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Spirit Weaver
by on April 11, 2021
Spirit was the Witch of the Woods. She lived here. She protected this place. And she protected others from it. It would be hyperbolic to say she knew every stone and every crevice of this place, of course, but she knew that when she was needed, the forest would take her where she needed to be. Usually, it was a slow thing. The path under her hooves could twist a left instead of a right. Out in the distance, something would draw nearer, another drawing further. It was the beautiful thing of a magical, living, forest, really. It was it’s own beast, and Spirit was just a creature that it allowed to stay. Akin to the stinging beasts of the sea that allowed smaller creatures to remain inside. It was a relationship that was quiet, but profitable for both.
But this relationship sometimes led to Spirit doing as she was now. Sprinting through the trees, which barely parted in time for her. In times like these- the trees could be seen moving. Branches pulling out of the way, the ground underneath ushering her on. And the best part? Spirit didn’t even know why she ran. She didn’t know what she was going to find. She expected the worst. She was prepared for… anything. Anything except what she saw.
The Blight. A tall wooden creature, standing on two legs. From shoulders came long, gangling arms, one ending in a wicked blade fashioned of bone, the other ending in a clawed hand, each talon measuring at least a foot. Above the shoulders was what could maybe be considered a face. A blank canvas of wood, save a single tear into it, forming a jagged grin. Usually, in place of eyes, these things would sport a bright red light, glaring through the everpresent night of the deep woods. This thing, though, looked blind.
Its chest was the most terrible part of these things, usually. A ribcage of bone, torn open. A slowly beating heart, open to the elements. All surrounded by plant matter. Rotting ivy, ancient wood. As if something had just possessed the body of a beast that had died out here, and repaired it with whatever it could. They stank. Always. Rotting flesh and rotting leaves. Incredible dangerous, these things, were. Highly aggressive.
But this one was already on its last legs. It was… stuck. It was pinned to a tree, a longsword rammed through its open chest cavity, though still missing the heart. The heart that still beat. Even though it clearly could not see it turned it’s ‘head’ towards the Witch. A raspy sound escaped it’s maw as fleshy tendons pulled and contracted, causing its scythe-like arm to weakly swipe at the Witch.
A meaty snap, and it gave out, almost like an overstretched rubber band. The arm fell limply to its side. It let out a small sound. Not a sound of pain. But it almost seemed like a sound of acceptance. It’s other arm would weakly move to the hilt of the longsword pinning it to the tree. It couldn’t do much other than flop it upon the handle.
Spirit was… taken aback. This was nothing like anything she’d ever seen before. Even when dealing with the Blight. They always seemed so… ruthless. Fighting to the last breath. Til that heart of theirs stopped struggling, they were tuned to kill. And yet this one had… accepted death. This one knew what was coming, and it had come to terms with it.
Spirit was a Hunter. She knew what she needed to do. She reared up on her hind legs, and grabbed the hilt of the blade. A quick slice to the right would bisect its heart. A quick movement and it would be over. The creature even seemed to lean back and relax a bit- as if welcoming it.
A grunt of effort, though, and the blade would be removed from this creature, and tossed backwards. The monster fell, as if only being held up by the weapon. Soon it was seated against the tree. Spirit soon sat next to it. She sighed quietly. She should have killed it, she knew. And yet, she could see its suffering. And nothing- not even a beast like the blight- deserved it’s last moments to be suffering.
Spirit would reach into her bag and withdraw a small, stringed instrument, which she strummed quietly. For a while, the only sound in the area was the melody carrying up, and the slow, rasping breaths of the creature beside her.
It didn’t take long, though, for Spirit to begin to sing, “I believe if I knew where I was going, I’d lose my way…”
The beast let out a startled sound and turned to her, for a moment, a faint flicker of vision sparking to life as it looked at her.
“I believe that the words that he told you are not your grave.”
The thing clambered up, slowly- painfully- and stared down at her. Spirit continued to sing, not even paying it any mind. It lifted it’s single clawed hand that it still had control over, and hung it over her. But still, she played. And still she sang.
“I believe in the things that I am afraid to say.And I believe that the darkness reminds us where light can be.”
For a brief second, it’s claw stuttered. It faltered. And it drove it downwards, embedding itself to the wrist in the soft dirt beside Spirit. Its face mere inches from her own now.
“I know that your heart is still beating, beating, darling. I believe that you fell so you would land next to me.”
The beast let out one final rasp, before it remained full on its knees. It let it’s head fall forwards, resting itself on Spirit’s shoulder. She could feel the slow vibrations of a facsimile of breath. She felt it still moving quietly.
Spirit continued her song. She continued to sing this thing to sleep. Until it was still. Its heart beat its final beat, and the thing was still. Spirit let out a small sigh, before moving it off of her, and away from her. She put her instrument back in her bag and offered a small nod to the beast.
Maybe Spirit wasn’t a good Hunter. Maybe she could hardly be called a Hunter. But there was one thing Spirit knew for sure. Someone else was here. And even if they called themselves a Hunter, Spirit knew better. Someone who… reveled in causing pain to others like that was no hunter. They were worse than the things that they sought to kill, even. A small sigh, and Spirit affixed her cloak to herself once more, picking up the long sword that she’d tossed aside. Silvered. This person knew what they were doing. But they weren’t ready for her.
Spirit was the Witch of the Woods. She lived here. She protected this place. Even the creatures that one wouldn’t think deserved protection.
Spirit Weaver
Did i scramble this out solely becuase this song's been in my head for the past three days? Yeah.
Carmine Gumshoe
hey fuck you, this made me sad
Spirit Weaver
Why tho it's just happy lullaby time :)
Will read later, currently awaiting death on a battlefield via laser.
Spirit Weaver
you better not die. read my thing to give me the good brain chemicals :triumph:
I didn’t die and I read it. I need to write better, damn. That shit bussin.