Post by Anna on Jan 1, 2021 23:37:58 GMT -6
[TW: CHILD DEATH]
A child's cry.
Anna's head perked up, eyes searching, ears forward. Anna, the Huntress, the Mother of this forest and caretaker of this home, and the children within.
She picked up her little hatchet, putting it down in her belt, and walked to where the sound was coming from, eyes searching and picking out anything that could be clothing, a bottle, a trail. She had to find this child very quickly before the many dangers of the forest came for them. Her feet, bare, covered ground quickly, bringing her closer and closer to the sound of the crying.
Finally, she found the source, a small child, no more than 6, sitting on the ground, eyes squeezed shut as tears streamed down the small, red face, and the mouth wide open as he wailed, and wailed. Anna walked closer, adjusting her belt so that her hatchets and her axe were not the first thing this young one would see. As Anna squatted down, she saw snot trailing down his face, and Anna's heart ached. This little one needed safety, quickly and swiftly. She began to hum as she inched forward, picking up the little boy and cradling him close to her chest.
The child abruptly stopped crying, staring up at Anna with shock, tears still streaming and mouth remaining wide open. The large woman gave him a soft, reassuring smile, holding him to her securely and rocking him back and forth for a moment. The movement seemed to reassure him, as his mouth closed and he sniffled, curling in closer to her. Anna gave his forehead a kiss, her cracked lips brushing against the young boy's head. He hiccupped, wiping his nose with his sleeve, and let Anna carry him, reassured by the lullaby passed down now two generations. It was not long before the boy was fast asleep in Anna's arms, and she held him close and secure, her heart swelling two sizes as she finally felt worth something.
Anna held her head, the short hair brushing her fingers as she frantically searched through her house to find something, anything, to stop the little boy's wails of agony. She had secured him by the fireplace, of course, water nearby so that he would not die like many plants had before she ferreted out the problem. The wailing, though, Anna had yet to figure out, and the screams echoed in her ears as she began to cry. It was a mix of frustration and sadness, her heart hurting for this little boy she could not seem to help for two days now. His voice sounded almost hoarse, the only reprieve from the crying being when the boy exhausted himself and fell asleep under a pelt, next to the warm fire.
The crying pulled at Anna's heart, like it always had, but it had more agony attached this time, as Anna struggled to make sure this boy did not end up like the rest. She tried offering him some of her food, but the boy had taken it and thrown it into the fire, and Anna ensured to not make that mistake again; food was not to be wasted in her household. She clutched her ears as tears streamed down her face, slipping into the cracks of her dry face, parts damaged from frostbite and fighting animals twice her weight. It stung every piece of her face, her lips, her cheeks, as the tears came faster and faster as she let out a low, pained groan, her chest aching as if there was a hole the size of her lungs. Breath would not come clearly enough, it would not satiate her air-hungry chest as she heaved with each sob.
It was happening again. Not again. Not again. This time had to be different, this boy had to be different, it had to be different.
Three days later.
Anna's mind remained blank, having forced itself out of reality as she buried another little one in the graveyard she kept just outside the bounds of what she considered to be her part of this forest. Her hands, raw from the calluses being picked off, rubbed against the poorly made shovel, the wood splintering off into raw skin as Anna continued to dig.
The boy's... body. The body. The body laid to the side, lifeless, as it waited for the burial Anna deemed it deserved.
Anna's mind faded in and out, the work keeping her body busy as she agonized in the corner of her mind where she sat, rocking back and forth and back and forth as she denied reality. She tried everything. She tried keeping the fire going, which caused her to go through wood at a much quicker pace, and she tried keeping him warm with as many pelts as she could find, keeping the water receptacle halfway full whenever she saw it dip low. She tried everything she knew how to do; it hurt. It hurt that it was still not good enough--was Anna herself not good enough?
Is that why this kept happening?
She watched as her body cradled the body, brushed the hair out of his face, and gave him a tender kiss to the head as she lowered him into the grave that she would cover with rocks so that other animals wouldn't be able to hurt the body that carried the boy she loved with her entire heart. She watched as her body moved with rhythm, and ease, completing a task she knew well, much to her chagrin.
Once the body was buried, adequately covered, and she placed a flower on top, Anna finally came to the forefront of her own mind. She sank to her knees, letting out a blood-curdling scream, clutching her head harder than when she struggled all this time. The pain reminded her she was real, that her pain was real, and she collapsed on the forest floor, screaming and sobbing as her entire body hurt with the loss of another one. She pulled at her hair, her shirt, her belt, chest heaving.
