#thewordkeep

There is a difference between the executioner and the hunter. The former is about snuffing a life--orphaning children, stealing away loved ones, ending family lines, the outside-corrupted body wasted, the forbidden items left behind useless to the Wood. The cost of keeping the Wood safe is being left with that final gaze before death--despair, regret, desperation--and seeing a soul dim from lifeless eyes. It is kill or be killed, but each take haunts my every dream.

This need for survival is also present in the hunt, but there is a mutual understanding in it. My death would mean sustenance for an ecosystem, my body a contribution to the Word. My kill would mean sustenance for me, warmth in the hide, the use of bones and claws for tools. There is no hate in the eyes of the dying creatures of the Green Word, just acceptance, resignation into the circle of life. I can revel in my victory and enjoy my spoils in full belly and warm back, contributing to balance.

Deft fingers, stained with the daily courses of nature, sifted through the trimmed leather, tightly woven cotton, embroidered silk, and crafted steel adorning the body claimed by the Wood, this intruder now a gift to the moss, leaves, and vines of a beautiful, savage world. Outwardly, the deceased Garlean soldier had nothing in common with the forest dweller of frayed hemp wrappings around calloused hands, roughened leather encasing a lean, scarred body, and battle-beaten metal that protected head, limbs, and heart.

My heart surges as I look at you--the enticing lines of your body and that smoldering smile--and the water does nothing to cool my desire for you. I anticipate your touch-- fingers loosening my hair and threading through it, breath hot against my neck, your murmured words of need an aphrodisiac to the senses. My body remembers the way you grip me--possessive and greedy--the way you pull my hair as your teeth press against the pulse of my neck, your heat, your friction, against me, in me, as all reason melts away to the sensation of you. Yearning.

Time in the rainforest almost seemed to stop, the canopy ever lush, the flowers perpetually in bloom, and the only indication of change at all was when the sway of a sweet tropical breeze would entice moonlit mist, summon showers of rain, or yield to still air thick with heat. This was the breath and heart of the Green Word.

My life to this point is an anchor to my loss, my regret, my sorrow. Try as I might to move on in Eorzea, little momentos drag me back--the crisp, tangy scent of ceruleum, the distinguished fur lining of a winter coat, the murmur of a name--of a nation--that defined my life for too long: Garlemald.

Tural is unknown, unchecked, wild, free--all the things I wish I was and want to be. So I cut ties with my anchor, let it sink to the bottom of my sea of woes, and set sail to a new life, new promises, new dreams...

Cherry Blossom

You are soft but you are not quiet. Bright and loud and excited about life, you are likely the first to ask to pet someone's dog. You have always had a large group of acquaintances but struggle to maintain close relationships, always afraid they will leave, taking some of you with them. Those that have met you, could never forget you if they tried. You wear your heart on your sleeve and while you will never apologize for it, sometimes wish you could grow some thorns. Despite your unequivocal beauty, you are humble and kind, never demanding, always willing to shed your petals to keep others warm. Don't forget to take care of yourself love, don't be afraid to let someone stay and grow alongside them, instead of for them.

Thank you @shibaikyatto and @koijikido for the tag!

Because I'm so behind on these and this is probably Old Hat now, I tag this to anyone who wishes to do it! Please tag me when you do so I can see 😊

In the shroud of the forest, his image illuminated by punctuations of gun light from the battle before him, Leif never imagined he would someday wield that steel, feel the heat of gunpowder from the trigger side of the barrel, listen as his own summoned bullets tear through his targets like paper.

He never thought he would realize how seductively easy it is to take a life with such a weapon.

He would not regret until his hatred is spent with the last fired shot.