It is stolen. Return it to me.
|
#595
322.5 GP
| GP tracker | inspiration |
| story & personality | > It is stolen. Return it to me. < | transformations | | masterlist entry | | player profile | deviantart profile | 
|
|
|
she/they
trespasser hushed | large basalt stones warming stones enchantment steam elemental hot springs | freshwaters biome location unknown 
|
it is stolen. return it to me.
595's boundary is a secluded, mysterious hot springs.
Many, many esk have heeded her call and journeyed to her home. Few have left unchanged.
Many, many esk have heeded her call and journeyed to her home. Few have left unchanged.
Travelers' echoes, fragments stolen and returned, words recited in hushed trepidation and reverie:
fragments from “the warming stone" by witherlings:
Something odd catches your eye, perhaps something that wasn't there before or something that seems out of place. Once you approach it you see that it is an unusual stone unlike any other in the area.
A voice whispers to you softly, "It is stolen. Return it to me."
As you hold the stone you feel a subtle sense of knowing where to go that you cannot explain and it directs you forward. You leave the area you were in as the inner force takes you upward in elevation on a trail that winds up a rocky mountain. There is a flurry of snow in the air and as you climb higher the snow becomes deep. You travel alongside sheer rock faces and thin sheets of water and rivulets trickle down the walls. The waters are warm and they cut through the snow to seep into the ground or form little pools. Mist hangs around you and the air is damp, the snow becomes heavy and wet, the trail is becoming dreary and less hospitable. Someone in your party may want to turn back, or that may just be a voice in your own mind having doubts if this is a wise journey, but you are very driven. Part of you feels obsessed with delivering the stone, there is no choice.
At the top of the trail you scale a rock ledge where the water trickles down and find that you are at the edge of a large hot spring. The bowl of the spring is surrounded by snow-covered rocks and icicles that drip from rugged overhangs. You press onward toward the thickest and hottest area of mist and feel a mix of familiarity and eeriness, even danger. Something in wall of pale gray is taking shape, a white shadow, a cloud-like specter that is glaring at you through the thick air.
Without warning, the ghostly figure rushes forward and dives into the warming stone, it is sucked inside like a vortex and absorbed. The rock becomes intolerably hot and you reflexively drop it. It fizzes and roils the water with bubbles causing the spring to boil with unbearable heat. You cannot be harmed by this fury but you still feel the scalding pain and anxiety about what you have encountered. Dread, discomfort, and the sudden rage of the water drive you away. As you cross the edge of the spring to descend the mountain, you look back and see shapes in the mist multiplying into a large group, all watching you leave.
You are unsure of what you have seen, or what you have done.
A voice whispers to you softly, "It is stolen. Return it to me."
As you hold the stone you feel a subtle sense of knowing where to go that you cannot explain and it directs you forward. You leave the area you were in as the inner force takes you upward in elevation on a trail that winds up a rocky mountain. There is a flurry of snow in the air and as you climb higher the snow becomes deep. You travel alongside sheer rock faces and thin sheets of water and rivulets trickle down the walls. The waters are warm and they cut through the snow to seep into the ground or form little pools. Mist hangs around you and the air is damp, the snow becomes heavy and wet, the trail is becoming dreary and less hospitable. Someone in your party may want to turn back, or that may just be a voice in your own mind having doubts if this is a wise journey, but you are very driven. Part of you feels obsessed with delivering the stone, there is no choice.
At the top of the trail you scale a rock ledge where the water trickles down and find that you are at the edge of a large hot spring. The bowl of the spring is surrounded by snow-covered rocks and icicles that drip from rugged overhangs. You press onward toward the thickest and hottest area of mist and feel a mix of familiarity and eeriness, even danger. Something in wall of pale gray is taking shape, a white shadow, a cloud-like specter that is glaring at you through the thick air.
Without warning, the ghostly figure rushes forward and dives into the warming stone, it is sucked inside like a vortex and absorbed. The rock becomes intolerably hot and you reflexively drop it. It fizzes and roils the water with bubbles causing the spring to boil with unbearable heat. You cannot be harmed by this fury but you still feel the scalding pain and anxiety about what you have encountered. Dread, discomfort, and the sudden rage of the water drive you away. As you cross the edge of the spring to descend the mountain, you look back and see shapes in the mist multiplying into a large group, all watching you leave.
You are unsure of what you have seen, or what you have done.
fragments from “the warming stone" by tuesdaying:
Ios' feet are in the water; she wants to sink down into it, to let herself be surrounded in this hazy warmth, but she has to - to do something, she knows this, somewhere in her mind. She has to - to return something.
This. This stone. That's what she has to bring back. What she has to return.
There are beings in the fog. There are shapes, shadows, objects, twisting and undulating in a way that is eerie and unsettling. Ios stares at them, tries to discern who - or what - they are - and then they come rushing forward, making no sound and eliciting none from Ios, either.
Not yet, anyway.
The first spectral figure dissipates as soon as it touches the stone. The heat pulses, then pulses again, a painful, hot thing that has Ios stumbling back, water splashing against her sides. The link to the stone is lost; she drops it, and another pulse of heat spreads out against the pair of them - heat and anger, red hot and hungry, greedy fingers of steam reaching towards her, bursting against her face. The heat is unbearable now.
She should not turn, but she does. And she can see the shapes moving in the mist, twisting, curling, fading. Fear overtakes her, and she twists back around, moving to head down the mountain, back away from this, back from this wretched place. She wants to go home. She wants to be anywhere but here.
What happened? Where was this?
What did you want from me?
Why did you make me do this?
She keeps running.
This. This stone. That's what she has to bring back. What she has to return.
There are beings in the fog. There are shapes, shadows, objects, twisting and undulating in a way that is eerie and unsettling. Ios stares at them, tries to discern who - or what - they are - and then they come rushing forward, making no sound and eliciting none from Ios, either.
Not yet, anyway.
The first spectral figure dissipates as soon as it touches the stone. The heat pulses, then pulses again, a painful, hot thing that has Ios stumbling back, water splashing against her sides. The link to the stone is lost; she drops it, and another pulse of heat spreads out against the pair of them - heat and anger, red hot and hungry, greedy fingers of steam reaching towards her, bursting against her face. The heat is unbearable now.
She should not turn, but she does. And she can see the shapes moving in the mist, twisting, curling, fading. Fear overtakes her, and she twists back around, moving to head down the mountain, back away from this, back from this wretched place. She wants to go home. She wants to be anywhere but here.
What happened? Where was this?
What did you want from me?
Why did you make me do this?
She keeps running.
The usually level-headed Esk is caught off guard when they're instantly hit with an intense fog in their mind's eye. Lillium takes a step back, startled. It swirls and shudders, and in a quick movement bolts forward. It writhes itself into a vague, almost Esk shaped silhouette, complete with two wide, blue eyes. Wisps of steam billowed off the figure’s head and back, clouding the spirit in a shroud of mist. The being sways between the trees, swirling slowly back in forth. Its voice booms inside of Lillium’s mind.
“It is stolen. Return it to me."
The voice seems to echo through them and around them all at once. It had an almost commanding tone to it, trying to force the Esk to return it. A chill runs up Lillium’s spine. The spirit stares at the Esk for a couple more moments, eyes turning to slits.
While the small voice in the back of Lillium's mind told them to turn around and never touch the stone again, something about the wispy spirit made them want to march on. The mist continues for only a moment more, before shooting off in between the trees and disappearing. Lillium could only figure that's the path it wanted the two Esk to follow. They regain their composure, sighing softly. They use their telekinesis to place the small, swirled stone on top of Ilirium's back, not sure that they wanted to hold it any longer. Ilirium did not protest. They wondered briefly how Ilirium didn’t seem bothered by the spirit of the stone.
“I don’t know where it wants us to go,” They say, quietly. “But I know that we should still return it.”
“It is stolen. Return it to me."
The voice seems to echo through them and around them all at once. It had an almost commanding tone to it, trying to force the Esk to return it. A chill runs up Lillium’s spine. The spirit stares at the Esk for a couple more moments, eyes turning to slits.
While the small voice in the back of Lillium's mind told them to turn around and never touch the stone again, something about the wispy spirit made them want to march on. The mist continues for only a moment more, before shooting off in between the trees and disappearing. Lillium could only figure that's the path it wanted the two Esk to follow. They regain their composure, sighing softly. They use their telekinesis to place the small, swirled stone on top of Ilirium's back, not sure that they wanted to hold it any longer. Ilirium did not protest. They wondered briefly how Ilirium didn’t seem bothered by the spirit of the stone.
“I don’t know where it wants us to go,” They say, quietly. “But I know that we should still return it.”
❦
Swirling upwards from the furious bubbling of the water, a figure began to form. It moved unnaturally, shuddering and writhing to life. Two sharp, glaring eyes seem to yank open, opening into holes of blue nothingness. Lillium feels fear clench their gut for the first time in what felt like an eternity. They pull their paw back, gently tugging Leslie back closer to them as the figure towered over them. An intense feeling of rage and anger burst from the water, crushing Lillium under the feeling. The heat was unbearable, going from warmth to something that they could swear would burn them to ash if they could be.
