Sigyn, Gudinna Trogen (sigyn) wrote in history_dot_com, @ 2014-07-20 14:09:00 |
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Entry tags: | ~sigyn |
Red (narrative)
It was dark. And everything hurt.
Those were the first two realizations to trickle into Sigyn's brain. It felt as though the eyelashes of one eye were caked to her cheek with something sticky, and every muscle in her body felt strained and bruised. She was laying face down on the ground, the scent of dirt and blood in her nostrils, and she was cold. It took a moment for her to remember why she'd be in such a position, but when she did, she ignored the pain to scramble upright to look for Vali.
Only to be confronted with the reminder of what had happened to Narvi.
Sigyn struggled to hold in tears and anger. She couldn't give in to those now, not again. Not when her son needed her. And he had been alive the last time she'd seen him. He had. Confused and hurt from what they'd done to force him to transform, but alive. That was the last clear and coherent thought Sigyn could remember: Vali, covered in blood, shaking and snarling, hurt and scared.
Then the red haze that had been at the edges of her brain while her friends and neighbors had turned against her had completely engulfed her. Only blurry recollections came filtering in after that. Screaming. Hitting. Kicking. She'd tried to get to her children, she'd fought to reach them. With a vague sort of curiosity, Sigyn looked down at her hands, at the torn bloody nails. Not her blood. Not her sons' blood. Their blood. She'd fought. She'd fought.
And they'd fought back. That's why she hurt. That's why she'd been face down on the ground. She hoped she'd maimed some of them. She hoped they would die from the wounds.
Where was Vali? And where had they taken Loki?
Moving slowly, stiffly, Sigyn did her best to explore the area. But the moonlight was not bright enough for her to see what she needed to see. There were too many footprints in the bloody mud, nothing was clear. Stumbling around, Sigyn called for her child. She screamed his name. She yelled until nothing but hoarse whispers would come from her throat, and still she searched.
Until the sun rose and she saw the trails of blood. One leading to the forest, a river rather than a stream. So much blood. Too much blood. Fearing the worst, trying not to cry, Sigyn pushed her way through the undergrowth. But she couldn't find him. The trail simply stopped at the top of a ravine. After that, there was no sign. No more blood. No paw or footprints. Nothing. Not at the ridge, not at the bottom of the hollow, not on either side of the shallow valley, nothing. She looked, reading important signs in insignificant things, seeing patterns where there were none. But she did not find Vali. The moon was rising again, and she would not be able to see anything under the leaves in the forest in the darkness. So she returned to find the other blood trail.
That led towards a cave, and it trickled down to nothing the closer she drew to the mouth. It wasn't until she reached the entrance, until she saw Loki inside, until she saw what held him to the rock that she understood what had caused the second bloody path. Narvi. It was what they'd done to Narvi.
Sigyn vomited, harshly, doubled over and dizzy. How could they? How could they? She broke then, and the sobs would have errupted like screams had she not already lost her voice. But they rocked her body until she could not stand. Curling into a fetal position despite the pain in her body, Sigyn could do nothing but silently wail.
Her sons. Her beautiful, sweet, clever boys.
How could they?
She had no idea how long she cried, or how long she lay like that in cave entrance. Exhaustion and hopelessness stole over her when the tears finally stopped, and she simply could not find the energy or the will to move. At some point, though, she could hear Loki. Something was wrong with Loki. Dragging herself from the ground was almost more than she could manage. Almost.
Someone had left a bowl. Sigyn had no idea who would have had the forethought to do such a thing, but there was a bowl. And it was clear what needed to be done. She hadn't been able to protect her sons, but she could keep her husband from pain.
At least that was something.