Post by PeroxidePirate on Aug 17, 2010 1:27:33 GMT 10
Title: It Takes Time
Rating: PG
Prompt: 12. no yesterdays on the road
Summary: The past is over, but not done.
In the mountains around Gold Ridge, nights came early and cold, even in summer. After they banked the campfire, Kirel stretched out in his bedroll, heavy blankets up to his eyes, and slept easily.
Daja sat up, facing away from the firepit and out into the night. The dark was good. Comforting. The dark hid the radically changed forest: they were coming into the area that had gone up in flames eight years before. Riding through it sent a chill down Daja's spine. Only the oldest, hardiest trees had survived the blaze. The saplings and half-grown trees had all burned. The inches of mast on the ground that had burned and burned and burned, until nothing was left but soil. No underbrush remained, no weeds, no young trees – and no seeds to start anew. Eight years, and still the ground itself was dead black, bits of crisp-burnt wood mixing with deceptively dark soil. Daja shuddered, glad Briar wasn't here to see.
She had pulled all that fire through herself, and lived. It was impossible. It had happened, but that didn't make it possible. She fingered the brass on her palm: no wonder it was permanent. In a way, it made her feel better to know she'd at least been changed by that fire. Is this, she wondered, what it's like to be Tris? To carry so much power – to be able to handle such strong forces – that you scare yourself?
One way to find out. Tris. Daja put strength into her call, picturing a bellows pushing her saati's name across the miles.
After a moment, a response came back in a swirl of wind. There was just a bit of sarcasm in Tris's answer. Nice of you to get in touch. How's the trip?
Daja hesitated, looking for the right words. At last she sent a picture instead: the trail through the dead forest, setting sun glinting off the shiny black of burnt wood. It's still damaged – still broken – by what happened eight years ago.
Of course it is. It takes time to heal – a lot of time, Daj. We're mages. We stop the disasters before they get any worse, and then we leave. She shrugged, amused. Except for you. You keep going back to places you've been before.
Maybe that's my mistake. I thought traveling would help me let go of the past, but now yesterday is all I can see.
Well, Tris said, reasonably, maybe you're not done with it yet.
Daja focused on the feel of Tris's magical presence, touching up against the edge of her mind. Maybe I will be when I get home. Maybe then I'll be ready to move forward.
Rating: PG
Prompt: 12. no yesterdays on the road
Summary: The past is over, but not done.
In the mountains around Gold Ridge, nights came early and cold, even in summer. After they banked the campfire, Kirel stretched out in his bedroll, heavy blankets up to his eyes, and slept easily.
Daja sat up, facing away from the firepit and out into the night. The dark was good. Comforting. The dark hid the radically changed forest: they were coming into the area that had gone up in flames eight years before. Riding through it sent a chill down Daja's spine. Only the oldest, hardiest trees had survived the blaze. The saplings and half-grown trees had all burned. The inches of mast on the ground that had burned and burned and burned, until nothing was left but soil. No underbrush remained, no weeds, no young trees – and no seeds to start anew. Eight years, and still the ground itself was dead black, bits of crisp-burnt wood mixing with deceptively dark soil. Daja shuddered, glad Briar wasn't here to see.
She had pulled all that fire through herself, and lived. It was impossible. It had happened, but that didn't make it possible. She fingered the brass on her palm: no wonder it was permanent. In a way, it made her feel better to know she'd at least been changed by that fire. Is this, she wondered, what it's like to be Tris? To carry so much power – to be able to handle such strong forces – that you scare yourself?
One way to find out. Tris. Daja put strength into her call, picturing a bellows pushing her saati's name across the miles.
After a moment, a response came back in a swirl of wind. There was just a bit of sarcasm in Tris's answer. Nice of you to get in touch. How's the trip?
Daja hesitated, looking for the right words. At last she sent a picture instead: the trail through the dead forest, setting sun glinting off the shiny black of burnt wood. It's still damaged – still broken – by what happened eight years ago.
Of course it is. It takes time to heal – a lot of time, Daj. We're mages. We stop the disasters before they get any worse, and then we leave. She shrugged, amused. Except for you. You keep going back to places you've been before.
Maybe that's my mistake. I thought traveling would help me let go of the past, but now yesterday is all I can see.
Well, Tris said, reasonably, maybe you're not done with it yet.
Daja focused on the feel of Tris's magical presence, touching up against the edge of her mind. Maybe I will be when I get home. Maybe then I'll be ready to move forward.