Her throat eventually grew raw, her voice hoarse, and then it went out, a whisper remaining that burned her throat as air passed through. Her hands scrabbled at the dirt, finally holding onto a rock that fit in the palm of her hand, reminding her what the little boy's hand felt like when she held it on his worse nights.
This pain never stopped, and it always drove her closer to the edge of madness she could not come back from.
The next day, Anna's hands shook as she held an old, rusted razor in her hand, struggling to keep her eyes on her reflection in the body of water she knelt in front of.
This was a ritual that must be completed each time; take off the old hair, the old pain, the old ache, and make way to grow something new, something better. Something that would eventually be good enough for Anna. Something that would make her a better mother.
She wet the razor, placed it on the ground, and cupped the freezing water in her hands, bringing it up to wet her hair. She did this one, two, three times, ensuring all her hair was wet, and she picked up the razor once again.
She let out a deep breath, one she was holding, and brought it to her widow's peak (aptly named) and dragged it back, the razor cutting only half of her hair. She dipped it, brought it back up, and dragged it across her scalp again and again until her other hand could feel nothing but her own skin, and the dozen nicks the razor always caused. Her eyes refocused on her reflection, her head bald, and she shivered as the breeze passed by.
Never again she would let this happen. She would do better next time.
A week passed.
Anna rose from her slumber, but something... something was different. The air that once passed through regularly, bringing fresh smells, fresh cold air, was now stale. Something in her home was decidedly different, and she felt fear coursing through her person as she apprehensively slipped on her overalls, axe in hand, and ventured outside her cottage to investigate what was so different.
Anna looked around, and the difference was immediately obvious; there was now a strange wall around her forest, and a dim sky beyond, betraying nothing except an empty, never-ending space. She looked to her left and saw a gate; it was open, and there were simple weeds that lay beyond, but nothing that said that she should go that way. In fact, she felt a distinct wrong feeling as she walked toward it, getting closer and closer. She passed through the initial doorway, her hair standing on end, and took another step--
Large sticks, sharp as sin, shot up from the ground across the opening, scaring Anna into taking several steps back as she let out a shriek. As she receded, so did the sticks, sinking back into the ground. Anna eyed the ground, seamless, and stepped forward again, watching her own parameters as the sticks (made of... wood? Metal?) shot up again, blocking her path to the outside. Anna shivered, the rods looking like they could run her through if she wasn't careful where she stepped. She took the last half step to them, bringing a shaking hand to the sharp tip to see how sharp it really was. It was a dull kind of point, not one that could just rip through her hand easily, and it was cold, much like everything else she could see and feel here. She looked out the opening, around, just to see if she could spot anything of use to allow her out of here. Besides the very distant light of what must have been a burn barrel, there was nothing besides weeds and wheat moving in the breeze that wasn't quite... there.
Anna turned around. She walked back to her cottage, inspecting everything inside and ensuring it was all the same. It was, except for it felt... off, and not quite what she always had. The smoking house revealed the same, the woodchips and charcoal in the same spot, but not quite... what she always had.
Anna decided after the investigation to go back to bed, hoping that rest would fix the dread sitting in her collarbone.
Every day consistent, now. The same.
Anna squat down for a moment, touching the dirt. She brought it up to her nose, sniffing, then brushed it off onto her overalls. This time, the dirt, nothing. Tomorrow, perhaps, something. Perhaps something would change in her little realm she now called home.
Her eyes flit around the forest, taking in each sight individually and piecing it all together to reveal that there was no food for her at this moment, and nothing she could hunt or use besides the wild vegetables that grew around her house. The walls, covered in vines, stood around her realm as always, now giving Anna a reassurance that nothing could bring in the danger that she was used to in her old life. Her home, her cottage, was safe, no soldiers around anymore to try to hack off her head or take the land that was hers. Now, it was just the same, day in, day out. Consistent.
Straightening back up, Bear took a few steps and twirled her hatchet, slinging it back into the holster. She began to hum, body in the same wide stance she always took, ears keen on her surroundings as she took in the sight of the forest floor. She saw what she thought was a glint of black hair in the forest and smirked, pulling her axe out of its loop, and swung it in a circle, her low voice picking up the ever-familiar hum of the Huntresses Lullaby.
Same day, same routine, same people who walk in and never get to leave.
