Thread: The Mere Tide
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Old 11-11-2016, 11:43 PM
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bluewpc (Offline)
The Next Bard
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Another small update. Much infortune was incurred this week. Computer caught on fire and near broke my ankle. Ive two fat stripes of purple running down either side of my foot but I'm walking again and the fiery parts have been replaced. So добре

I'm actually a tad sad. I have not yet found a suitable occasion to use the phrase jaundiced uterus worms but I'm looking and its never far from my mind.

A month later she crossed into the Mughalzhar. No more to see the alpines or river valleys but dawn after dawn of the same scrubocean sprawl of bronze jejune, predicate to whirlwinds that arose sans warning to rip through the shortgrass or sand ere resolving once more into their origins. Cold cobalt mornings and frigid the scarlet nights. It seeped into her and that marrowbone broke the year afore was visited by a pain like evil. She sheltered in windbreaks, in clefts of the earth. She drank to bay the pain and she monitored the stars progress ordained by who knew which deity among that latitant pantheon presiding beyond the redshift save that it was not that ferous chaos that slavered souls out the umbra.

Of a day she was in Idel. Walking between the ocherously pruinosed ruins in hope of even the dogs that were not there. Not even the flocking buzzards that had rimmed full round the tower, old granary, and watched the sketching of battle on its faded brick now faded itself. She circled it, eyeing the markers. The probabilities. She said: Wentent bout right as coulda doned.

That night she sheltered in a tannery pit. A dismal room without light faintly reeking of lime and sulfides. Huge bombos were set against the wall. The hatches were open but they had exuded their stink long and the few crinkled hides scattered about had grown thin and slightly diaphanous like the moltings of enormous locusts. She had found a doll among the ashes and she pet the filthy tongue of its plastic hair and asked its name.

Is Tepya, she said. Thass a name. Et es. How ye come up? Jess came. Came of what? Well. They was a sea. A big sea. They was a sea and it was real deep and it come out up from there. Ye did? They was sea an et was real deep and come out come up from there and floated to to to to. They was sea real deep and come up and swam ta shore. Hasnt ye named? Is Dachni. Alessa. Guess it come star down. Come far. Ye know what sun is? The sun is? Was? She dent know. Its fire. Ded ye know? Its fire and it cry an ifn ye saes for somethin ta happen ifn does when, when if, when is does itll be true. Whats ye saes? Ifn ye was ta say?

She spat. Saes that sunuvabitch drowns.

The next morning she crossed the Sakmara on a mawky spanse of timber that stressed even under her emaciated weight and in the afternoon she crossed the Ural on a bridge from which members of the plemena had been stobbed to rot from the transom.

Short miles thereafter in a fallow poyle she cut sign of a transhumance. Trampled feather and deep sipes of cart and wagon. Alongside them cloven stamps not seen before. Chimeras or goatfolk or so she speculated for the expectation is founded upon the inner reality's order and that perversed one might in well in faith doubt the exterior cledge be likewise modified beyond wildest fantasy and should a legion of electric corpophagists strike from out the fulgurant banks of the firmaments or the gestalt emulsification of lepers made animate should explode out of the bedrock or Death Sin or Gabriel on their attic equines of infernality should present themselves their meet could none inspire a wholly irrepressible surprise.

Nor was this oblate spheroid to slack in its maddening proliferation of marvels slain or changed ere their kenning as if the ceaseless spin of the cosmos were the action of some heterogenizer invaccinating endlessly the realms of men and things otherwise with ever fresher strains of lunacy. Take rede then nihilists, depart, doubt the world and all in it, it being but a mask.

Dachni went on. In that long venatic pursuit she gave an indifferent read of the tracks whether they be shod or discalced horse or man or other and she saw how the migration would camp with the wagons encircled as it was centuries before and how sentries would be posted not for the entirety of the night and how scouts would venture out alone alone in the mornings and return in the late of day and how there were no dogs to aid the young shepherds and she chose among that migration the very horse she wished to ride. That shy waif she wished to bed.
On the third day there was a wolf. Old soul. A pyrolatrous rag of mange transiting sadly across the gray dun landscape towards the heatless death house of the sun.

Hidy! Dachni called waving.

It stopped and looked back. It was missing a foreleg and part of a hind jutted out like a blunted stick of graphite and one eye was shut forever in a combat and it had no ears. It went on.

Theys whiskey ifn ye care.

It didnt. Its head hung kiltered low to the ground as if it could not raise it much up. She started after it, running with one arm aloft. It broke into a crazy lope peculiar to itself that yet outpaced her quickly by far. In a minute there was something of a quarter mile between them and she came to a panting halt.

Wasnt goi no hurt ta ye, she called wheezing. Drink ifn yay wan. She dropped to a knee. Dennint. Mane ta scare ye. Is sorry. Well ye come back? Is sorry. Is sorry. Come back. Will ye come back?

Last edited by bluewpc; 11-12-2016 at 05:44 AM..
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