Blades of Grass

“Riding upon the winds of destiny, the bestial shall be free; and the earth shall run red.”
The chronicles of Ah’mar

His coat blew about in the wind; he couldn’t decide whether it was heroic or sinister looking. Before him, by about a mile, stood the city of Resunnah, a cesspool, built on the blood and sweat of peasantry, kept together by the stern iron grip of the aristocracy, and the authorities representing them.

Edward Hauteville stood on the edge of the precipice, surveying that which stood before him. The earth stood firm beneath him, all there was were the dust and mud that made this land so desperate. Nothing grew here.

Hauteville’s heart sank at this barren landscape, all he saw were the things he hated; all there was, all there ever was in this land, were the dust, and the eyesore that was Resunnah. A single Citadel, within it’s walls the rich, the merchants, the landowners, the leaders of crime, punishment, and the church; the walls themselves a monument to the corrupt. Surrounding this, in concentric circles, were the homes, the shanties, the sties, that was where the people lived; living their lives in poverty.

It wasn’t right, but what could be done?

On that cliff, overhanging what would be civilisation, Hauteville made his camp.

Midnight; the moon showing it’s full presence, casting it’s light down upon the desert, bathing creatures of the night in holy reflections. One of these creatures bounds seamlessly towards Hauteville’s camp; fur shining silver in the moonlight; shimmering like the scales of Draco himself; underneath this very constellation, the bestial creature enters Hauteville’s domain.

“You took your time Christo.” Was Hauteville’s response to the creature’s entrance.
As Christo entered the tent, leaving the moons gaze the contours of her body morphed, she stood upright, taking a human form; perfect white skin, figure of a goddess, her hair black as the raven, hanging rebelliously down to her waist; she stood impatiently, naked before his gaze.

“Did you remember my things?” She enquired of Hauteville.

He passed her some clothes; as she dressed before him he thought of what would be more perfect, her form in the moon’s gaze? Where she is beast, but beauty in natures way. Or her form of daylight, and of the inside; where the world requires her to fit with civilisation. Before he could fully evaluate this thought, she had dressed, buttoning up her jacket; coat of the military fashion, silver base with golden embroidery, one shoulder covered in the golden knot-work design that signified her allegiance, as a follower of Nature herself; this feature at least, both members of this small entourage held completely in common. After she was clothed she still felt she was missing something.

“You didn’t forget them did you?” She asked in desperation.

Hauteville passed to her the necessary charms; three symbols in pendant form; the Hammer for strength in the face of adversity; the Leaf to grant eternity, and the Man, so that people such as Christo can stay under all circumstances in human form. As she placed them upon herself he passed her a belt, attached to which was a pair of Mora knives.

“Is that everything Edward?”

“That’s everything I want you to hold. If you change I don’t want anything to go missing.” Was his reply.

They stood there, as the wind blew through the tent, the entrance flaps moving like a bird in frantic struggle, attempting to delay the inevitable. A moment later; embrace.
Hauteville broke the silence, “How is Neuri?”

“She’s alright, she misses her father.”

“Does she know?…”

“… that you’re her father? No, she believes him to be some scumbag, fuelling my hatred of humanity. She sees you as pure; as the noble warrior.”

“It’s a dirty business. I might tell her one day,” he sighed, “why do I do it Christo? Why is it that I have to cause so much pain and confusion? Why can’t I be normal?”

“This world, is not made for the likes of us,” she drew away from him slightly, “we wander the wastes, trying to make something worth keeping. But for such a task one cannot have the likes of Neuri holding you back.”

“You make me sound like some divine savoir; you seem to have dealt pretty well with your maternal instincts.”

Her nails dug in, she drew back completely. “Don’t taunt me.”

“Calm down I meant no harm,” he took off a glove, and touched her face; gently showing his true colours, “I need you to take care of Neuri, for both mine and her sake, you’re a beauty, and she believes you’re her mother. What do you expect? The life of a lord, coupled with servitude to the Goddess Nature, I can’t have the time with her that she deserves. I also wouldn’t want her within my world, a world where men are dominant. Her time in the forests is important, she’ll be unsullied by places such as this.”

With a wave of his hand the rear exist of the tent flies open, showing damned Resunnah in all of it’s fallen glory, the Spires shining silver in the moonlight, gloomy clouds conversing above the citadel, thunder bringing down judgement upon the city, a fire breaking out, the commotion of a thousand worker bees protecting their Queen; King Guilemont. The fire is controlled, hose and bucket used to effect to bring the settlement to life once again. A cry erupts from the towers; and once again all is well. The Slums about are filled with the slow fireflies of the dead; torches held by those leading the manually drawn carts carrying the dead and diseased out into the desert.

At this sight the curses erupt from Hauteville’s mouth, damning all that which has caused that Settlement to be there.

The moon is smothered by dark clouds. Two Nature worshippers share a bed tonight.