She walked slowly, solemnly, with an air of authority around her. Wisps of dark hair had slipped from her braid, floating around her face like tiny strands of dark fog. Her eyes were dark, expression neutral, eyes staring straight forward. Everything about her, from her stiff shoulders and clenched knuckles around her staff and the harshly neutral expression on her face screamed that she was trying very, very hard to keep her emotions under control, but little cracks of absolute fury were seeping through like blood from a slash wound. Funny how leading the funeral parade of your best friend in front of the group of people responsible for his death would do that to you.
Bellona
More by Sayornis p.
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lessons of the forest
I wander through the woods. The day is cool and dry, with a wind blowing that smells of wood and fallen leaves. The bracken has begun to brown, though the Joe pye weed and goldenrod still stand strong.
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an encounter
Fear is such a funny thing, which looks at you with no humor in its gaze
and never blinks wide eyes, and is thin and crippled and seething, and has tears glinting off its cheeks, and is
small and alone -
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