Post by CORDELIA SNOW on Jul 5, 2015 16:56:21 GMT
Her mother christened her with snow and ash the midnight after she was born. She said the winter forest howled for her the night she came into the world; crows turned over in their woodland nests, feathers bent backwards, falling from the branches to their wiry knees. She said they had been waiting, sending moon after moon to look for her head of copper hair, to listen for the sound of her sweet heartbeat amongst the throbbing, decaying mass of snowfields filling the North. Dear, darling Cordelia emerged finally, cloaked in black velvet with her mother’s red kiss on her cheek, and the forest stilled to a chill for their little northern dove. The forest, the forest, the forest; it was a recurring theme in her mother’s tales and in her own journeys — the wilderness wept for her, bending their branches down whenever she entered them as if beckoning her home. And overtime, it has even felt like home to her. It was no wonder that now, as she wandered along the kingsroad, through the narrow causeway of the Neck, she felt very little unease. As unsettling as the swampland could often be, Cora had been bred to never be frightened or unnerved by atmosphere — especially one she was familiar with. It was a regular route for her when heading south: the young woman was travelling down from the North toward the Riverlands, a cart of goods towed behind her by a rented mule. She continued on her way, humming a lullaby she’d had stuck in her head recently. As little as she tried to think about her mother, she did so very often; the tune was one that used to be sung to her before bed. Just then, she heard a sound emit from elsewhere — further from where she stood, but not upon the road on which she strode. With a careful glance around, Cora peered through the trees in caution, hand instinctively drawn to one of the daggers on her person. MARKO HARLAW hope this works for you <3 | LITTLE DEATH |