“Ilirium," Lillium says, voice shaking. Ilirium seems almost like they're in a trance, staring up at the mist shape as it grows bigger, swirling into a wispy tower above them. Coming from the towers body were wisps of other figures, seeming to multiply. Ilirium seemed to snap out of it in an instant, leaping from the water just before the entire pool was consumed by angry, boiling bubbles.
Rumbles of angry voices rose from the water as the steam figures began to multiply. Smaller shapes began to rise from the water, mouths agape as they were pulled from their spring. Hand-like shapes rose, grabbing the banks of the water, before shuddering out to sit at the edge, staring at the group of Esk with those wide, unblinking eyes. Lillium swallowed down their dread.
“Ilirium, we have to go. Now."
“Ilirium," Lillium says, voice shaking. Ilirium seems almost like they're in a trance, staring up at the mist shape as it grows bigger, swirling into a wispy tower above them. Coming from the towers body were wisps of other figures, seeming to multiply. Ilirium seemed to snap out of it in an instant, leaping from the water just before the entire pool was consumed by angry, boiling bubbles.
Rumbles of angry voices rose from the water as the steam figures began to multiply. Smaller shapes began to rise from the water, mouths agape as they were pulled from their spring. Hand-like shapes rose, grabbing the banks of the water, before shuddering out to sit at the edge, staring at the group of Esk with those wide, unblinking eyes. Lillium swallowed down their dread.
“Ilirium, we have to go. Now."
fragments from “the warming stone" by vlpn:
Miri sat heavily on the snow ground. Then she paced. Then she turned to leave. Then whipped back to face the enemy and weighed her options. Really, she didn’t have any options. There was only one way to go, and every non-existent cell in her body knew it too. She looked down at her tiny grey paws. I must to do this, she told herself sternly and took one very unconfident step.
The farther she progressed in the dark, the easier it became. The weight lifted from her shoulders, and it became easier to just exist. The path continued at the steep incline she had been traversing all day, and then it slowly began to level out. Miri could feel the temperature dropping, and the slightly muddy path became crusted with ice. She tried to ignore the formidable blackness as much as possible, and with the stone hovering just in front of her, she felt a weird sense of comfort. This wasn’t too bad. She stumbled back into light, not realizing her time in the tunnel had passed so quick.
Then she screamed.
Miri stood at the shore of an expansive lake. The water entirely black and endless. She could barely do the dark. She could not do black water. This was too much. She had been pushed too far. She scrambled away from the shore, her haste so quick that a few pebbles descended into the water. She hated the dark. She hated water. She hated this. She whirled around and sighted the familiar stone she had been hauling around and flung it into the water and turned to leave. Her external self begin to walk back down the mountain, but her internal mind hurled itself down a rabbit hole of an even deeper terror. She froze, paralyzed.
Her mind felt as if it had unhinged and was tearing itself apart, and the shards were hurtling themselves ever deeper into her inner panic. Her chest heaved, trying to draw in more air, prevent hyperventilation. It didn’t work, she didn’t actually need air, and going through the motions wasn’t helping either. She racked her brain, trying to grab the scattering tendrils of rational thought. She couldn’t do this. She had to this. She must do this. How was she going to do this. The only times she felt comfort was with that stupid rock. The pieces began to fall into place.
No, she needed the stone back. That was the key. But. That stone, she looked back towards the water, is in there. She stepped closer to the bank and peered anxiously into the depths. She had to get it back. And of course it’s not floating now, she grumbled with frustration. She dipped one paw in and wrenched back out again. Did she have to swim? Could she even swim? She had never tried it, because anytime she couldn’t see the bottom she fled. Now she would have to get in the water.
NO. She screeched, stomping away from the shore, plopping by a nearby rock and sulked. Why was she even here. She didn’t ask for this. She didn’t mean to go on a journey filled with all of her personal horrors. This just happened to her. Why did the world throw her into the worst possible series of events. Ok maybe not the worst. But this still sucked. She had to in the water. No, she couldn’t possibly do that. She hadn’t even really touched water apart from washing her feet from time to time. She couldn’t swim. She knew she couldn’t. She also knew she had to.
She walked heavily towards the water. She put one paw in. Winced. Then the second. She could do this. Where was that stone anyway? Where had she thrown it? Did she remember correctly where she had tossed it? She didn’t know. She couldn’t move forward. But she had to. She put another paw in, and then the last. Breathe, she told herself, taking a few steps further. She focused on trying to find the stone instead of the water creeping up her legs.
She scanned the swathe of black, desperately hoping she could find the rock again. She gasped, a dull glow pulsated a few steps ahead of her. Ok, I can do it, she chanted to herself. She tried to pull the rock towards her, but it stayed put. Unmovable. She would have to grab it. Miri inched closer, and the water inched closer to her head. The familiar sensation of panic roiled like an angry sea within her being. She scrambled for the bottom, but it was getting too deep. The water closed over her head as she began to sink. Terror engulfed her. She flailed in the water. Her small paws grasping at everything and grabbing nothing. She was going to die again. Could she even die again? She began to think she could.
She yelped as a toe felt the warm edge of the stone. She could still see nothing, and lost it again. Writhing, Miri twisted feeling for anything of substance. Her feet found the mucky bottom, and alas, finally, a front paw felt that goddamn rock and gripped it tightly before pulling herself free from hell. She drug herself to shore. Exhausted, she lay on the stark white snow, relishing the feeling of solid land again.
The heavy mist that accompanied the stone began to lift, and Miri, still too spent to get back on her feet, watched in awe as the lake unfolded before her. The bank rolled into surrounding mountains that were bathed in soft light. Maybe this was possible after all.
The farther she progressed in the dark, the easier it became. The weight lifted from her shoulders, and it became easier to just exist. The path continued at the steep incline she had been traversing all day, and then it slowly began to level out. Miri could feel the temperature dropping, and the slightly muddy path became crusted with ice. She tried to ignore the formidable blackness as much as possible, and with the stone hovering just in front of her, she felt a weird sense of comfort. This wasn’t too bad. She stumbled back into light, not realizing her time in the tunnel had passed so quick.
Then she screamed.
Miri stood at the shore of an expansive lake. The water entirely black and endless. She could barely do the dark. She could not do black water. This was too much. She had been pushed too far. She scrambled away from the shore, her haste so quick that a few pebbles descended into the water. She hated the dark. She hated water. She hated this. She whirled around and sighted the familiar stone she had been hauling around and flung it into the water and turned to leave. Her external self begin to walk back down the mountain, but her internal mind hurled itself down a rabbit hole of an even deeper terror. She froze, paralyzed.
Her mind felt as if it had unhinged and was tearing itself apart, and the shards were hurtling themselves ever deeper into her inner panic. Her chest heaved, trying to draw in more air, prevent hyperventilation. It didn’t work, she didn’t actually need air, and going through the motions wasn’t helping either. She racked her brain, trying to grab the scattering tendrils of rational thought. She couldn’t do this. She had to this. She must do this. How was she going to do this. The only times she felt comfort was with that stupid rock. The pieces began to fall into place.
No, she needed the stone back. That was the key. But. That stone, she looked back towards the water, is in there. She stepped closer to the bank and peered anxiously into the depths. She had to get it back. And of course it’s not floating now, she grumbled with frustration. She dipped one paw in and wrenched back out again. Did she have to swim? Could she even swim? She had never tried it, because anytime she couldn’t see the bottom she fled. Now she would have to get in the water.
NO. She screeched, stomping away from the shore, plopping by a nearby rock and sulked. Why was she even here. She didn’t ask for this. She didn’t mean to go on a journey filled with all of her personal horrors. This just happened to her. Why did the world throw her into the worst possible series of events. Ok maybe not the worst. But this still sucked. She had to in the water. No, she couldn’t possibly do that. She hadn’t even really touched water apart from washing her feet from time to time. She couldn’t swim. She knew she couldn’t. She also knew she had to.
She walked heavily towards the water. She put one paw in. Winced. Then the second. She could do this. Where was that stone anyway? Where had she thrown it? Did she remember correctly where she had tossed it? She didn’t know. She couldn’t move forward. But she had to. She put another paw in, and then the last. Breathe, she told herself, taking a few steps further. She focused on trying to find the stone instead of the water creeping up her legs.
She scanned the swathe of black, desperately hoping she could find the rock again. She gasped, a dull glow pulsated a few steps ahead of her. Ok, I can do it, she chanted to herself. She tried to pull the rock towards her, but it stayed put. Unmovable. She would have to grab it. Miri inched closer, and the water inched closer to her head. The familiar sensation of panic roiled like an angry sea within her being. She scrambled for the bottom, but it was getting too deep. The water closed over her head as she began to sink. Terror engulfed her. She flailed in the water. Her small paws grasping at everything and grabbing nothing. She was going to die again. Could she even die again? She began to think she could.
She yelped as a toe felt the warm edge of the stone. She could still see nothing, and lost it again. Writhing, Miri twisted feeling for anything of substance. Her feet found the mucky bottom, and alas, finally, a front paw felt that goddamn rock and gripped it tightly before pulling herself free from hell. She drug herself to shore. Exhausted, she lay on the stark white snow, relishing the feeling of solid land again.
