This stone river’s song is not only separate from, but outright defiant against the Claymother. It follows no harmony. It branches, curves, rises and falls all on its own accord. I assumed it would surely end as it approached a steep rock wall, but it went through the cliffside. Through.
Night is upon me. I have lost the water. I am sorry, Partner. It is just us and the stone river and the towering conifers. I feel unwell. Perhaps it is the smell of death nearby. Perhaps it is the hunger I have abandoned. Death can mean food if it’s fresh enough.
I follow the smell to a furry heap resting the smooth stone surface. No, “resting” is the wrong word. This creature, perhaps once a raccoon, has been obliterated. Something ripped it open and threw its innards about in a random spray, claiming nothing for nourishment. Here on this lifeless stone, no worms may find it, no fungus grows; the raccoon’s gory death is suspended in time.
Though it pains me to admit, that bobcat was more respectful to you, Partner. I am glad you did not die this way. This is death without renewal. This screams directly in the face of the Claymother.
I must eat it to correct this tragedy.
phoenixfamiliar.wordpress.com 