Storms of the Sky

dancer's faults - XXI

TW: bl..d, d..th, p.in, mental health 

--Briar--

         "No, you idiot put your foot there!" I slice my hand through the air. My fingers point towards Odessa's right foot. "STEP!"

"You're like an angry dance instructor," He whines. I pull up my face and mock him.

"You want food? We hunt. And I'm not setting traps, so you'll learn how to hunt." I toss up my blade in a flash of light. It falls into my palm like a leaf into water. Odessa finally steps his foot forward.

"Why can't you do it?" He asks, leaning halfway down like a begging puppy. I glare at him.

"What kind of person goes on a quest without enough food?" I retort. Odessa stands straight again, lips pressed together.

"I got hungry," He mumbles. I cross my arms.

"You just ate the entire time we walked," I point out. Odessa's lips slant into his cheek. He shrugs before he does the movements, I showed him. Feet together, step left, step right, attack.

His only weapon is a measly retractable spear that he said was his sisters. The spear is timeworn, and the staff is wooden. It'll probably break in battle if we go after an enormous animal.

"Come on," I say, snatching my dagger. It's out in front of Odessa, used as target practice. I slip it out of the ground like a sword in sheath.

Odessa trails me quietly as we look for game. I hate to say stalked, but we did stalk around. Our silent footsteps over crinkly dried needles and leaves.

We managed to get a single rabbit.

Odessa carries back the rabbit, holding it like a baby. I look away, my lips twisted together. My mouth tastes sour. It's always like this before I get sick.

I close my eyes and breathe. I can't get sick in front of Odessa.

He finally drops the rabbit before holding out his hand. I look at him, eyebrows drawn together.

"Your knife? I assume you're going to make me do the ugly work too?" He says, sighing. I look at him, my mouth open. My honeyed breath touches my lips. I nod.

"Yeah," I say, turning around. "Sorry." I clutch my stomach as it drags at my body. Like tiny paws clawing inside of me.

I hear a thump on the ground followed by whimpers of protest. At least he's doing it and I'm not.

"You know," I hear Odessa say from behind me. I grab at my arm, bringing it close to my abdomen. I must save my last meal. Also, my pride. "You're a pretty good hunter."

I frown. The tiny paws in me keep on prodding at my stomach lining.

"It was my job," I half-lie. I hear Odessa shift behind me.

"Aaaaah! That's so cool!" He exclaims. My shoulders pull up to my ears. I chuckle. If he knew the real jobs I did, I bet he wouldn't be saying that anymore. Nonetheless, hearing someone envy what I do, even if it is half the truth, feels nice. Like weak rays of sunshine in winter. I lean towards it more.

"It isn't all cool. Sometimes it is horrifying," I whisper, turning around just enough so I can't see the opened rabbit.

"Horrifyingly terrible, you mean," Odessa jokes. Out of the corner of my eye I see him reach to grab something. I swallow down sour. I close my eyes.

"Yeah, it is," I murmur. "You know, that's actually why I'm out here." I watch the leaves above me dance in the canopy breeze. I can see slivers of sky from between them. When their dance falters and suddenly you see where all their hard work slips. But I like when their hard work slips. The sky's mood between the dancer's faults is better than any dance they can bring. It's where I can see what they really are. Just leaves in the breeze up above the branches I can climb.

"I'm out here because of my sister," Odessa whispers. I focus on his face. He crinkles his nose ever just, his eyes trained on the bramble in the distance. "She needs that New Moon water. Not me."

I frown. Odessa smiles. A slip.

"She's too sick to make the journey herself. She needs it soon too. I just hope I can make it back in time to ward off the death."

"She'll be okay," I respond in the same hushed tone. I shouldn't push him. He's in pain.

Odessa hears. His eyes meet mine.

"Blue-Eyes are death, you know. I'll put in a good word." Moons can't actually ward off death. Some of us can bring death, like me. And death isn't even what I can wield. Only the cold. Some Moon's hands bring death with a touch. We are favored more by death. Not that we favor it in return.

Especially me. I am a Moon; therefore, I am favored by death. But I favor life. It is kind in ways death is not. It might give us suffering but it also gives us joy. It teaches us how to live our lives full. If I were to ever meet it, if life had an incarnate, I don't know what I would do.

Death just gives us darkness. Death gives us nothing but takes us in turn.

Compared to death, life makes suffering look merciful.

Of course, I say that, and then here I am. Hiding from a rabbit carcass, holding in my intestines from spilling from my mouth. Searching for a person who I feel for. And I must kill them to save myself from torment. What a tragedy this is.

The moment I look for life, life gives me pain.

Welcome to birth, Life told me. Here's all I got. A tragic tale of a Moon.

"Thank you," Odessa murmurs. I look down at him, eyes wide. I forgot he was there. Odessa smiles sadly at the ground. He probably isn't aware I don't know death. But to him I am just a Blue-Eyed, bringer of death, wielder of frost. I embody cold and ice. So why shouldn't I know death?

"Kimora is my sister's name," he says. His eyes meet the ground with fondness. "She's my best friend. I don't know what I'll do if she gets worse. Or–I just don't even know. I've been with her since we were small. We're all each other has."

I frown. Kimora has to get better. She just has too.

"She was injured by a bounty hunter out for elves."

I stagger back. Feet catch my body. Can't catch my mind. My eyes start to burn.

"What?" I choke out. Odessa looks up at me.

"Kimora was out one day, gathering leaves for our harvest celebration. She was on the ground for once. We're Canopy Elves, so we hardly leave the treetops. Figure the one time we do one of us is attacked." Odessa scoffs. I swallow the bitter taste from my mouth. "Kimora doesn't remember much, but she knows that the person who attacked her wielded the cold."

Empty.

Then everything.

It pushes against my mind in a swirl of color and sounds. Roaring in my ears, flashes of light in my vision.

My eyes rake to the ground. I push my feet deeper. I must steady myself. I must. I must.

The red in my eyes tear away tears.

I flinch. My hand raises to my temples. Figure. Figure a Moon. Figure a wielder of cold. Figure me.

We might not be death, but death favors us. What did I say?

Headsick.