Kalla Time
Mar. 20th, 2007 03:25 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dethoratsPrompt: bloody
Word Count: 305
Netsor. Kalla stood in the middle of an otherwise unremarkable track and looked at the sign. Blinked, twice, and looked at it again. The words didn’t disappear and the dry voice that was with her every single moment, waking, asleep, even unconscious, wryly asked if she had expected the letters to shift and change in the instant her eyes were closed. Absently the wiry young woman ran the flat of her hand along the wicked hint of a crescent that peaked out from behind her back. The metal was cool to the touch in spite of the oppressive midday heat and she chuckled out loud.
“’s hot enough out here for you to be active. And that means it’s bloody hot enough for the sign to be a mirage, doesn’t it?”
She studied the sign again, careful eyes tracing each and every one of the carved, scorched letters. The marking was old; wood weathered to a silvery-grey and the board itself worn away at the corners, the letters not as stark as they would have once been. But it was real enough when she hesitantly touched her fingertip to the bottom of the ‘N.’ They were there, both of them, really and truly there.
Abruptly Kalla sat down, mindful as always of the battle axe strapped to her body. Almost a year’s worth of hard traveling and even harder living had brought her there, to the Nestorian border. At last she felt close enough to her destination to begin to believe that they could do it, really find the peace she had been looking for with bloody hands and determined feet. There would be a reckoning soon and the price of her vengeance would be paid. The sign at the border was more than just a demarcation point; it was the beginning of the end.
Word Count: 305
Netsor. Kalla stood in the middle of an otherwise unremarkable track and looked at the sign. Blinked, twice, and looked at it again. The words didn’t disappear and the dry voice that was with her every single moment, waking, asleep, even unconscious, wryly asked if she had expected the letters to shift and change in the instant her eyes were closed. Absently the wiry young woman ran the flat of her hand along the wicked hint of a crescent that peaked out from behind her back. The metal was cool to the touch in spite of the oppressive midday heat and she chuckled out loud.
“’s hot enough out here for you to be active. And that means it’s bloody hot enough for the sign to be a mirage, doesn’t it?”
She studied the sign again, careful eyes tracing each and every one of the carved, scorched letters. The marking was old; wood weathered to a silvery-grey and the board itself worn away at the corners, the letters not as stark as they would have once been. But it was real enough when she hesitantly touched her fingertip to the bottom of the ‘N.’ They were there, both of them, really and truly there.
Abruptly Kalla sat down, mindful as always of the battle axe strapped to her body. Almost a year’s worth of hard traveling and even harder living had brought her there, to the Nestorian border. At last she felt close enough to her destination to begin to believe that they could do it, really find the peace she had been looking for with bloody hands and determined feet. There would be a reckoning soon and the price of her vengeance would be paid. The sign at the border was more than just a demarcation point; it was the beginning of the end.
