for me to bleed. My paws cover my neck, as if objects will fall and hit it. But the warmth of being curled up calms me a bit, shaking my raging slows into sobs. I no longer taste foulness, but the salt of my cries. Why do I not always feel such security? The calm after a storm...it's something that cannot be substituted. I want it forever, but I need to make amends. Yet I linger, waiting for a motion to be made. My aura can be restored, untainted, I will make it shine again.

[Embers]

HESPERA

Desperation thickens her voice like phlegm. "Your presence will speed the tainting, my aura will become impure!" Her aura? I envision prismatic lights spangling the air around the dog—an intangible likeness of her. The glow oscillates as would an aurora, moved by every bend and dip of her body. With marionette obedience, the aura sinks to the hot earth, wracked with sobs, as does the dog. Perhaps it is now flickering, only as capable as a firefly. And by my doing? No. An unperturbed sun chuckles by means of passing birds' wings. The flock unceremoniously litters the Orchard in a flurry of shadow. Sun composes itself quickly. With the birds many flutters ahead, the sun resumes its calculated rays atop our heads. Indeed, the sun had beguiled her.

My tail flicks with the meticulousness of a pendulum. "I'm afraid my leaving is out of the question," I say softly. Why should the sun burden this dog with its transgressions? But yet I see the resemblance—the canine's talons curled like the sun's flares, her mottled, red pelt like clay scorched on a midsummer's day. A suitable host. Her aura heaves in time with her heartbeat—I can almost hear the shimmering pulse of the sun. "How unfortunate your aura is already corrupt."

Rooted in the same position I have occupied for days now, I add the times she has asked me to withdraw to my recitation: six. An even number, one that can be split into pairs, or threes. The resilience of the sun astounds me still, and I no longer am surprised at its morning homecomings. With a seventh plea for my departure a sure future, I am keen to prolong the sun's agony.

This table is for use by Embers on A False World only

WORD COUNT 281

[Deleted]

How foreign was the manner in which the lass acted, never had I encountered someone so diverse in their ways. Calming winds would leave me to open the eyes inside, and such deep questioning would begin. A hazy reverie would cloud my vision, the physical landscape blurring together into nothing more then a misty fog before me, and then it was not there at all. As the area faded inquiries flooded in, gates open for me to ponder them. But words would break my trance, she would not leave. But that was not the sentence that stood out to me, it was the other string of words. She had not laughed like many did, she knew my aura was there. Would making amends with the girl make it shine?

It was definitely worth a try, for the sake of my calmness and to simply be kind. Once again the foul flavor would rise unit my throat, and I would push it down. Yet the actual taste would linger, karma? Rising to my paws I would be calmed once again, my emotions now light and brief like they always were. What had caused my rain of emotions...and would this really work on my aura? I could only hope so, and attempt. "I apologize, truly sorry. I am Chyrie, if it's alright could I learn your name? I understand...if you would not like to supply it." Were names physical? Something that could actually be supplied? Or was it simply a misunderstanding, or a figure of speech? My mind began to drift and yet I held back, wanting to stay in the situation a bit longer. I was curious about her name, would it be similar to mine?

[Embers]

HESPERA

I imagine the sun sitting inside the belly of the dog. After all, it is small enough to fall down with the rain, or mime loosed fruits fledged from tree boughs. It could easily slip down throats if one gulped their water. Perhaps it is deft enough to enter on the wind of a single inhale. Once inside, the sun extends its golden grasp into the paws, the tail, the head of its host. Light is invasive whether it gleams from the sky, or from its parasitic perch inside the living. Perhaps if the dog opened her mouth wide enough, the sun would come streaking out like a searchlight beam.

Sun is a trickster, a jester, and I suspect its antics. I'd been certain that this spellbound canine would drive me from the Orchard on sun's behalf. And to hear it ask in apologetic niceties for my name? I am livid at the sun for squelching my sadist's joy. I had hoped to make it squirm, make it writhe in its own heat so much so, perhaps it would not rise in days to come. But here, it lowers its hackles, the host quieting into politeness. I try again to envision the so-called aura—the sun's shadow, however oxymoronic—possessing the dog, but am too thunderstruck to do so.

I have grown rigid, and my tail halts mid-flick. The dog calls herself Chyrie, but I am well aware of her duality—Chyrie fraught with sun. I reward her with a fleeting smile and reply, "I am Hespera. It means 'evening star.'" The explanation Chyrie may find innocent. The sun, however, will catch my hostility in its fiery fists. My recitations are dwarfed next to the importance of my stand-off with the sun. I feel as though my mind is aligning like a sundial indefinitely fixed.

With false naivety, I ask, "Your aura. When did you come to know of it?" Soon, I will laugh with the heartiness of ten suns.

This table is for use by Embers on A False World only

WORD COUNT 324