A Crow's Feast

[NomadGaia 924]

 

-= Theme =-

 

Among the trees, the elder walked, her eyes an amber glow. All around they gathered, chittering in excitement for what was to come. The trees spoke the language of the crows now, their voices raising up a chorus as she continued her solemn march up the mountain. Hefted over her shoulder, was a carefully wrapped body, entwined in a simple emerald cloak. While the ame’ was small, she was strong, and carried it all the way up the winding steps, more crows joining her side as she continued.

 

Finally, she stepped within the runic circle at its peak. A field of purple wildflowers within its ring. The crows would flood this space, perching on ancient stone as they watched their sister walk to its center. The elder druid knelt down low, gingerly laying the body in the center of the field. Untying the ropes that bound her within the cloak, she pulled it free, leaving the other ame’s body on display for the murder of crows to eye it, hungrily.

 

She would pull the blood stained cloak over her shoulders, clasping it around her shoulders as her golden eyes trailed over the body. Moccus was her name, and her crimes against the druii led her to where she laid now, lifeless. Even still, the smile she bore before she died lingered on her face, her eyes open. With wooden fingers, she reached up, closing Moccus’ eyes with a slow movement. Behind them, across the great pines of the Hinterlands, the sun was beginning to sink over the horizon, and twilight gradually began to fall on the two.

 

Ever watchful, the corvids eyed Awaiti as she stood, stepping away from the body. And as the druidess did, they descended upon her, with hunger in their bellies. They rose up a great, and terrible chorus as they pecked and tore at the body, all the while, Sister Orison watched. Even the cacophony they sounded could not silence the voice within her head as she thought of the events that led up to this woman’s death. Of the reasons Moccus committed such atrocities, in the name of the Aspects. Those twisted abominations of hers flashed by behind the amber eyes of Awaiti, corrupted thralls of the beasts she swore to protect. Perhaps, in her own way, she failed them- the druidess thought. Perhaps she had been too focused on the forests of Elvenesse, that she turned a blind eye to the world outside. But perhaps not. She was only one ame’, after all, and she had done much, even in her young life.

 

And after the crows had their feast, she plucked the bones of the woman from the wildflower field, collecting them. In the forest of Dorthonion, she buried her in an unmarked grave, as the last hours of twilight were whittled away. Into the forest, the elder druid went, alongside the crows, finally giving into her instincts to join them, on wind and wing.

 

“Orealon Ignera,” was all she spoke.
 

[Juno. 1280]

A red fox watches the carnage, remembering one of it's kin having been twisted by the woman. A small smile tugged at the vulpine's lips as the crows feasted until all the meat was consumed. As the druid gathered up the clean bones, the fox turned and ran off into the forest, off to find a mouse to eat.

[WestCarolina 1779]

Meanwhile on the opposite end of the glade, the Orison's granddaughter kneeled beside a hole behind the village orchard. Her stubby crimson stained hands gently laid the mutated child's remains into the ground. After the dirt was swept over the hole, Miven whispered the Last Rites, a prayer she never truly wished to say.