Saturday, October 29, 2016

Silver Moon Tomb Prompt




Another prompt! Hooray!


  Once the daymoon was swallowed by clouds, Jenny hustled from the forest into the dark of noon on Myrkurtag--the darkest hour of any day. The wind blew in from the North, moaning like a dying animal, its biting blue fingers encircling the exposed skin on her neck and face. She hunched her shoulders, but still she shivered as she walked between the mounded graves. The way was not unfamiliar, but the shadows seemed more determined than they had been before. She lifted her lantern, and, just for a moment, looked up. The light worked as it should--shadows retreated, spiteful, swelling with hatred at their momentary defeat. The trees were bare  of their leaves, the browns of their bark dark and eternal. The once green grass had withered to yellow. Even the exposed dirt of the paths was barren. It was all horribly appropriate. Horribly symbolic. Horribly dead.
  Gaze back on the ground, Jenny kept moving toward the farthest edge of the cemetery. As she neared her destination, the shadows seemed to cling longer in the spaces between hilled graves, as though reluctant to part. Or as though some force darker than the shadows lingered near, granting them some, but not quite enough, power over light. 
 Five graves away, the cold lessened. She was growing numb. She needed a warmer coat. One with a leather strap that enabled the hood to gather tighter around her face. 
  When she reached the second to final grave in the row, she stopped, blew out her lantern--for the dead did not appreciate waking to firelight--and knelt before the foot of a grave. And she waited.
  The mist gathered, hovered, tested her presence and her resolve. Jenny, gaze straight ahead, did not move, not even as the mist drew tighter, seeped under her clothes and laid its head against the bare of her skin. 
 When the daymoon reappeared, chasing away the lingering shadows and parting the mist, its silver moonlight illuminated a familiar name upon the tombstone. 
  Elstha Bjorn. Her mother.
  All was going to be made right.


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