( without another word, they go in, the mortal and immortal; both a god to many. but, though the shrines and altars are now in ruins, and the libation poured nevermore, deference lasts, even when rituals do not. their legends brand the earth, already ancient history to the first settlers. mountains, rivers, and deep canyons are vestiges of their reign and testaments to their power. in the sky, beyond the sight and imagination of mortal men, they live in eternal splendor: the sun and the moon, the morning star and the evening star, the silence and the storm. the soul remembers what the mind does not.
little light pierces through the wool material and into the tent, the air warm and sweetly perfumed as hay or ambrosia. the low ceiling forces him to bow his head, a seemingly reverent gesture in the immortal's sanctuary. but his worship is neither submissive nor fearful as his hand catches a strand of her black hair, long as a horse's tail and soft as silk, and he rubs it between his thumb and forefinger. )
Thine hair grew long again. That explains why the Persians still breathe. ( he releases her hair, and wistfulness softens his tone; a bard reciting legends of days past to weary travelers. ) I remember when a mere whisper of thy name shook the earth. How armies fled at the sight of thee! Thine axe cut down men with the ease of a farmer reaping his grain. Rivers ran red with blood as if by God's hand. Carrion birds followed thee, their provider of feasts. But now β ( discontent marrs his face, phantasmagoric with shadows and sharpness. his words scald and fume as when a blacksmith plunges a glowing piece of hot metal into a bath. )Now the soldiers only tremble with laughter in their camps. "A woman commander? What a farce!" It's sport to them, lobbing insults as javelins. Each Greek and Persian alike shares in ridiculing and pitying the warriors of PΓ³ntos Γxeinos.
( he speaks true, as the emissary of athena only can; but he damns, invokes, and praises, as a true worshipper only can. kings demand fealty, but gods demand flesh. rage over devotion, sworn by blade or teeth. a prayer soaked with blood. love and hate; a curse and a blessing. )
O princess of the Skolotoi. Ameretat, Laelaps, whoever thou may be, but always Bashert to me. Ageless and deathless; endless in beauty and power. What stays thine axe β mercy or weakness?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
no subject
little light pierces through the wool material and into the tent, the air warm and sweetly perfumed as hay or ambrosia. the low ceiling forces him to bow his head, a seemingly reverent gesture in the immortal's sanctuary. but his worship is neither submissive nor fearful as his hand catches a strand of her black hair, long as a horse's tail and soft as silk, and he rubs it between his thumb and forefinger. )
Thine hair grew long again. That explains why the Persians still breathe. ( he releases her hair, and wistfulness softens his tone; a bard reciting legends of days past to weary travelers. ) I remember when a mere whisper of thy name shook the earth. How armies fled at the sight of thee! Thine axe cut down men with the ease of a farmer reaping his grain. Rivers ran red with blood as if by God's hand. Carrion birds followed thee, their provider of feasts. But now β ( discontent marrs his face, phantasmagoric with shadows and sharpness. his words scald and fume as when a blacksmith plunges a glowing piece of hot metal into a bath. ) Now the soldiers only tremble with laughter in their camps. "A woman commander? What a farce!" It's sport to them, lobbing insults as javelins. Each Greek and Persian alike shares in ridiculing and pitying the warriors of PΓ³ntos Γxeinos.
( he speaks true, as the emissary of athena only can; but he damns, invokes, and praises, as a true worshipper only can. kings demand fealty, but gods demand flesh. rage over devotion, sworn by blade or teeth. a prayer soaked with blood. love and hate; a curse and a blessing. )
O princess of the Skolotoi. Ameretat, Laelaps, whoever thou may be, but always Bashert to me. Ageless and deathless; endless in beauty and power. What stays thine axe β mercy or weakness?