The heavy mist that accompanied the stone began to lift, and Miri, still too spent to get back on her feet, watched in awe as the lake unfolded before her. The bank rolled into surrounding mountains that were bathed in soft light. Maybe this was possible after all.
Mabel hooks her paws on the edge of the ice and squints, willing the stone to rise out of the water and onto the shore. She flaps and skids over to it, Ahku in tow, and inspects it more carefully. Water and steam are streaming from it, but it isn’t drying--it seems to be leaking from invisible pores and into the air, the steam much less thick now that it doesn’t have the lake to feed it. The stone doesn’t move as much as it seems to desynchronize with the rapidly melting puddle of snow it is now sitting in; it vibrates imperceptibly, a buzzing in Mabel’s spirit that takes and tugs her further, into something beyond that she cannot see.
I am in the heat return it to me I am in the heat return it to me return it to me
It keeps tugging and tugging and Mabel follows willingly--the wind races past her and the cold cannot touch her anymore. The shifting ice is settled into silence and Ahku--Ahku is gone, determinedly burrowing herself out of the between and into the cliffs and sunshine that she so adores and Mabel has half a mind to follow, but she cannot, she is suspended, limbless, a question mark, a silence, a slight upturn at the end of a phrase awaiting an answer. She is the absence of sensation. But something begins to materialize, a haze from her consciousness given a visual form--someone else is here and runs forward on gnarled wisps of claws, it seeps into and around her and she is climbing, climbing, water bleeds from the cliff’s skin and the mist wraps itself around her neck and chokes and she is gasping and if only she could breathe and Mabel is scared.
Ahku’s face fills her vision and Mabel stumbles backwards, suddenly aware that she had been paralyzed in place. Ahku is trembling, flickering between imperceptible, dense, and ultra-vibrant and she demands, Mabel. What happened?
It wants us to climb. Bring it that way. She motions vaguely to their left. It’s a stupid thing to say, nonsensical, considering whatever just happened to her, but she can’t think to say anything else.
I’m putting it back--no, i’m hiding it. We aren’t bringing it. Ahku furiously swats it away. It leaves a trail of melted snow as it skids along.
Ahku, please, I-- Mabel squints her eyes shut and tries to collect herself. Something is wrong. She feels vulnerable, blind--oh, of course. Her finch has somehow disappeared. It alights on the ground, seemingly borne by the wind itself, and Mabel watches a flurry of emotions pass on Ahku’s face, as if she were trying to compensate for centuries of being stoic. It probably just wants to go back to where it died, its final resting place, like the one you saw. We can at least do that much for it.
As scared as she is, Mabel also wants to know more--there is something that Ahku is withholding from her, a reason that, even now, she is withdrawn, her energy held tight around her and not extending like it usually would to comfort and reassure herself that Mabel is okay. And whatever Ahku is hiding is on that mountain.
Now it is a matter of a battle of wills--Ahku’s willingness to hide the stone, and Mabel’s willingness to dig it back up again.
Ahku, we both know that if you hide it, you’re going to just come back later and bring it where it wants to go. I want to come.
Mabel isn’t actually that sure that Ahku would do that, but her guess seems to be right. Ahku nudges her to help her stand--which is entirely unnecessary, as their bodies are only semi-physical at best, but Mabel is comforted by it and Ahku seems to be too--and she huffs. Fine. But I’m carrying it.
I am in the heat return it to me I am in the heat return it to me return it to me
It keeps tugging and tugging and Mabel follows willingly--the wind races past her and the cold cannot touch her anymore. The shifting ice is settled into silence and Ahku--Ahku is gone, determinedly burrowing herself out of the between and into the cliffs and sunshine that she so adores and Mabel has half a mind to follow, but she cannot, she is suspended, limbless, a question mark, a silence, a slight upturn at the end of a phrase awaiting an answer. She is the absence of sensation. But something begins to materialize, a haze from her consciousness given a visual form--someone else is here and runs forward on gnarled wisps of claws, it seeps into and around her and she is climbing, climbing, water bleeds from the cliff’s skin and the mist wraps itself around her neck and chokes and she is gasping and if only she could breathe and Mabel is scared.
Ahku’s face fills her vision and Mabel stumbles backwards, suddenly aware that she had been paralyzed in place. Ahku is trembling, flickering between imperceptible, dense, and ultra-vibrant and she demands, Mabel. What happened?
It wants us to climb. Bring it that way. She motions vaguely to their left. It’s a stupid thing to say, nonsensical, considering whatever just happened to her, but she can’t think to say anything else.
I’m putting it back--no, i’m hiding it. We aren’t bringing it. Ahku furiously swats it away. It leaves a trail of melted snow as it skids along.
Ahku, please, I-- Mabel squints her eyes shut and tries to collect herself. Something is wrong. She feels vulnerable, blind--oh, of course. Her finch has somehow disappeared. It alights on the ground, seemingly borne by the wind itself, and Mabel watches a flurry of emotions pass on Ahku’s face, as if she were trying to compensate for centuries of being stoic. It probably just wants to go back to where it died, its final resting place, like the one you saw. We can at least do that much for it.
As scared as she is, Mabel also wants to know more--there is something that Ahku is withholding from her, a reason that, even now, she is withdrawn, her energy held tight around her and not extending like it usually would to comfort and reassure herself that Mabel is okay. And whatever Ahku is hiding is on that mountain.
Now it is a matter of a battle of wills--Ahku’s willingness to hide the stone, and Mabel’s willingness to dig it back up again.
Ahku, we both know that if you hide it, you’re going to just come back later and bring it where it wants to go. I want to come.
Mabel isn’t actually that sure that Ahku would do that, but her guess seems to be right. Ahku nudges her to help her stand--which is entirely unnecessary, as their bodies are only semi-physical at best, but Mabel is comforted by it and Ahku seems to be too--and she huffs. Fine. But I’m carrying it.
❦
The stone--it has made its den in the gap and watches in mirthful silence. Mabel glares at it, and it looks back--and she is fixated. the scenery blurs and Mabel is vaguely aware of Ahku turning, a panicked expression frozen on her face--and then she is gone.
Ahe is alone. The wind slices into her form, leaving empty gashes in its wake. She can do little to resist--she is far from home and can feel her will drain with every step, snatched from her by the piercing fingers of the storm. But she is being pulled--she can feel it, funneling her ever inward, inwards into the center of an inescapably ever-closing orbit. Her mind whips in wind-tattered rags behind her and if she could only sew it back together into coherent thought, she would stop to say goodbye to the swarm of needle-snow that bores into her, the pools of water-blood that seep from the stone and invite her onwards. But what would be the point? She will see them, again, soon enough, when they awaken.
we are waiting return it to us we are waiting return it to us return it to us
Ahe is alone. The wind slices into her form, leaving empty gashes in its wake. She can do little to resist--she is far from home and can feel her will drain with every step, snatched from her by the piercing fingers of the storm. But she is being pulled--she can feel it, funneling her ever inward, inwards into the center of an inescapably ever-closing orbit. Her mind whips in wind-tattered rags behind her and if she could only sew it back together into coherent thought, she would stop to say goodbye to the swarm of needle-snow that bores into her, the pools of water-blood that seep from the stone and invite her onwards. But what would be the point? She will see them, again, soon enough, when they awaken.
we are waiting return it to us we are waiting return it to us return it to us
❦
Mabel’s eyes are squinted shut when she comes to, but she can still see the steadily-increasing flurry of white through her finch eyes--the fallen esk’s vision had only been enough to surprise her, not incapacitate her as it had the last time. Ahku seems to have also been absorbed into the esk’s vision; she is frozen, statuesque, and when she returns to her senses she doesn’t shift as much as the mountain seems to exhale, granting life and independence to a portion of the rock that collectively forms its body.
Ahku turns to look at Mabel. Are you okay?
Yeah. this vision hadn’t has as severe an effect on Mabel; the other had swallowed her, stripping away all awareness of herself, as she is now and was before, but she had been somewhat ready this time. Mabel leafs through the images of the fallen esk’s last moments, the memories somehow clearer than her own. Something was pulling her up, but she also thought that she would come back. The thought stumbles out, but Ahku listens intently. But not just by going back down the trail, she thought she would fall asleep and then awaken. And everything would be new.
Ahku nods and considers Mabel’s words. And she is not alone--there are more. She thought that they were waiting for her. Mabel glances up, up the stark length of the mountain. And now they are waiting for us.
Ahku turns to look at Mabel. Are you okay?
Yeah. this vision hadn’t has as severe an effect on Mabel; the other had swallowed her, stripping away all awareness of herself, as she is now and was before, but she had been somewhat ready this time. Mabel leafs through the images of the fallen esk’s last moments, the memories somehow clearer than her own. Something was pulling her up, but she also thought that she would come back. The thought stumbles out, but Ahku listens intently. But not just by going back down the trail, she thought she would fall asleep and then awaken. And everything would be new.
Ahku nods and considers Mabel’s words. And she is not alone--there are more. She thought that they were waiting for her. Mabel glances up, up the stark length of the mountain. And now they are waiting for us.
