tell me that i can't.

starter call / accepting

@finaljoke

where does a ghost wander?  through the long emptied, destroyed and crumbled cities of old earth perhaps.  across vast plains of forests.  where mountains seem taller, animals larger and far more fierce without the undue influence of human creation.  these are places less infiltrated by the wandering monsters brought by darkness.  the fallen find nothing to take and steal within cities picked clean so many centuries ago.  skorri can remember when these were once filled with the old shadows of humans.  back when fallen first arrived, and she was a warrioress cleansing their horror from the land.  

and without fallen, there are near no guardians.  near no anyone, for the eyes of animals are unaware in their judgement.  

perhaps it leaves her far too lax, for she doesn’t sense the approach until it’s far too close, too late.  body hunched over a campfire that burns too bright for one eye, uncomfortably dim within the other.  at least she feels warm.  a vibrato of heat that joins the humming in her throat, one more tune where the words feel brittle if she sings them.  

skorri pauses.  a rough, cracked cough escaping from her throat, muffled by the touch of her hand.  

and – there.  the crack of a branch.  not with scraping claws but a soft thudding boot.  this is no accident.  these are a warning.  a request not to be wounded or worse, shot while on approach.  her throat tightens.  something (terror, terror, terror) tearing through her belly.  

     “–dangerous to approach strangers at night.”  skorri says, face locked upon the flames as she tugs the cloak a little further close to her skin.  “who are you, so willful?”  

      “a fool.”   with a smile in his voice, bittersweet and barely measured.   it’s kind from the right angle, in softer light and brighter setting; here it’s misplaced, misowned.   it’s a stranger’s smile that belongs to a stranger’s time.

      a moth to a distant light may well be the better answer. a fool, still, and yet more than that, maybe, to pursue it.   he will learn some day that pragmatism has its place, but today is not that day.   bravado trumps caution and curiosity reels him in.   the worlds they tread are vast and vacant now, scores of space left open and wild and dangerous.   it is a playground to those dumb enough to heed its call,  l’appel du vide or something like it.   it’s a challenge.   it’s hope, hidden away in the dark where city-bound eyes can’t see.

      he doesn’t chance another step.   he could, he’s sure, and might even come out the other side of it unscathed, but the wilds demand their own brand of respect and this is a space already claimed.   it’s not his to own. 

      “there are better places to make camp, i’d wager.”   a drop ship, a cave, some hollowed ruin buried in untold years and stories.   but then this is earth as it is now, earth devoid of people, earth given up to the creatures generations ago.   their enemies are not the enemies of their ancestors—whoever they might be.   or are they?   the night, the unknown, the dark.