Wool Of Bat, And Tongue Of Dog

*Cordelia* · 02-10-2019, 01:01 AM

Upon this obsidian sand, the hue as gentle on the eye as a vintage photograph, there was a steady warmth from the grains in contradiction with the winter breeze that blew now and then, ruffling her spidery tendrils of ebon thread. Already the stars glow as if they had kept a pocket of the daytime to shine all through the night sky. Sometimes the spider-witch though the earth and the moon choose to give of their borrowed warmth and light until the return of the sun, the brilliance forever promised at dawn. Sun. How she dreaded the moments when it shine so brightly upon them. How she hated its warmth, repelled it like a cockroach. She was powerless against it, vulnerable, weak. A growl escaped the she-wolf at such ferocious thoughts. Dreadful. Until then, until the time that she sun will raise again, here she remained, breathing deeply of ocean carried air, listening to the percussion of waves that has been her lullaby ever since the first stars started to appear upon the black sky.

Where are they?

They have been lost and now there is nothing but memories of frost.

Heed, and listen closely.

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Wool Of Bat, And Tongue Of Dog

Cordelia