❦
They reach the edge of a pool and wordlessly sink into it--the waves part and engulf Mabel and the water is warm, so warm--she can feel it, now, truly feel the heat, and not the distilled echo of earlier times. But she has been here for so, so long, hasn’t she?
The others have been watching. They tell her little that she doesn’t already know--that they have seen many others come and wait, but it does not like them, and it does not reward them. They were not chosen and will not be awakened when all is made new. She doesn’t allow it to deter her--and so she stands, timelessly, and waits.
Mabel and Ahku exchange glances--another memory of the fallen esk. They swim further, into the thick of the haze; it closes in on them and Mabel feels, inexplicably, that she is being watched.
They said that she has to learn to exist beyond time in order to be removed from it, and she thinks she can feel that, now. She has forgotten how to move--the mist swirls around her and the water idly circles by; to do the same is a feat beyond her understanding. She used to watch it--watch the shapes circle her in the fog, appraising her, whispering to themselves whether or not they believed her to be worthy. But she has given that up now; she has retreated into herself, and she waits.
The haze is so dense now that Mabel can only see Ahku and she would think that they were stuck in a form of purgatory, the darkness of the heated water and the white, so much white that they would never see the end of it, if it were not for the voiceless urging of the fallen esk to go forward, forward. The mist starts to swirl of its own will, granted autonomy by a form that begins to take shape, and though Mabel has never seen the other esk, has only seen through her eyes, she knows that it is her--the whorl of fur that is shaped by the white, the facsimile of savannah grass that shudders under a false breeze. She greets them with a nod, and then they are submerged, again, in the abyss of her memory.
She is cold. It takes her a moment to register the sensation and to put a name to it; she has been in stasis for so long that she had forgotten what it is to be anywhere but here, in the warm press of the waters. But she is cold, and she is in pain. The world disappears from her and it is only her and the howling; it drills into her consciousness and writhes in death throes, but it cannot die; it tears and tears and she is in tatters, she is ripped into nothingness and still it continues. She is climbing again, the snow slices into her, and then she is standing, whole, looking back into the expanse of the plains--her plains--and she thinks that she will return when it is time, when they awake from slumber and when those who had been chosen inherit the new earth. She permits herself to doubt, for a moment, how she could have allowed herself to come to this--but then it slices through the depth of her memory--a looming specter emerges from the haze and lurches forward on robotic legs. There is nothing of her left, but still she speaks: I am willing. Transform me.
She shatters.
And then she sinks.
The others are waiting for her, at the bottom of the spring, and she falls into the embrace of their stony arms.
Mabel is on fire. The sudden return to the stifling warmth shocks Mabel--she begins to sink before abruptly remembering how to move her own legs and paddle back to the surface.
She only needs to ask. The revelation vibrates through Mabel’s core. This strange chrysalis of rock is just another form of transformation, one that any could provide--she had thought it would be a monumental task, to leave her current life, but it is as simple as finding someone willing to welcome into the next. Her head snaps to Ahku, whose face flickers rapidly in and out of visibility--first contorted with fury and then a mask of grief.
The foggy apparition tilts its approximation of a head and speaks:
we are waiting stay with us we are waiting stay with us stay with us
Mabel doesn’t recognize Ahku--she is buzzing, the sunflowers spinning wildly as if seeking a target, and her face--usually inviting, poised in welcome, the familiar comfort of home, is deformed into something gnarled and torn, broken beyond recognition. Mabel backs away instinctively and Ahku shouts--with a pulse of energy she sends the stone flying from her--it soars into the air in an arc and the other esk is ripped by a swirl of wind, funneling inward and minimizing and is swallowed by the red-hot core of heat. Ahku shoves Mabel and they swim, desperately, back the way they came--the water boils and angrily pulls them inward, back to the center of the spring, and it begs them to wait, to sleep--more esk form from the mist and they circle, lunging at Mabel and tearing through Ahku, her body flashing with each assault.
They claw out of the water and don’t stop--they sprint onwards and Mabel breaks her concentration for the briefest of moments to look back. The esk roil at the boundary of the pool, the water stirred into a frenzy, and they are roaring WE WILL WAIT WE WILL WAKE WE WILL WAKE
They stop, finally, exhausted more from the mental than the physical toll when they reach the foot of the mountain. Mabel wants nothing more than to curl up with the other esk and sleep for days, weird argument be damned, and is forming the suggestion when Ahku speaks.
It wouldn’t let you die. You would just become a rock.
Mabel doesn’t respond.
The others have been watching. They tell her little that she doesn’t already know--that they have seen many others come and wait, but it does not like them, and it does not reward them. They were not chosen and will not be awakened when all is made new. She doesn’t allow it to deter her--and so she stands, timelessly, and waits.
Mabel and Ahku exchange glances--another memory of the fallen esk. They swim further, into the thick of the haze; it closes in on them and Mabel feels, inexplicably, that she is being watched.
They said that she has to learn to exist beyond time in order to be removed from it, and she thinks she can feel that, now. She has forgotten how to move--the mist swirls around her and the water idly circles by; to do the same is a feat beyond her understanding. She used to watch it--watch the shapes circle her in the fog, appraising her, whispering to themselves whether or not they believed her to be worthy. But she has given that up now; she has retreated into herself, and she waits.
The haze is so dense now that Mabel can only see Ahku and she would think that they were stuck in a form of purgatory, the darkness of the heated water and the white, so much white that they would never see the end of it, if it were not for the voiceless urging of the fallen esk to go forward, forward. The mist starts to swirl of its own will, granted autonomy by a form that begins to take shape, and though Mabel has never seen the other esk, has only seen through her eyes, she knows that it is her--the whorl of fur that is shaped by the white, the facsimile of savannah grass that shudders under a false breeze. She greets them with a nod, and then they are submerged, again, in the abyss of her memory.
She is cold. It takes her a moment to register the sensation and to put a name to it; she has been in stasis for so long that she had forgotten what it is to be anywhere but here, in the warm press of the waters. But she is cold, and she is in pain. The world disappears from her and it is only her and the howling; it drills into her consciousness and writhes in death throes, but it cannot die; it tears and tears and she is in tatters, she is ripped into nothingness and still it continues. She is climbing again, the snow slices into her, and then she is standing, whole, looking back into the expanse of the plains--her plains--and she thinks that she will return when it is time, when they awake from slumber and when those who had been chosen inherit the new earth. She permits herself to doubt, for a moment, how she could have allowed herself to come to this--but then it slices through the depth of her memory--a looming specter emerges from the haze and lurches forward on robotic legs. There is nothing of her left, but still she speaks: I am willing. Transform me.
She shatters.
And then she sinks.
The others are waiting for her, at the bottom of the spring, and she falls into the embrace of their stony arms.
Mabel is on fire. The sudden return to the stifling warmth shocks Mabel--she begins to sink before abruptly remembering how to move her own legs and paddle back to the surface.
She only needs to ask. The revelation vibrates through Mabel’s core. This strange chrysalis of rock is just another form of transformation, one that any could provide--she had thought it would be a monumental task, to leave her current life, but it is as simple as finding someone willing to welcome into the next. Her head snaps to Ahku, whose face flickers rapidly in and out of visibility--first contorted with fury and then a mask of grief.
The foggy apparition tilts its approximation of a head and speaks:
we are waiting stay with us we are waiting stay with us stay with us
Mabel doesn’t recognize Ahku--she is buzzing, the sunflowers spinning wildly as if seeking a target, and her face--usually inviting, poised in welcome, the familiar comfort of home, is deformed into something gnarled and torn, broken beyond recognition. Mabel backs away instinctively and Ahku shouts--with a pulse of energy she sends the stone flying from her--it soars into the air in an arc and the other esk is ripped by a swirl of wind, funneling inward and minimizing and is swallowed by the red-hot core of heat. Ahku shoves Mabel and they swim, desperately, back the way they came--the water boils and angrily pulls them inward, back to the center of the spring, and it begs them to wait, to sleep--more esk form from the mist and they circle, lunging at Mabel and tearing through Ahku, her body flashing with each assault.
They claw out of the water and don’t stop--they sprint onwards and Mabel breaks her concentration for the briefest of moments to look back. The esk roil at the boundary of the pool, the water stirred into a frenzy, and they are roaring WE WILL WAIT WE WILL WAKE WE WILL WAKE
They stop, finally, exhausted more from the mental than the physical toll when they reach the foot of the mountain. Mabel wants nothing more than to curl up with the other esk and sleep for days, weird argument be damned, and is forming the suggestion when Ahku speaks.
It wouldn’t let you die. You would just become a rock.
Mabel doesn’t respond.
Even as the wind intensified the chill subsided, replaced by a swampy and unseasonable wetness in the air, and with water running over the path and dripping from the stony walls alongside it, Socket soon found its paws caked in mud and filth. This would ordinarily be cause for celebration, but as it hindered its progress it began to resent the stone, resent the journey, and most of all, in a moment of rare self-awareness, resent its own obstinate refusal to let well enough alone, although before long it had opted to instead resent its creator for instilling such a value in it.
