Carving

Black sands and dragging blades… Darkstone scattered with bright ice standing. The skies cast grey and still I drag heavy steel, carving sigils through the wave-rippled beach between tides. Some even recall a something of you and your laughter when you forget it should be broken, but the carrion drown out the song with their raucous calls, and so I must strain to hear.

“You should leave those birds behind,” someone suggests and I remind, “Then there is only spiders, and spiders weave different signs than these.

“And a fox, when they are so inclined,” I add, an afterthought. That fox has decided to be less inclined of late. So I hesitate.

Back to: drag and recall, carving both glyph and secret names in those small hours when most are asleep.

I should be lost, I think. Let them shibari my wrists in wire, lift me on wave and bury me deep. Our heart heavies this hurt just so.