Serves them right for betraying the sanctity of her home.
A child's cry.
Anna's head perked up, eyes searching, ears forward. Anna, the Huntress, the Mother of this forest and caretaker of this home, and the children within.
She picked up her little hatchet, putting it down in her belt, and walked to where the sound was coming from, eyes searching and picking out anything that could be clothing, a bottle, a trail. She had to find this child very quickly before the many dangers of the forest came for them. Her feet, bare, covered ground quickly, bringing her closer and closer to the sound of the crying.
Finally, she found the source, a small child, no more than 6, sitting on the ground, eyes squeezed shut as tears streamed down the small, red face, and the mouth wide open as he wailed, and wailed. Anna walked closer, adjusting her belt so that her hatchets and her axe were not the first thing this young one would see. As Anna squatted down, she saw snot trailing down his face, and Anna's heart ached. This little one needed safety, quickly and swiftly. She began to hum as she inched forward, picking up the little boy and cradling him close to her chest.
The child abruptly stopped crying, staring up at Anna with shock, tears still streaming and mouth remaining wide open. The large woman gave him a soft, reassuring smile, holding him to her securely and rocking him back and forth for a moment. The movement seemed to reassure him, as his mouth closed and he sniffled, curling in closer to her. Anna gave his forehead a kiss, her cracked lips brushing against the young boy's head. He hiccupped, wiping his nose with his sleeve, and let Anna carry him, reassured by the lullaby passed down now two generations. It was not long before the boy was fast asleep in Anna's arms, and she held him close and secure, her heart swelling two sizes as she finally felt worth something.
Anna held her head, the short hair brushing her fingers as she frantically searched through her house to find something, anything, to stop the little boy's wails of agony. She had secured him by the fireplace, of course, water nearby so that he would not die like many plants had before she ferreted out the problem. The wailing, though, Anna had yet to figure out, and the screams echoed in her ears as she began to cry. It was a mix of frustration and sadness, her heart hurting for this little boy she could not seem to help for two days now. His voice sounded almost hoarse, the only reprieve from the crying being when the boy exhausted himself and fell asleep under a pelt, next to the warm fire.
The crying pulled at Anna's heart, like it always had, but it had more agony attached this time, as Anna struggled to make sure this boy did not end up like the rest. She tried offering him some of her food, but the boy had taken it and thrown it into the fire, and Anna ensured to not make that mistake again; food was not to be wasted in her household. She clutched her ears as tears streamed down her face, slipping into the cracks of her dry face, parts damaged from frostbite and fighting animals twice her weight. It stung every piece of her face, her lips, her cheeks, as the tears came faster and faster as she let out a low, pained groan, her chest aching as if there was a hole the size of her lungs. Breath would not come clearly enough, it would not satiate her air-hungry chest as she heaved with each sob.
It was happening again. Not again. Not again. This time had to be different, this boy had to be different, it had to be different.
Three days later.
Anna's mind remained blank, having forced itself out of reality as she buried another little one in the graveyard she kept just outside the bounds of what she considered to be her part of this forest. Her hands, raw from the calluses being picked off, rubbed against the poorly made shovel, the wood splintering off into raw skin as Anna continued to dig.
The boy's... body. The body. The body laid to the side, lifeless, as it waited for the burial Anna deemed it deserved.
Anna's mind faded in and out, the work keeping her body busy as she agonized in the corner of her mind where she sat, rocking back and forth and back and forth as she denied reality. She tried everything. She tried keeping the fire going, which caused her to go through wood at a much quicker pace, and she tried keeping him warm with as many pelts as she could find, keeping the water receptacle halfway full whenever she saw it dip low. She tried everything she knew how to do; it hurt. It hurt that it was still not good enough--was Anna herself not good enough?
Is that why this kept happening?
She watched as her body cradled the body, brushed the hair out of his face, and gave him a tender kiss to the head as she lowered him into the grave that she would cover with rocks so that other animals wouldn't be able to hurt the body that carried the boy she loved with her entire heart. She watched as her body moved with rhythm, and ease, completing a task she knew well, much to her chagrin.
Once the body was buried, adequately covered, and she placed a flower on top, Anna finally came to the forefront of her own mind. She sank to her knees, letting out a blood-curdling scream, clutching her head harder than when she struggled all this time. The pain reminded her she was real, that her pain was real, and she collapsed on the forest floor, screaming and sobbing as her entire body hurt with the loss of another one. She pulled at her hair, her shirt, her belt, chest heaving.
