I picture running with her, wild and naked. Our bodies are lean and powerful, painted over with arcane shapes brought back from the heavens. We run through mist-shrouded hills, through primordial forests thick with ancient magic and ancestor spirits. My hair is gone; I wear a crown of leaves. I look and see her before me, shining and brilliant and strong. I see a warrior goddess, her hair dancing, flying with the wind. She is the wise huntress, her smile knowing and brave as she leaps over streams and moss-covered stone. Her eyes dare me to follow. She knows she leaps higher, runs faster, fights harder. I struggle to keep up and every day the challenge lifts me, sculpts me. So I jump, and I fall into water chilled by the touch of early Spring. I gasp for air and she laughs. I laugh with her. The forest erupts, and even the rocks and the trees laugh with us. Because we're the old gods, older than this forest or any forest. Older than bone or stone or iron or gold. Older than the water that cools my skin. Older than the breath that sets us free. We've dreamed this world together, as we've dreamed countless others. And we will keep dreaming, dreaming awake, dreaming until the end of everything, dreaming beyond eternity.
(for thisisendless)
