15min fic #69
Aug. 26th, 2004 02:43 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
annarti.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
yrae
Title~ Pale Earth Rises
Author~ Annarti
Disclaimer~ 'min and all these words about her are mine. Yep. That they are.
Notes~ 15 minute fic, word 69. See if you can figure out what the yrae stone's on about. Here's a hint: 'min got it wrong X)
~ ~ ~
Yamin frowned down at the words on the page in front of her, as she always did, apologising to whomever’s life had been summed up in the four lines that had been scrawled from the yrae stone’s magic. As always, the words told her nothing. Only that the person they described was going to be dead by the morning.
Musty scent permeates white-dusted air.
But Raykinian dust was red. Even the white clay that was plastered over the walls of the kingdom’s healing houses needed to be sailed down the river from Kazin. Most certainly, there was no white dust in Raykin.
Spring sun touches eastern lands.
But it was late Summer. Maybe this person was going to live until Spring. The sun rose in the east, so he was going to die at dawn in Spring, perhaps even the first day of it. A small shiver ran up Yamin’s spine: so long as she could decipher the lines before Spring, she could find this man and maybe keep death from him.
Pale earth rises.
The healer’s frown deepened. Again the white dust. The only place she knew of with white earth was Tsayth. She glanced at the charcoal portrait that accompanied the short verse. The man was most certainly Raykinian. That cut down considerably the number of people she had to search through; there was only a tiny number of Raykinians living in Tsayth. However, the journey to the kingdom even more of a desert than Raykin would take her until midway through Winter. She would not return to the healing house at least until the end of Spring.
Food forged from Aeia’s hands.
Yamin’s hands absently made a respectful gesture towards the goddess of death. All Aeia brought was death and sand—Raykinian sand. Perhaps this was clarifying that the person believed in the desert goddess. That could narrow her search to only a handful of people. Most of those who abandoned Raykin’s red sands in search of the bleached sands of Tsayth did so because they could not deal with Aeia anymore, nor her red desert.
The healer smiled in grim satisfaction. She had pinned down the person: a Raykinian man in Tsayth who still believed in the goddesses.
She gazed out the slitted window in the south-western wall of her room, beyond the red sands and sea to where the white kingdom lay. Would it be possible to reach the man before Aeia decided she needed his companionship?
Would he be worth it?
Author~ Annarti
Disclaimer~ 'min and all these words about her are mine. Yep. That they are.
Notes~ 15 minute fic, word 69. See if you can figure out what the yrae stone's on about. Here's a hint: 'min got it wrong X)
Yamin frowned down at the words on the page in front of her, as she always did, apologising to whomever’s life had been summed up in the four lines that had been scrawled from the yrae stone’s magic. As always, the words told her nothing. Only that the person they described was going to be dead by the morning.
Musty scent permeates white-dusted air.
But Raykinian dust was red. Even the white clay that was plastered over the walls of the kingdom’s healing houses needed to be sailed down the river from Kazin. Most certainly, there was no white dust in Raykin.
Spring sun touches eastern lands.
But it was late Summer. Maybe this person was going to live until Spring. The sun rose in the east, so he was going to die at dawn in Spring, perhaps even the first day of it. A small shiver ran up Yamin’s spine: so long as she could decipher the lines before Spring, she could find this man and maybe keep death from him.
Pale earth rises.
The healer’s frown deepened. Again the white dust. The only place she knew of with white earth was Tsayth. She glanced at the charcoal portrait that accompanied the short verse. The man was most certainly Raykinian. That cut down considerably the number of people she had to search through; there was only a tiny number of Raykinians living in Tsayth. However, the journey to the kingdom even more of a desert than Raykin would take her until midway through Winter. She would not return to the healing house at least until the end of Spring.
Food forged from Aeia’s hands.
Yamin’s hands absently made a respectful gesture towards the goddess of death. All Aeia brought was death and sand—Raykinian sand. Perhaps this was clarifying that the person believed in the desert goddess. That could narrow her search to only a handful of people. Most of those who abandoned Raykin’s red sands in search of the bleached sands of Tsayth did so because they could not deal with Aeia anymore, nor her red desert.
The healer smiled in grim satisfaction. She had pinned down the person: a Raykinian man in Tsayth who still believed in the goddesses.
She gazed out the slitted window in the south-western wall of her room, beyond the red sands and sea to where the white kingdom lay. Would it be possible to reach the man before Aeia decided she needed his companionship?
Would he be worth it?