A final, desperate climb, full of Socket's grumbling, and it heaved its sausage body over a last ledge, fully expecting to find the path still curling through steam and mud and melting snow and instead finding, to its startlement, that the stone instead opened up below it into a misty spring.
It paused, hesitating and experiencing for a brief moment an emotion that was nearly entirely alien to it: uncertainty. But the stone was insistent, silently urging it onwards, and so it slipped down a scree of icicles and pebbles and landed with a gentle splash in the shallows.
It was warm, dozy; as comfortable as a patch of sunlight on a brisk spring day, and it paused in a lazy-eyed contentment to watch the mud swirling off its paws and its sides into little fern-shapes in the water, matching the coils of mist above.
Still the stone urged it onwards, but it balked, flopping onto its back in the water, and then, righting itself clumsily, paddling lazily until its feet left the bottom, letting the warm currents push it in a gently spinning circle. It watched the sides of the bowl march in front of him, a constant panorama, and tried to ignore the ever insistent urging in its head until, finally, it realized that it was spinning a bit more than was comfortable. It thought of the cloud that spun over its head back in its own territory, the whirling aura of nausea that repulsed so many of the things it met, and it experienced a moment of what could only be described as sympathy (albeit no guilt) as the spinning approached something like vertigo, and finally, in the confines of its head, it shouted: FINE.
Disgusted and irritated, it popped back up to the surface, traipsing across the warm water as if it were the frozen pond, all businesslike once more and behaving as if this had been its plan all along. It almost would have looked convincing to an onlooker, too, were it not for a few fumbling dizzy steps until the world around it settled.
Any onlooker could not have observed for long, however. The mist grew thick, first oppressive, then opaque; the steam blocked out the walls of the spring but not the drip-drip of the icicles, the only measure by which Socket could judge how far it had traveled from the edges as it was swallowed up by a white cloud. It realized, suddenly, that although its flies remained absent, it no longer felt alone. It felt, if anything, uncomfortably accompanied, and it lifted its nose in the air, unconcerned and aloof, at least outwardly, as the stone led it alongside a looming shape in the muggy air.
A sense of inevitability was following Socket now, as it scanned through its peripheral vision looking for the long barbels of the catfish and was inexplicably unnerved not to see them. Whatever it was that silently prowled alongside it, it was not the fish. It was something different, something silent and majestic, and something--it knew this--that was waiting for its moment to strike. The distant dripping of the icicles was almost inaudible now, and it wondered how large this pool could possibly be, how long this could--
The lunge of the fog was instantly accompanied by a searing heat as the stone was sent spiraling dizzyingly into the heart of the steam, and Socket, stunned and alarmed by what might have been the first painful experience of its afterlife, dropped it instantly, hearing the loud splash as it fell from some unimaginable height down into the water below. The dripping icicles were drowned out now by a roar of bubbling water, angry and abrupt, and Socket--truly terrified for the first time it could remember since changing--turned tail and bolted as fast as its stumpy legs could move, traversing the distance in what seemed like a much shorter time than should have been possible, given how long it had been walking through the steam. Its paws could not be burned, but nonetheless they pounded with heat and pain as it galloped away, and it longed for the mud it had washed off, cool and comforting, until it scrambled back up the ledge over which it had tumbled and landed in a puddle of the same, relief pouring over it.
For a long moment it simply sat in the welcoming, soothing mud, and had it a heart it would have pounded. But the longer it sat the more its curiosity grew, and tremulous, nervous, it lifted itself on one nervous paw and then another, to peep over the stones down into the hollow below.
The white shadow was moving through the steam, and something of it reminded Socket of the shape of a herd of deer, shoulders heaving in a morning fog, powerful and earthly despite its ephemeral shape. As more and more shapes emerged the impression was still stronger, and as they turned their faceless shapes towards it--how it knew this it was not sure, but it did--it ducked back down into the safety of obscurity on the other side of the stones, listening to the distant bubble of boiling water and the closer musical sound of the icicles.
It turned, finally, towards home, and it resisted an urge--powerful, but not powerful enough--to look back one more time, and to try and satisfy its curiosity as to what it had just done, and its troubled mind as to whether it had been wise.
A final, desperate climb, full of Socket's grumbling, and it heaved its sausage body over a last ledge, fully expecting to find the path still curling through steam and mud and melting snow and instead finding, to its startlement, that the stone instead opened up below it into a misty spring.
It paused, hesitating and experiencing for a brief moment an emotion that was nearly entirely alien to it: uncertainty. But the stone was insistent, silently urging it onwards, and so it slipped down a scree of icicles and pebbles and landed with a gentle splash in the shallows.
It was warm, dozy; as comfortable as a patch of sunlight on a brisk spring day, and it paused in a lazy-eyed contentment to watch the mud swirling off its paws and its sides into little fern-shapes in the water, matching the coils of mist above.
Still the stone urged it onwards, but it balked, flopping onto its back in the water, and then, righting itself clumsily, paddling lazily until its feet left the bottom, letting the warm currents push it in a gently spinning circle. It watched the sides of the bowl march in front of him, a constant panorama, and tried to ignore the ever insistent urging in its head until, finally, it realized that it was spinning a bit more than was comfortable. It thought of the cloud that spun over its head back in its own territory, the whirling aura of nausea that repulsed so many of the things it met, and it experienced a moment of what could only be described as sympathy (albeit no guilt) as the spinning approached something like vertigo, and finally, in the confines of its head, it shouted: FINE.
Disgusted and irritated, it popped back up to the surface, traipsing across the warm water as if it were the frozen pond, all businesslike once more and behaving as if this had been its plan all along. It almost would have looked convincing to an onlooker, too, were it not for a few fumbling dizzy steps until the world around it settled.
Any onlooker could not have observed for long, however. The mist grew thick, first oppressive, then opaque; the steam blocked out the walls of the spring but not the drip-drip of the icicles, the only measure by which Socket could judge how far it had traveled from the edges as it was swallowed up by a white cloud. It realized, suddenly, that although its flies remained absent, it no longer felt alone. It felt, if anything, uncomfortably accompanied, and it lifted its nose in the air, unconcerned and aloof, at least outwardly, as the stone led it alongside a looming shape in the muggy air.
A sense of inevitability was following Socket now, as it scanned through its peripheral vision looking for the long barbels of the catfish and was inexplicably unnerved not to see them. Whatever it was that silently prowled alongside it, it was not the fish. It was something different, something silent and majestic, and something--it knew this--that was waiting for its moment to strike. The distant dripping of the icicles was almost inaudible now, and it wondered how large this pool could possibly be, how long this could--
The lunge of the fog was instantly accompanied by a searing heat as the stone was sent spiraling dizzyingly into the heart of the steam, and Socket, stunned and alarmed by what might have been the first painful experience of its afterlife, dropped it instantly, hearing the loud splash as it fell from some unimaginable height down into the water below. The dripping icicles were drowned out now by a roar of bubbling water, angry and abrupt, and Socket--truly terrified for the first time it could remember since changing--turned tail and bolted as fast as its stumpy legs could move, traversing the distance in what seemed like a much shorter time than should have been possible, given how long it had been walking through the steam. Its paws could not be burned, but nonetheless they pounded with heat and pain as it galloped away, and it longed for the mud it had washed off, cool and comforting, until it scrambled back up the ledge over which it had tumbled and landed in a puddle of the same, relief pouring over it.
For a long moment it simply sat in the welcoming, soothing mud, and had it a heart it would have pounded. But the longer it sat the more its curiosity grew, and tremulous, nervous, it lifted itself on one nervous paw and then another, to peep over the stones down into the hollow below.
The white shadow was moving through the steam, and something of it reminded Socket of the shape of a herd of deer, shoulders heaving in a morning fog, powerful and earthly despite its ephemeral shape. As more and more shapes emerged the impression was still stronger, and as they turned their faceless shapes towards it--how it knew this it was not sure, but it did--it ducked back down into the safety of obscurity on the other side of the stones, listening to the distant bubble of boiling water and the closer musical sound of the icicles.
It turned, finally, towards home, and it resisted an urge--powerful, but not powerful enough--to look back one more time, and to try and satisfy its curiosity as to what it had just done, and its troubled mind as to whether it had been wise.
They left the familiar alpine tundra behind as they climbed higher and higher up the mountain. The snow eventually reached a point where it would have piled high atop either of their heads, had they continued to keep walking. Instead the pair levitated themselves up and began to glide over the snow like the nature ghosts they were, amusing themselves as they dangerously began to toss the stone back and forth to each other in a game of spiritual hot potato.
When the stone was passed back to him for the forty-fifth time, Steve held onto the stone as he considered the situation.
“Isn't it odd?" he asked at length, lowering the stone enough so that one part of it touched the snow. Using his telekinesis, he began to draw abstract lines and curls in the snow with the stone. “Even though we live on this mountain, we're going further up it than normal."
Interlude shrugged. She didn't have a reason to climb this high until now.
“But did you ever wonder?" Steve pressed on, “Did you ever look up and wonder what was up here?"
Interlude stopped to consider. She carefully approached the path they were following and peered over the edge, towards the familiar greens below. From here, her boundary and places that she knew looked so small. She honestly never had much reason to look up. There was already a lot to see at ground level, so many mysteries and squirrels to chase! But even then, she concluded, there seemed to be just as many things, if not even more, higher up in places she didn't expect.
