|beyondsense (beyondsense) wrote in repose,|
@ 2019-01-10 23:42:00
|Entry tags:||*narrative, iris morgenstern|
Who: Iris (mostly)
What: A calling from the woods
Where: Outside Manning&Iris' house
When: The night of The Hunt
The girls were all asleep before the horn sounded to herald the start of the hunt. Iris stood just outside the back door, one of Manning's thickest sweaters wrapped around herself, and slippered feet flanked by the two dogs. Their ears pricked forward at the blow of the horn, though they stayed as her steady guardians.
It seemed to her as if she could smell the hunt on the air - the fires and ale, the copper tang of fresh kills. She could close her eyes and see Thor moving between the trees, wide smile and firelight in his hair. There was something very old about the feeling, and something very familiar. She felt hungry in that moment, like she was empty enough to eat an entire feast, with fires and laughter to push away the chill of the winter night. She was not made to join the hunt, but there was still a place for her among those around the fire. A place for her at Thor's side.
One of the dogs whined, and she opened her eyes again, shivering at the chill of a breeze that swirled around the back of the house. She had taken several steps forward, away from the house and toward the back of the yard. The dogs had followed her, Ris moving to sit in front of her feet, keeping her from taking another step. She drew another breath, air sharp in her lungs, and whispered words into the night in a language that was foreign on her tongue, but familiar in her ears and her mind.
Straight and strong may they all fly,
And find their mark in many hearts.