It was the press of finger tips painting the ground of sparkled diamonds. They were just drawing pictures in its surface that would not leave a colored mark, but one of frozen dazzle of ice. Elegant pictures, but it was the form that would be breathtaking. They looked like ancient inscriptions I had seen drawn on pouches of my grandmothers herb and root leather sacks. They had to mean something, I wished I knew what.
It made me think of all the pictures in the books I found in the wagon. They were drawn pictures, some could have been from a child's hand. As I flipped through book and book did the detail become more understandable. From the drawings of leaves, and pictures of organs taken from a body. There was three words I have learned. I could draw it against the snow. I saw it over and over in the books, that told its pictured story. Heart. I knew heart, blood and water.
I felt a tight wrap start it snake around my heart. It was as cold as the ice sculptured drawings I was doing on the ground with my finger. It would squeeze so tightly I could feel my blood fighting to flow from within. The pain was white. Whiter then the landscape around me. I lifted up grasping one of the icicles and I felt it pierce into my palm like a sharp fang that would cut through bone and skin.
I didn't cry out, I just watched...I watched the blood roll down the ice fang that went through my hand, from its curled tip, it slowly made the fall towards the ground. When it met upon the snow, its impact was more then I could explain. The ground split in two, a crease that swallowed up my blood, I hear the crack of wheels, the cry of children, the weep of fear.
The words breathed into my ear once all had finally stilled were clear as if someone was beside me. "She will test the faith of all against the one she loves. The people can fight the right, but the right will win. The people will suffer, but faith will heal. Believe....believe"
It made me think of all the pictures in the books I found in the wagon. They were drawn pictures, some could have been from a child's hand. As I flipped through book and book did the detail become more understandable. From the drawings of leaves, and pictures of organs taken from a body. There was three words I have learned. I could draw it against the snow. I saw it over and over in the books, that told its pictured story. Heart. I knew heart, blood and water.
I felt a tight wrap start it snake around my heart. It was as cold as the ice sculptured drawings I was doing on the ground with my finger. It would squeeze so tightly I could feel my blood fighting to flow from within. The pain was white. Whiter then the landscape around me. I lifted up grasping one of the icicles and I felt it pierce into my palm like a sharp fang that would cut through bone and skin.
I didn't cry out, I just watched...I watched the blood roll down the ice fang that went through my hand, from its curled tip, it slowly made the fall towards the ground. When it met upon the snow, its impact was more then I could explain. The ground split in two, a crease that swallowed up my blood, I hear the crack of wheels, the cry of children, the weep of fear.
The words breathed into my ear once all had finally stilled were clear as if someone was beside me. "She will test the faith of all against the one she loves. The people can fight the right, but the right will win. The people will suffer, but faith will heal. Believe....believe"