The brown esk backed away from the cliff's edge, turning to look at Steve. She shot him an insult about his flowers budding. In return Steve flashed his crown enchantment at her, briefly dazzling her. He received a snowball at his backside in return.
At last they reached the top of the mountain, the two of them standing still and staring at the pools of water before them.
“It's... warm," Steve observed slowly. He passed the warming stone over to Interlude as he approached the water and dipped a paw in it. He sat down on the edge of the hot spring, contemplating the water. “Can you pass me the stone?"
Interlude brought the stone over to him, curious. Steve took the stone and set it down on the side of the pool. He watched it, then he flicked his paw forward and sent it into the pool with a splash! He reached out telekinetically, retrieving the warming stone and returning it to the side whereupon he pushed it in. This happened again, and again, and again.
Interlude wondered what he was doing. Steve slowly looked up at Interlude.
“I like pushing rocks into water," he confessed at last. “I like the way they splash. Do you want a turn?"
Interlude crept up beside him, eyeing the stone. She reached out with a paw and forced it forward, her false ears perking up as it splashed. Beside her, Steve retrieved the stone telekinetically, gesturing for her to do it again. She did. Then she retrieved it and let him have a go.
With a quick, unexpected movement, Steve instead opted to push Interlude into the pool where she fell in with a loud ker-SPLASH! The warming stone was completely forgotten on the edge of the pool as the pair turned their attention into a splash-battle, alternating between pushing and dunking each other into the warm water, completely unaware to the dark urgency that lay further on, into the thicker mists...
When the stone was passed back to him for the forty-fifth time, Steve held onto the stone as he considered the situation.
“Isn't it odd?" he asked at length, lowering the stone enough so that one part of it touched the snow. Using his telekinesis, he began to draw abstract lines and curls in the snow with the stone. “Even though we live on this mountain, we're going further up it than normal."
Interlude shrugged. She didn't have a reason to climb this high until now.
“But did you ever wonder?" Steve pressed on, “Did you ever look up and wonder what was up here?"
Interlude stopped to consider. She carefully approached the path they were following and peered over the edge, towards the familiar greens below. From here, her boundary and places that she knew looked so small. She honestly never had much reason to look up. There was already a lot to see at ground level, so many mysteries and squirrels to chase! But even then, she concluded, there seemed to be just as many things, if not even more, higher up in places she didn't expect.
The brown esk backed away from the cliff's edge, turning to look at Steve. She shot him an insult about his flowers budding. In return Steve flashed his crown enchantment at her, briefly dazzling her. He received a snowball at his backside in return.
At last they reached the top of the mountain, the two of them standing still and staring at the pools of water before them.
“It's... warm," Steve observed slowly. He passed the warming stone over to Interlude as he approached the water and dipped a paw in it. He sat down on the edge of the hot spring, contemplating the water. “Can you pass me the stone?"
Interlude brought the stone over to him, curious. Steve took the stone and set it down on the side of the pool. He watched it, then he flicked his paw forward and sent it into the pool with a splash! He reached out telekinetically, retrieving the warming stone and returning it to the side whereupon he pushed it in. This happened again, and again, and again.
Interlude wondered what he was doing. Steve slowly looked up at Interlude.
“I like pushing rocks into water," he confessed at last. “I like the way they splash. Do you want a turn?"
Interlude crept up beside him, eyeing the stone. She reached out with a paw and forced it forward, her false ears perking up as it splashed. Beside her, Steve retrieved the stone telekinetically, gesturing for her to do it again. She did. Then she retrieved it and let him have a go.
With a quick, unexpected movement, Steve instead opted to push Interlude into the pool where she fell in with a loud ker-SPLASH! The warming stone was completely forgotten on the edge of the pool as the pair turned their attention into a splash-battle, alternating between pushing and dunking each other into the warm water, completely unaware to the dark urgency that lay further on, into the thicker mists...
Propelled by a mysterious force, the stone led him forward, weaving among tress and rocks alike. It had no eyes, and yet it never led him astray, as though a map of the forest dwelt within its minerals. I’m afraid. Enok wanted to blurt, but all he could do was whimper, a pitiful noise lost amidst the sound of his feet crunching across the snow. They were going uphill, he realised, up towards the mountain that loomed above his woodland. I’ve never gone up there. He tried to send the thought to his guide, but whether or not the stone could hear him, the esk would never know.
The smoothness of their path did not last forever. The further Enok climbed, the more he began to fumble, tripping over stones and roots. He didn’t dare look down, for even if it wasn’t very steep, he’d never been a fan of heights, or of leaving home. In fact, the little esk had never strayed from his pond before, not even once. Perhaps there was a part of him that still hoped someone would come looking, that someday his mother would finally find him...
But the stone showed no concern for Enok’s worries. Even when a heavy blanket of snow began to fall, the rock persevered, possessed with a level of determination Enok could only dream of. The ground became slippery and sleek, hardly a safe surface to hurry upon, but Enok couldn’t break away. Even when he tried to stop, to throw his weight into a stance, the stone dragged him onward. Before long they had reached the top, a spot on the trail where the wind rushed so sharply that Enok could barely keep his eyes open. Simply put, it was scary, but when he heard the trickle of water, his curiosity sparked yet again.
Scooting forward, webbed feet inched towards a grey, rocky ledge, leading to a steamy waterfall. He’d never seen a hot spring before, but for the first time since following the stone, Enok was actually excited. Naturally drawn to water, he began to slide down the rocks with glee, a feeling which the stone quickly knocked out of him. As if determined to keep him focused, one look at it had his playful nature receding, shying back into a nervous messenger. Maybe after I do what it wants, I’ll be able to play...
Wading into the mist, Enok felt his entire body enveloped by warmth, a stark contrast to the chill he was accustomed to. This water was so much warmer than his pond, and his steps became slow, weighed down with hazy thoughts. As though sinking into a dream, a shape began to form in front of him, a dense silhouette made by steam. At first, he thought it might be friendly, perhaps another esk, but soon a glare began to emanate from its features, and Enok stopped moving all-together, frozen like a startled doe.
It didn’t seem to matter, for the ghostly form wasn’t deterred. Diving forward, it rushed into the stone, all at once merged with its material. Instinctively Enok let it go, flinching back as it sent a burst of heat–not heat like the sun, or even a flame, but a heat so searing it almost felt cold. Bubbles fizzled amidst the water as Enok stepped back, splashing as he tried to distance himself. What had once been curiosity had transformed into terror–fear smeared across his heart and sent him backward, stumbling and slipping as he tried to flee. He didn’t dare look back, not until he emerged from the spring and shook out his fur, melting the snow beneath his feet.
What have I done?! He shuddered as he craned his neck, daring to take a peek. To his great horror, the strange mist had multiplied, forming a silent crowd. Even when Enok darted away, he still saw their faces in his mind’s eye, haunting his memory all the way home.
The smoothness of their path did not last forever. The further Enok climbed, the more he began to fumble, tripping over stones and roots. He didn’t dare look down, for even if it wasn’t very steep, he’d never been a fan of heights, or of leaving home. In fact, the little esk had never strayed from his pond before, not even once. Perhaps there was a part of him that still hoped someone would come looking, that someday his mother would finally find him...
But the stone showed no concern for Enok’s worries. Even when a heavy blanket of snow began to fall, the rock persevered, possessed with a level of determination Enok could only dream of. The ground became slippery and sleek, hardly a safe surface to hurry upon, but Enok couldn’t break away. Even when he tried to stop, to throw his weight into a stance, the stone dragged him onward. Before long they had reached the top, a spot on the trail where the wind rushed so sharply that Enok could barely keep his eyes open. Simply put, it was scary, but when he heard the trickle of water, his curiosity sparked yet again.
Scooting forward, webbed feet inched towards a grey, rocky ledge, leading to a steamy waterfall. He’d never seen a hot spring before, but for the first time since following the stone, Enok was actually excited. Naturally drawn to water, he began to slide down the rocks with glee, a feeling which the stone quickly knocked out of him. As if determined to keep him focused, one look at it had his playful nature receding, shying back into a nervous messenger. Maybe after I do what it wants, I’ll be able to play...
Wading into the mist, Enok felt his entire body enveloped by warmth, a stark contrast to the chill he was accustomed to. This water was so much warmer than his pond, and his steps became slow, weighed down with hazy thoughts. As though sinking into a dream, a shape began to form in front of him, a dense silhouette made by steam. At first, he thought it might be friendly, perhaps another esk, but soon a glare began to emanate from its features, and Enok stopped moving all-together, frozen like a startled doe.
It didn’t seem to matter, for the ghostly form wasn’t deterred. Diving forward, it rushed into the stone, all at once merged with its material. Instinctively Enok let it go, flinching back as it sent a burst of heat–not heat like the sun, or even a flame, but a heat so searing it almost felt cold. Bubbles fizzled amidst the water as Enok stepped back, splashing as he tried to distance himself. What had once been curiosity had transformed into terror–fear smeared across his heart and sent him backward, stumbling and slipping as he tried to flee. He didn’t dare look back, not until he emerged from the spring and shook out his fur, melting the snow beneath his feet.
