Dawn, Sunrise

 The feel of her skin on my lips stayed with me. It was something so lost. Delicate, tender. My breath shortened at the very thought. Though, now, cold plumes of my breath came from my mouth. The town was cold and unlit. The darkness once again surrounded me, beckoning me into its unsafety. The gravel crunched. A light wind tugged at my cloak. Strength coursed through my tired bones. My rucksack chugged behind me. It was a dialogue of dark uncertainty between us. I kept thought that I would come back to her close. I would go, find him, and come back. Closure was all that was needed now. I knew I didn’t have long left. So, I walked on. I had to. The wicked determination fought with the longing for touch. No unity was found.

A stone archway was a portal to the mountains. I passed it without thought. The idea shook through me to my old heart. He had been here. He had known I was here. He had sought me out, and now, the circle will be complete again. When had the last full moon been, anyway? The affirmation of my staff kept me stable. The incline was steep, marked out by where land had fallen through. Yannie’s lamp guided me. The sheep slept undisturbed.

I followed Yannie’s instructions. There was no questioning her, and by the time I had reached the birch youngling trees, far, far over the plains to the east, those empty green fields -- the sky beckoned blue, the overture of sunrise. I dimmed the light. The trees were spaced apart, the forested grounds giving way to easier terrain. My old boots, still warmed by the fire, moved with eager grace. I felt no hunger, no, not any more. Those clouds had long passed. Approaching the mountains, I sought to let it all go. The thought of it, Yannie’s warmth, my own quiet, washed over me. The core of my being was quiet. My hand shook a little more as I walked on.

An hour had passed, the sunrise still uncertain about it’s arrival. I had hoped it would have come by now. My eyes were weary enough, let alone through the dark. I had stopped, by that point. The birch woods were thinning, giving way to trees more fitted for the cold. No shrines could be seen in the unclear dawn. The cold was making itself known. Rushing from all directions, unsettling all around me. No climbing, luckily. No shrine, unluckily. The trees shook. A broken moment passed. I was still. Birds had not began to caw yet, and foxes were still very much awake. The smell ofr morning dew began to rise from the earth. Yet, there was more than natural movement.
I clutched my charms. They stopped their usual tune. The sunrise still waited. My breath quietened as the only dawn that came was the thought that I was not truly alone. What had told me that, I was not sure. Intuition comes to you in those later years, in the moments where they are most needed. My eyes could not see. I was waiting. I tilted the staff down, gentle enough, and placed the glowing lamp on the ground. I resumed breathing, stepping away carefully. Sudden movement came from behind me, as soon as I stood back. I could not turn in time to see, but the sound of steel tearing. My joints, I remember so clearly, screamed in pain for everything that was happening. We had resigned from this, long ago. But here I was, ambushed! I was sure the steel had struck me, that bandits had taken my life at once.
A voice bellowed from behind, gruff and enraged, ‘Bitch! Hag!’
I pivoted, taking my staff and swiping at head height. The skull and staff collided with full force. Unsheathing came from behind me. I turned. A man with a knife faced me. I stepped back. He stared. Through the darkness of night and earth itself I will not forget that stare. How darker those clouds had been. How he looked. How I had seen it all before, the ruined nostalgia it had emerged within me. The knife in his hands, he stood. I could not retaliate to his threat. A boot struck my back. I fell quickly. The dirt made an uncomfortable bed. I felt a boot, pressed against the temple of my skull. The smell of shit stayed in my hair.
The words they said all sounded the same. I did not cry. The feelings were not there. No, they had been gone a long time since, and so, I lay on the ground. I knew I was safe, from the beginning. I knew that this would not be my passing. All that there was, was escape. Identity seeped from the ground and into the earth. They kicked me. Again and again, until I coughed blood. It hurt so deeply. They spat on me. Bruised me. The pain was unbearable. Of course, I cried. How could I have not? My lips spat blood. My charms stayed clutched in my hands. I knew how no words would save me. And still, she at last, heard my final call.

Dawn broke. I screamed. The blue finally gave way, the sky relentlessly illuminated with the full fury of a dying wizard. I felt heat, anger. A full fury took its full force around me. I screamed, deeper and deeper, until I had forgone all voice and all heart. I burned it all away. No more words, no more knowing. I cast, there upon the two. Something of me touched them. I saw it briefly. Rytt had knew. But, now, they burned. I stood above the burning trees. I walked upon the light of the sun itself. I burned. I scorned. The flames of my heart, of my soul, such a thing I had to leave unfettered returned to me. My eyes burned, my heart turned to ash. My body, bruised and defiled for so long, so known to be mutilated and ruined, scored them with anger. The trees burned with the knowing sunlight, their ash rising into the air. I hovered, still. My head was hollow. I was comforted in its silence. Pure, all knowing sunlight. The dying breaths of summer filled me. Every beat of my anguished heart let out my denied reckoning.

The medallion of the sun had burned in the moment. The promise had been fulfilled, and such, I buried the ashes nearby. Fever would come soon, and by judgement of the clouds, as would snow.

The lantern had been lost. I kept the container of oil in my pocket. The amberwood felt different in my hand. My rucksack was shredded. We walked on, cold and exhausted. The shrine was but ash now. I saw the two mountains, the greater gate into the valley. I approached them, their snow-capped slopes with no question. I had to walk on. The charms jangled carelessly. 

I thought of the watcher who gave me the medallion. They were twice my age. Their parent had watched it, and the parent before them. Their long, burned robes. How they had passed it to me, with a look of knowing. As though they had never known anything more certain. Falling deep into storming oceans and the warmth of this one charm keeping us all alive. How had it looked when it had been cut of Topaz? And, all those years, worn by the sun. Why had they given it to me? All the hundreds of years for the strange symbols on it to form, and I never knew it would come to me. My memory of it had already faded. The colours were unclear and its black, deep stone made no sense to my mind. Still, it served to restore all around me.
I stayed warm for the remainder of the incline. The cold had forgotten about me. Or, a warmth was leaving me a final gift. The day was clear, a polemic sort of sunlight. I would never forget that autumn sun.