My Mate's Father Claimed Me
It rose from my ribs, my spine, my marrow, It carried the weight of roots digging deep into soil, of rivers carving valleys, of the first heartbeat that ever echoed through the world.
The Anima Mundi; the Song of Life and the wasteland listened.
Cracked stone softened beneath my bare feet, fissures knitting together as pale green light threaded through the ground. Ash stirred, lifting into the air like drifting snow, then settled again as soil; dark, rich, breathing soil. Dead wind stilled, replaced by a low, steady hum that vibrated through my bones.
I sang.
Each note carried memory, not mine alone, but the world’s. Forests before fire, wolves before crowns, mothers before graves. The song
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