Heartleaf Creek Let My Change to Ruin Be...

<b>Kay! says,</b> I really must stress that you don't have to meet the length of my post; please don't feel daunted! It's nothing but rambling, anyway. :3

“Be still…” The wind’s gentle sonnet caressed his erect auds. She sang her woes to him. She sang of her loneliness, her desires, her cries, her screams, her past, her future… She was his companion, and he was her’s. They would bond together as an element: vicious and tactful in its nature -- victim to it. Such a binding was unheard of. To wed the wind to a mortal was against the commandments of life. But what sense did these rules make? The more barricades you latch around the sea, the more the ocean will try to break it. This was the same for the courting gentleman and the breeze. Forever they would whisper to each other. It had happened the day she’d filled his lungs for the very first time with her life, and would end when she reluctantly emptied them of his final breath. He had imagined her before. He had seen her dancing body, her fluttering limbs, her silken tresses blowing in her own ingredient… She was fluid like the water. Most would say that water and air are not alike. In ways, this may be true. Have you ever tried to capture the wind? Have you tried to embrace the sea? Both are free and will not be contained like earth and fire. Earth does not fight but lies dormant, waiting for the right moment to release its fury in an attempt to break its bindings. Fire is far more furious, but with such bursts of energy it will die quickly in its shackles. How do you shackle water? How do you bind air? You simply can’t. Thus, her movements, the maiden of the summer breeze and unforgiving winter gusts, would move like her twin sister: the water. Laotongs. It was a Chinese word for “old sames”. That is what the water and wind are. They are sisters bound by ligaments stronger than blood: secrecy. Laotongs were women of the Chinese culture. In the time of the great dynasties, women had their feet bound. The pain coursed up their legs, sending them whimpering and crying with pain. Their mothers were deaf to these cries as they unbound them every four days, cleansed the puss and blood from their feet, and returned them to their constricting binds. During these times, the young girls would make their own shoes. Each pair, smaller than the one before it. In the “upper chamber” – a room used for the women as they embroidered and sewed silken clothing for their future husbands and in-laws – the mothers would walk the girls of only six or seven years across the room. Finally, the stillness of the chamber would be sliced by the sharp snap of one of the girl’s feet as it broke. Now, they were forced to sit while their "golden lilies" took to their new shape. Why was this done? Did the mothers not heed their daughter’s screams? Did they not care for their young? The answer was simple: daughters are worthless to their families. Although some mothers did terribly love their daughters, they were a burden to their fathers and a nuisance to the very family itself. They were raised only to be given to another family as daughters-in-law and wives. They were only meant to bear sons. In order to do such a thing, however, their feet were bound. This proved to their husbands that they were tolerant of the pain of childbirth, and elegant as they swayed on their misshapen lilies. The ideal foot was the size of a thumb, a sexual boost in their husband’s appeal. Had this happened to the wind? Had her mother once made the maiden’s slender feet crooked lilies so she may never fly again? Had she hobbled for the one purpose of tightening the walls of her vagina to boost the pleasure of her husband during lovemaking? Was her mother kind to her in these times? Had she fed her red dumplings to soften her feet? Had she bound her feet in the winter months so the cold would numb the pain? What had this darling creature gone through? No one but her laotong knew. The “old same” came to the wind in her time of weeping. The water maiden pressed her hand to her twin’s shoulder and cupped her cheek lovingly into her hand. They didn’t need words to speak of what terror they both went through. (How their feet ached!) They needn’t words, nor nu shu, their secret language for writing to one another. They needn’t any other comfort but each other’s. That is what it meant to be “old sames”. Their friendship still occurs today. Yet, the wind had married the sky. The water, forever missing her laotong, refused to be wed. Even if her golden lilies made her appealing to the men that tried to court her, she forever tried to reach her laotong. Watch the rain closely and you will see how reluctant each drop is to fall from the sky. It is the tears of two maidens. One was wed for an eternity to the air above, while the other lay free; furious at the world for taking her darling companion. This is what the wind told him… She would share this knowledge with a man that had the slightest air of feminine incense coming off his coat. He was beautiful; his mother had ensured that. What of his sire? What had become of that man that had mated his mother? This, only the wind knew and her lips would never tell another of her companion’s secrets. She would never reveal how she wept for him at times. She would never speak of the pain he felt whenever she entered his lungs. She would never vocalize his woes to mix with her own. She could not betray him this way. They were together and could not be torn apart. Striding along his lands, he paused to hear her cries. Embraced in her arms, he let the wind carry out his creamy tresses of hair: bangs of silken grace covered his dark chocolate irises. Some said he was like the moon. Artemis, as untouched as the wind – though by her own accord, for no man would ever tame her – had birthed a son. Only such a thing could be done by the goddess’s hand. With his coat of woven grace, he seemed to be carved from the bosom of the lunar orb that watched him so intently as his body continued to dance across the face of her sister. The earth welcomed his touch as he embellished his paws through the alabaster snow. With his muscles rippling under a coat of silver, creme, and brown sinews, he foretold of his strength -- his power. Yet, he would not fight unless the need arouse; in an instance where he had no choice. He was a gentle beast; he was the mountain that could kill thousands but used its powerful structure to give the creatures beneath itself life and shelter. The wind caressed his bodice in a different way. She seemed to take his limbs and be guiding him to some place where he wished not to go. With stubborn flick of his ear to will the maiden away, she only gave an equally tenacious gust. This time, her softened arms turned to the crisp smack of the winter’s chill. Breathing out in defeat, he watched as a cloud surfaced from his painted lips. The mist drifted away, as quickly hidden as it did appear. Guided by her hands, absorbed by her supervision, he walked with his maiden. The unseen woman danced her seductive dance in the breeze. The night air ran through him once more, filling him with the life and sanctuary of a thousand years. How many others like him had the wind perceived? How many noble men had her arms held? Where had she led them just before they came crashing down into the earth? Had she guided them to heaven when their bodies forlorn their souls? Would her hand reach down and grasp him when the time came? Would they remain lovers even with death upon his breast? Looking down upon his lands, he swung his ears forward to listen to the beckoning of the earth. An elegy from the child of the wind called to his tympanums. He followed the couplet to the poet, himself. High above, riding the embraced touch of the wind’s hand, was an owl. Queen of the skies, lady of the night, she ruled over the walkers of the land. Earning an envious snort from his flaring nostrils, a billow of mist was swept away by the gentle swipe of the maiden’s palm. Brunette feathers ruffled soundlessly against the breeze as the mistress spread her wings and caught the bone of a pine tree, gripping that living skeleton with her merciless talons. For only an instant, ruler of the land and ruler of the sky met each other’s eyes. They regarded one another with a monotonous beat of two hearts. The mistress then spread her wings once more, feathers expanding outward like clawing digits upon the hand. Away she was carried, back into the air where the gentleman below could never follow. She was lost in a sea of stars; no doubt off to hunt and feed her insatiable hunger. His eyes pursued her with the kind of lust only a man would hold for a woman. She was swallowed from his vision, forever mislaid to the inhabitants of the earth. How lucky those stars were to hold her in their eyes. How lucky Artemis was to birth such a beautiful mistress to her chambers. Beyond came the faint sonnet of the land’s river. It cut through the earth like a great wound. Ironically, this abrasion was what kept life to the heart of his earth’s essence. In each great stride his body moved with a fluid grace. Mesmerizing his haunches swayed as though caught in some erotic wave. There was no water to control his tempo. His muscles were forever in motion to a song only he could hear. He was lost in the guided ode. The river neared as each elegant stride carried him closer. The closeness could not be implored nor described with words. His affair with this land was as timeless as the wind and water maidens, themselves. He was bound to this terrain. Never to leave her side, always to fight for her. A soldier broken free from her womb, he would give his life to keep her safe. Intimately, he dipped his whiskered muzzle into the surface of the liquid. The water mimicked the wind's caress. Did she recall her laotong upon this beast’s soul? Did she know of his connection to her? Was she inscribing nu shu across his lips so that he may deliver it to her; mocking a fan that they had exchanged in ancient times? Whatever the purpose he was thirsty for her life and drank the sweet nectar from the depths of her bosom. Her life filled him, giving him strength and reassurance that all would be well. How could it not be? He was ruler of this terra. An incognito of the soil. With body, soul, and heart connected in such a way to this beautiful utopia, he found his Garden of Eden enriched and delicate. Like two lovers they belonged with one another. Forever enrapt to each other like a maiden to satin sheets. He was a requiem, concealed over time with pain and wisdom. He knew the wind, the water, the earth. This was his home – his jewel – he would do whatever it took to keep it from being taken from him. Two lovers, as tragic as Romeo & Juliet. He just entreated that it didn’t have the same finale... Table © Jacqueline