What have I done?! He shuddered as he craned his neck, daring to take a peek. To his great horror, the strange mist had multiplied, forming a silent crowd. Even when Enok darted away, he still saw their faces in his mind’s eye, haunting his memory all the way home.
There was a stone, nestling in a clump of papyrus reeds, radiating enough heat that it was no wonder they’d taken it for a fire. Mists swirled around it, and plumes of steam rose into the air above.
Qayyim still wasn’t pleased. “Is this some new human thing? It doesn’t look like any of their gadgets, but they do keep changing things.”
Princess eyed the mist-wreathed stone. “I’ve never seen something like this before. Do you think it could be a shooting star?”
“That would have left a crater, probably a really big one, and I don’t think it would still be this warm. What are you…” Qayyim moved in to interrupt, but Princess had already lifted the stone up, her telekinesis bringing it up level with her head. Qayyim moved in to help, but nothing seemed to change.
“Someone lost this? And they’d like it back?” Princess’ tone was cautious as she set the rock down again. “I think they want us to take it.”
Qayyim cautiously touched the stone with her paw, before quickly jerking it back when she felt the intense heat close to the surface of the rock. She backed away, and then cautiously tried lifting the stone.
Mist surrounded her, blotting out the shape of the papyrus, obscuring even the form of the river. A voice echoed through her head, hissing like boiling water. “It is stolen. Return it to me.”
“Well, it wasn’t stolen by me, and I’d quite like it off my nice river bank, but there’s no need to be rude about it,” she thought, trying to push her thoughts through the obscuring mist. There was no answer, but gradually the mist clouding her vision cleared. She could see her river once more, but sensed a subtle tugging from the stone, towards the red desert. The stone was communicative, even if its owner was not.
“I must return this to its owner,” Qayyim said solemnly. “I am not about to let stolen property rest on my land. But there is no such compulsion on you. You can return to the river, to await dusk and the coming of your foxes, if you wish.”
“I’m coming with you!” Princess protested. “I don’t think things should be stolen either, plus this is an adventure! I’ve always wanted to go on one of those.”
“If you are certain.” Qayyim was a little worried about whether her companion’s enthusiasm would last to the end of their journey, but...well, she could always teleport home when she grew tired or bored. For all that the transformation had taken from her, it had given some gifts that made millenia of duty seem a very worthwhile trade.
Qayyim still wasn’t pleased. “Is this some new human thing? It doesn’t look like any of their gadgets, but they do keep changing things.”
Princess eyed the mist-wreathed stone. “I’ve never seen something like this before. Do you think it could be a shooting star?”
“That would have left a crater, probably a really big one, and I don’t think it would still be this warm. What are you…” Qayyim moved in to interrupt, but Princess had already lifted the stone up, her telekinesis bringing it up level with her head. Qayyim moved in to help, but nothing seemed to change.
“Someone lost this? And they’d like it back?” Princess’ tone was cautious as she set the rock down again. “I think they want us to take it.”
Qayyim cautiously touched the stone with her paw, before quickly jerking it back when she felt the intense heat close to the surface of the rock. She backed away, and then cautiously tried lifting the stone.
Mist surrounded her, blotting out the shape of the papyrus, obscuring even the form of the river. A voice echoed through her head, hissing like boiling water. “It is stolen. Return it to me.”
“Well, it wasn’t stolen by me, and I’d quite like it off my nice river bank, but there’s no need to be rude about it,” she thought, trying to push her thoughts through the obscuring mist. There was no answer, but gradually the mist clouding her vision cleared. She could see her river once more, but sensed a subtle tugging from the stone, towards the red desert. The stone was communicative, even if its owner was not.
“I must return this to its owner,” Qayyim said solemnly. “I am not about to let stolen property rest on my land. But there is no such compulsion on you. You can return to the river, to await dusk and the coming of your foxes, if you wish.”
“I’m coming with you!” Princess protested. “I don’t think things should be stolen either, plus this is an adventure! I’ve always wanted to go on one of those.”
“If you are certain.” Qayyim was a little worried about whether her companion’s enthusiasm would last to the end of their journey, but...well, she could always teleport home when she grew tired or bored. For all that the transformation had taken from her, it had given some gifts that made millenia of duty seem a very worthwhile trade.
❦
Every so often Qayyim would drop the stone and pick it up again, or pass it to Princess to verify that she was getting pulled in the same direction, but it always went west, towards the setting sun and the land of the dead. Not that Qayyim really believed in the land of the dead, of course - after all, she was dead and she was still here, and the west was a perfectly normal stretch of land, full of fascinating museums where they tried to explain three millennia of her country’s history in a handful of rooms.
Yet, still, there was the sense of something otherworldly, the same sense she got when travelling to the conservatory, as if the same force that was guiding her steps was also pulling her across the landscape in a way which wasn’t quite normal. It was hard to tell, though, given the desert could be hard to navigate at the best of times, and Princess seemed totally unphased by any of it, not even breaking her stride or flow of questions.
When they arrived at a mountain, its peak hidden by clouds and the faintest flurries of snow touching them even as they stood as its base, she was certain. Something was not normal, and she was determined to find out why.
Yet, still, there was the sense of something otherworldly, the same sense she got when travelling to the conservatory, as if the same force that was guiding her steps was also pulling her across the landscape in a way which wasn’t quite normal. It was hard to tell, though, given the desert could be hard to navigate at the best of times, and Princess seemed totally unphased by any of it, not even breaking her stride or flow of questions.
When they arrived at a mountain, its peak hidden by clouds and the faintest flurries of snow touching them even as they stood as its base, she was certain. Something was not normal, and she was determined to find out why.
❦
The path up the mountain was barely worthy of the name. Though initially the way up was clear, a nice broad path that even a human wouldn’t have had trouble climbing, it rapidly decayed as they rose up the mountainside. Trails of water made the thin path slippery, though to Qayyim the warm water under her paws was welcome and both esk had the reassuring knowledge that nothing truly bad could happen to them even if they slipped and fell from the mountain.
The snow grey thicker, and the two esk could barely even tell where the pathway was, instead having to pick their way over any ground which offered a vaguely horizontal surface, though there were stretches where the warm water flowing over the mountainside was caught on the path and carved a trail through it, giving them a respite from picking their way through the snow.
The snow grey thicker, and the two esk could barely even tell where the pathway was, instead having to pick their way over any ground which offered a vaguely horizontal surface, though there were stretches where the warm water flowing over the mountainside was caught on the path and carved a trail through it, giving them a respite from picking their way through the snow.
❦
They continued on into the mists until they were shrouded themselves, unable to see their way back down the mountain or the path onward. They were now guided purely by the tug of the stone, which seemed stronger now that it was nearly home.
The path grew even worse, the stone pulling them up a nearly sheer rock face whose surface was rendered even more difficult by the sheet of water pouring down it. Qayyim floated herself up it, and then lifted the exhausted Princess up behind her. The young esk collapsed in relief when she landed on the solid snow.
Together, they looked across at the hot springs which nestled in the snow-covered mountain, mist billowing out from them, and both felt the same intuition that their journey was nearly over. Princess staggered to her hooves and practically threw herself into the hot spring. Qayyim got impressions of delight as her companion soaked in the water, reveling in the warmth. She dove in herself, and felt the warm water soothe her aching limbs, compounding the relief she always felt when returning to water. This was her home, even on this strange mountain, and here she could truly swim.
Qayyim dove forward, small legs tucked in as her whole body flexed, driving her through the water. Behind her she could feel the ungainly but enthusiastic splashing of Princess, but the stone pulled her on even more strongly now, and she swam forwards seeking the heart of the pools.
Here. It was here. Qayyim stopped as she felt a deep sense of familiarity and rightness, even amid the eerie mists. This was the heart of the pool, where the stone wanted to be. She drew herself out of the water and felt Princess splash up behind her.
In the mists ahead, a shape was forming. Both esk shrank back as a wave of anger washed over them. The shape in the mists resembled a cobra, hood flared and about to strike.
And then it struck forward, hitting the stone and then disappearing into it, ghostly form vanishing as sank into the stone.
Even through her telekinetic hold, Qayyim suddenly felt the stone become far too hot to hold. Searing pain ripped through her for a moment, and then she dropped the stone. That only transferred the problem. The water in the hot springs, once pleasantly warm, started to seethe and boil. Both esk shot out of the water and into the air above it, but that was full of scalding steam. Anger flowed over them from the water, a rage beyond words, though at what they couldn’t say.
Nothing touched them, nothing could touch them, but still the fear and pain ran through them, and both esks fled the pools, paws running over thin air like solid ground, the terror of the moment wiping the possibility of simply teleporting home from their minds.
At last they reached the snow covered land once more, and turned to look back and the hotsprings they had been forced to flee. The mists shifted and twisted, morphing into insubstantial forms like the ones they had seen at the center of the pools.
Later, when they discussed what they had seen, both esk would be surprised at how they both saw such different creatures in the mist. It didn’t bothered Princess, but it would leave Qayyim with weeks worth of research to do to try to understand what they had encountered.
