Mika Whitepaws (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
wolfishsurvivalist) wrote2016-06-29 10:01 am
wolfishsurvivalist) wrote2016-06-29 10:01 am
Entry tags:
In Memoriam
"To the fallen!" The first time she'd heard those words had been in passing, eyes wide in the murky light in the Quicksand at evening time, ushered quickly away by the person who was guiding her about Ul'dah. It had been little more than a curiosity, puzzling in that moment and quickly forgotten.
"To the fallen!" The first time she'd heard those words said about someone she knew, she'd been slow to lift her cup, numb from shock, fingers still trembling. Mika had helped carry the body of their fallen comrade, the ride back to town had been grim and lost in a haze of her own tears. She'd said the words in reply, but her heart and mind still reeled at the loss, unable to wrap themselves about them with the full gravity of the violence that had happened. So quickly had they been snatched away, laughing and jesting but moments before the attack, and struck down in a moment of inattentiveness. It had felt like a physical blow, punched clean through her chest and leaving an awful, chill ache behind.
It was then that a thought began to creep into her mind, taking root in the cold of her heart. Never again, it whispered. Never again.
"To the fallen!" The first time she'd said those words herself, it had been a battlecry. A shout of defiance with fangs bared that had been answered by a roar about her as the entire tavern stood with flagons raised. The sounds of chairs scraping, mugs slamming against solid oak as a testament to how many had been lost. How many had been snatched from grasping fingers, lost to wave and sand and tree. Those who had been broken upon stone and valley and cobblestone alleyway. It was a shout that echoed in too many hearts, too many faces a mirror of her own anger at their loss.
"To the fallen. May they burn bright amidst the darkness, a flame eternal in the Lifestream's flow." The first time she'd written those words, it had been like lancing a wound. The names were too many to count, but they'd filled pages, each record brought to mind a face, a laugh, a nervous little twitch of fingers that had once been so familiar but was fading day by day from memory. So she lit the incense, laying her book of names before the smoke and burning flames of the candles before she bowed her head to pray.
To the fallen, may they never be forgotten.
"To the fallen!" The first time she'd heard those words said about someone she knew, she'd been slow to lift her cup, numb from shock, fingers still trembling. Mika had helped carry the body of their fallen comrade, the ride back to town had been grim and lost in a haze of her own tears. She'd said the words in reply, but her heart and mind still reeled at the loss, unable to wrap themselves about them with the full gravity of the violence that had happened. So quickly had they been snatched away, laughing and jesting but moments before the attack, and struck down in a moment of inattentiveness. It had felt like a physical blow, punched clean through her chest and leaving an awful, chill ache behind.
It was then that a thought began to creep into her mind, taking root in the cold of her heart. Never again, it whispered. Never again.
"To the fallen!" The first time she'd said those words herself, it had been a battlecry. A shout of defiance with fangs bared that had been answered by a roar about her as the entire tavern stood with flagons raised. The sounds of chairs scraping, mugs slamming against solid oak as a testament to how many had been lost. How many had been snatched from grasping fingers, lost to wave and sand and tree. Those who had been broken upon stone and valley and cobblestone alleyway. It was a shout that echoed in too many hearts, too many faces a mirror of her own anger at their loss.
"To the fallen. May they burn bright amidst the darkness, a flame eternal in the Lifestream's flow." The first time she'd written those words, it had been like lancing a wound. The names were too many to count, but they'd filled pages, each record brought to mind a face, a laugh, a nervous little twitch of fingers that had once been so familiar but was fading day by day from memory. So she lit the incense, laying her book of names before the smoke and burning flames of the candles before she bowed her head to pray.
To the fallen, may they never be forgotten.