Peony Min (blackmagicks) wrote in emillion, |
But it wasn’t all that would move. Everything was a blur, slow and fast, warm but so cold. Cressida was moving before she could stop her legs, her ribcage rattling and bones surely shifting, and it was through gritting her teeth and skidding to a stop in front of Councilor Min that she made it there, her bow clutched tight in shaking fingers. All of her trembled-- from exhaustion, from pain, from fear at the sight of something rushing so quickly. She thought of her brothers, so brave and fearless and no doubt fighting past blood and sweat in their gaze; she thought of her sister, of sweet, kind Tlisa, and wondered if she was faring any better, hoping she was. She thought of everyone, their faces passing swiftly through her mind. Funny, beautiful Ari. Easy with the grins Drake. Tall, handsome and honorable Rictor and Kiernan. Lovable, cookie addict Pyr, lazy but hilarious Ryul-- and every encouragement they had ever given her, however doubtful she’d been of them at the time. They had seen something in her, something good, something great-- and it would be a disservice to everyone she loved, admired, and looked up to not to protect someone who meant something to her, who deserved to live. Who had to live. “Thank you for everything, Councilor,” she forced out over the trembling ground beneath them, the heavy footfalls, words quick and precise. Calm. It was so close now. She gripped her bow tighter, reaching back for an arrow; she wasn’t going to go without her weapon in hand. This is it was silently preceded by a flutter of lashes to block out the sun, the sight. There was no fear. She was losing everything, but if one thing remained-- it was hope that the ones she cherished stayed alive and fought with everything that they had. That they pushed and pushed, didn’t let anyone bring them down, and carried on. And carried on. Cressida was there one moment, and flying the next, slamming with a sickening crunch into the closest wall, her bow clattering useless, quiver of arrows spilling. No movement came from her crumpled form. Not a twitch of fingers, not a quick heave of breaths. Goodbye. I love you all. The first instinct -- to push the archer away, to pull her back -- was resisted. She had made her choice. Sometimes, we must do difficult things. And so Peony stood her ground, continued her chanting, completing the spell just as the woman in front of her went flying like a broken doll. Water came from the sky, a powerful Flood of white-capped water. It was then that someone rushed past her with a roar, an unfamiliar man with a massive two-handed battleaxe. She let herself fall to her knees then, breathing hard as fresh fighters rushed the constructs, as her duty, for the moment, was taken from her shoulders. Silently, as the sun rose on a crash of steel, sorcery, and stone, she said a prayer for the woman who had fallen. |