In the pale mists Princess had seen the creatures from her past. A fox, rotten and being eaten by maggots, that she had found one day when investigating what she thought was a sleeping animal. The gigantic cobra that an evil vizier transformed into, and the hunched form of a merciless lion. All the creatures from her childhood stories were there, wicked queens and scheming fairies, and this chipped a very small hole in the memories of her human life that she had constructed for herself, because she could remember watching the stories on a black screen, sitting cross legged on the floor to get even closer to her heroes, and that did not match at all with the elaborate palace she knew she had lived in. But for the moment, the contradiction was small enough for her to ignore, and so she did.
Qayyim had seen creatures of her own past, the animal-headed gods of Ancient Egypt and worse, the pharaohs who had ruled on earth and demanded their servants die with them so that they would be tended to in the afterlife as they had on earth. There was Set, with the strange head that was part jackal, part aardvark and part donkey, plotting violence as always, and the rulers, deciding how best to ensure their legacy with sacrifice or forced labor.
But for the moment, each esk had only their own view of the forms in the mist, though that was enough to make them want to leave as quickly as possible. They both shared one thought - an image of the river where they had met that morning - and then vanished from the mountain as they fled back to somewhere familiar and safe.
The path grew even worse, the stone pulling them up a nearly sheer rock face whose surface was rendered even more difficult by the sheet of water pouring down it. Qayyim floated herself up it, and then lifted the exhausted Princess up behind her. The young esk collapsed in relief when she landed on the solid snow.
Together, they looked across at the hot springs which nestled in the snow-covered mountain, mist billowing out from them, and both felt the same intuition that their journey was nearly over. Princess staggered to her hooves and practically threw herself into the hot spring. Qayyim got impressions of delight as her companion soaked in the water, reveling in the warmth. She dove in herself, and felt the warm water soothe her aching limbs, compounding the relief she always felt when returning to water. This was her home, even on this strange mountain, and here she could truly swim.
Qayyim dove forward, small legs tucked in as her whole body flexed, driving her through the water. Behind her she could feel the ungainly but enthusiastic splashing of Princess, but the stone pulled her on even more strongly now, and she swam forwards seeking the heart of the pools.
Here. It was here. Qayyim stopped as she felt a deep sense of familiarity and rightness, even amid the eerie mists. This was the heart of the pool, where the stone wanted to be. She drew herself out of the water and felt Princess splash up behind her.
In the mists ahead, a shape was forming. Both esk shrank back as a wave of anger washed over them. The shape in the mists resembled a cobra, hood flared and about to strike.
And then it struck forward, hitting the stone and then disappearing into it, ghostly form vanishing as sank into the stone.
Even through her telekinetic hold, Qayyim suddenly felt the stone become far too hot to hold. Searing pain ripped through her for a moment, and then she dropped the stone. That only transferred the problem. The water in the hot springs, once pleasantly warm, started to seethe and boil. Both esk shot out of the water and into the air above it, but that was full of scalding steam. Anger flowed over them from the water, a rage beyond words, though at what they couldn’t say.
Nothing touched them, nothing could touch them, but still the fear and pain ran through them, and both esks fled the pools, paws running over thin air like solid ground, the terror of the moment wiping the possibility of simply teleporting home from their minds.
At last they reached the snow covered land once more, and turned to look back and the hotsprings they had been forced to flee. The mists shifted and twisted, morphing into insubstantial forms like the ones they had seen at the center of the pools.
Later, when they discussed what they had seen, both esk would be surprised at how they both saw such different creatures in the mist. It didn’t bothered Princess, but it would leave Qayyim with weeks worth of research to do to try to understand what they had encountered.
In the pale mists Princess had seen the creatures from her past. A fox, rotten and being eaten by maggots, that she had found one day when investigating what she thought was a sleeping animal. The gigantic cobra that an evil vizier transformed into, and the hunched form of a merciless lion. All the creatures from her childhood stories were there, wicked queens and scheming fairies, and this chipped a very small hole in the memories of her human life that she had constructed for herself, because she could remember watching the stories on a black screen, sitting cross legged on the floor to get even closer to her heroes, and that did not match at all with the elaborate palace she knew she had lived in. But for the moment, the contradiction was small enough for her to ignore, and so she did.
Qayyim had seen creatures of her own past, the animal-headed gods of Ancient Egypt and worse, the pharaohs who had ruled on earth and demanded their servants die with them so that they would be tended to in the afterlife as they had on earth. There was Set, with the strange head that was part jackal, part aardvark and part donkey, plotting violence as always, and the rulers, deciding how best to ensure their legacy with sacrifice or forced labor.
But for the moment, each esk had only their own view of the forms in the mist, though that was enough to make them want to leave as quickly as possible. They both shared one thought - an image of the river where they had met that morning - and then vanished from the mountain as they fled back to somewhere familiar and safe.
Before her in the mist more shapes formed, writhing and twisting around each other like a large gathering. Many eyes turned towards her, or were they eyes? She wasn't sure, the silhouettes having barely more than a couple of white glimmers that occasionally seemed to blink.
Princess cowered, pressing herself close to the rocky outcropping, at once terrified and frozen. Would they come after her if she moved or would they let her go? Thoughts swirled through her mind like snowflakes caught in a blizzard, at once complete and fragmented, hurried and complex. As she huddled, her fear only grew more intense as the feelings of anger reached out towards her from the pool. If she ran as fast as she could maybe they wouldn't be able to keep up, or even better, maybe they were bound to the pond in some strange manner? She tried to shake the fear off, but it was too strong, permeating her entire being deep into her chest and limbs. She felt the fluttering of her energy, and the snowflakes landing on her face felt like something she had once felt like human. Blinking away tears then like she were now. She crouched up even tighter, curling into a small ball full of emotions, hiding herself completely behind the outcropping, trying desperately to calm her emotions enough to stage an escape.
As on edge as she was she noticed instantly when the hissing sound of the pool changed, it seemed to almost add another tone to it. Carefully she peeked around the edge of the outcropping. One of the shadowy figures had pulled itself up on the edge of the spring, melting the snowdrift with the heat of its steam body.
It was at this moment that fear overtook Princess, and she ran. Stumbling on rocks and through snow she dashed down the mountain faster than she had ever gone before. Snow gathered on her face and she blinked it away, wishing gone the fragments of memories of the time before. Cursing at herself for being so gullible as to believe all things found would want her well. Next time she wouldn't be so easy to trick.
Princess cowered, pressing herself close to the rocky outcropping, at once terrified and frozen. Would they come after her if she moved or would they let her go? Thoughts swirled through her mind like snowflakes caught in a blizzard, at once complete and fragmented, hurried and complex. As she huddled, her fear only grew more intense as the feelings of anger reached out towards her from the pool. If she ran as fast as she could maybe they wouldn't be able to keep up, or even better, maybe they were bound to the pond in some strange manner? She tried to shake the fear off, but it was too strong, permeating her entire being deep into her chest and limbs. She felt the fluttering of her energy, and the snowflakes landing on her face felt like something she had once felt like human. Blinking away tears then like she were now. She crouched up even tighter, curling into a small ball full of emotions, hiding herself completely behind the outcropping, trying desperately to calm her emotions enough to stage an escape.
As on edge as she was she noticed instantly when the hissing sound of the pool changed, it seemed to almost add another tone to it. Carefully she peeked around the edge of the outcropping. One of the shadowy figures had pulled itself up on the edge of the spring, melting the snowdrift with the heat of its steam body.
It was at this moment that fear overtook Princess, and she ran. Stumbling on rocks and through snow she dashed down the mountain faster than she had ever gone before. Snow gathered on her face and she blinked it away, wishing gone the fragments of memories of the time before. Cursing at herself for being so gullible as to believe all things found would want her well. Next time she wouldn't be so easy to trick.
you have shared many tales about your travels.
your fear, your confusion, your hate.
you felt the pull, you heeded her call.
did you know that she was listening?
your fear, your confusion, your hate.
you felt the pull, you heeded her call.
did you know that she was listening?
relationships & interactions
wip wip wip
nobody has made the journey twice.
aloof esk, mysterious in her mannerisms
if she deems you worthy, she will grant you audience? whose who aren't will face her wrath? overwhelming, lingering yearning. who or what is she looking for?
She appears at any hot springs around the globe. Was she waiting for you?
nobody has made the journey twice.
aloof esk, mysterious in her mannerisms
if she deems you worthy, she will grant you audience? whose who aren't will face her wrath? overwhelming, lingering yearning. who or what is she looking for?
She appears at any hot springs around the globe. Was she waiting for you?
transformations
Currently 595 is unavailable to be used for transformations or as a creator esk.
appearances
You are free to incorporate 595 in your stories as you see fit. All art, interactions, and writing are welcome.
Her motivations for her actions are obscure, so your esk may interpret them in any way they choose.
Her motivations for her actions are obscure, so your esk may interpret them in any way they choose.
inspiration
image credits
header image: zoomutt
profile pixel: dearcervid
waterways art and writing posted with the permission of each creator.
profile pixel: dearcervid
waterways art and writing posted with the permission of each creator.