-flail- that was intense. my post may be a bit vague (and definitely shorter and ickier XD) since a rather intense pack meeting is still in progress, and i'm unsure of its outcome. but i really wanted to post.

Away. Borlla needed to get away. It had been a disgusting burlesque. The whole situation, the dramatic horrible scene, the meeting had been indescribable, quite literally. The girl, still so young, barely had a clue what had been going on. But she knew she didn't like it. It upset her horribly. Sent her into a downward spiral of depression and fury. There was no smile on the pretty girl's face anymore. Not even a mocking one. They'd taken their family and spit on it. Did she need another reason to be upset?

It had been sometime since she'd followed the edge of the Creek, but since she'd been here before, she didn't feel the slightest bit of guilt for wandering off. That was probably the last thing anyone wanted. There was enough on everyone's plates as it was; they didn't need to be sending out search parties for the five-month-old. Maybe they'd just forget about her and she'd forget about them, and Borlla would find a new family. One that loved her and didn't fight. And she'd make new friends. Ones that weren't nice to her, only to join in the bad side.

She stopped, not sure of her location, other than that it was far from Swift River, and dipped her nose into the Creek, shuddering slightly at its chilly temperature, before tilting her head just slightly to lap some of it up. Once her thirst had been quenched, she rolled back onto her haunches, letting out a sputtering sight, her head bending down into her chest, eyes fluttering with lack of sleep.

Lurking until the end of July - Please PM/tag me to get my attention