Her throat eventually grew raw, her voice hoarse, and then it went out, a whisper remaining that burned her throat as air passed through. Her hands scrabbled at the dirt, finally holding onto a rock that fit in the palm of her hand, reminding her what the little boy's hand felt like when she held it on his worse nights.
This pain never stopped, and it always drove her closer to the edge of madness she could not come back from.
The next day, Anna's hands shook as she held an old, rusted razor in her hand, struggling to keep her eyes on her reflection in the body of water she knelt in front of.
This was a ritual that must be completed each time; take off the old hair, the old pain, the old ache, and make way to grow something new, something better. Something that would eventually be good enough for Anna. Something that would make her a better mother.
She wet the razor, placed it on the ground, and cupped the freezing water in her hands, bringing it up to wet her hair. She did this one, two, three times, ensuring all her hair was wet, and she picked up the razor once again.
She let out a deep breath, one she was holding, and brought it to her widow's peak (aptly named) and dragged it back, the razor cutting only half of her hair. She dipped it, brought it back up, and dragged it across her scalp again and again until her other hand could feel nothing but her own skin, and the dozen nicks the razor always caused. Her eyes refocused on her reflection, her head bald, and she shivered as the breeze passed by.
Never again she would let this happen. She would do better next time.
A week passed.
Anna rose from her slumber, but something... something was different. The air that once passed through regularly, bringing fresh smells, fresh cold air, was now stale. Something in her home was decidedly different, and she felt fear coursing through her person as she apprehensively slipped on her overalls, axe in hand, and ventured outside her cottage to investigate what was so different.
Anna looked around, and the difference was immediately obvious; there was now a strange wall around her forest, and a dim sky beyond, betraying nothing except an empty, never-ending space. She looked to her left and saw a gate; it was open, and there were simple weeds that lay beyond, but nothing that said that she should go that way. In fact, she felt a distinct wrong feeling as she walked toward it, getting closer and closer. She passed through the initial doorway, her hair standing on end, and took another step--
Large sticks, sharp as sin, shot up from the ground across the opening, scaring Anna into taking several steps back as she let out a shriek. As she receded, so did the sticks, sinking back into the ground. Anna eyed the ground, seamless, and stepped forward again, watching her own parameters as the sticks (made of... wood? Metal?) shot up again, blocking her path to the outside. Anna shivered, the rods looking like they could run her through if she wasn't careful where she stepped. She took the last half step to them, bringing a shaking hand to the sharp tip to see how sharp it really was. It was a dull kind of point, not one that could just rip through her hand easily, and it was cold, much like everything else she could see and feel here. She looked out the opening, around, just to see if she could spot anything of use to allow her out of here. Besides the very distant light of what must have been a burn barrel, there was nothing besides weeds and wheat moving in the breeze that wasn't quite... there.
Anna turned around. She walked back to her cottage, inspecting everything inside and ensuring it was all the same. It was, except for it felt... off, and not quite what she always had. The smoking house revealed the same, the woodchips and charcoal in the same spot, but not quite... what she always had.
Anna decided after the investigation to go back to bed, hoping that rest would fix the dread sitting in her collarbone.
Every day consistent, now. The same.
Anna squat down for a moment, touching the dirt. She brought it up to her nose, sniffing, then brushed it off onto her overalls. This time, the dirt, nothing. Tomorrow, perhaps, something. Perhaps something would change in her little realm she now called home.
Her eyes flit around the forest, taking in each sight individually and piecing it all together to reveal that there was no food for her at this moment, and nothing she could hunt or use besides the wild vegetables that grew around her house. The walls, covered in vines, stood around her realm as always, now giving Anna a reassurance that nothing could bring in the danger that she was used to in her old life. Her home, her cottage, was safe, no soldiers around anymore to try to hack off her head or take the land that was hers. Now, it was just the same, day in, day out. Consistent.
Straightening back up, Bear took a few steps and twirled her hatchet, slinging it back into the holster. She began to hum, body in the same wide stance she always took, ears keen on her surroundings as she took in the sight of the forest floor. She saw what she thought was a glint of black hair in the forest and smirked, pulling her axe out of its loop, and swung it in a circle, her low voice picking up the ever-familiar hum of the Huntresses Lullaby.
Same day, same routine, same people who walk in and never get to leave.
Serves them right for betraying the sanctity of her home.