Ringlorn

Ch. 2

Undarkness is what he decides to call it.

He tells Time and Life as much some moons later, while Life is lounging in the tall grass of a new plains and Time is freshly returned from one of the trips they take frequently and without explanation.

Time laughs. Awe, Stumpy. I thought Life said you were good at creating names.

I think it's charming, Life offers.

He scowls, dragging his eyes away from the stars to level a glare at their eldest. Why do you keep calling me Stumpy?

Time shrugs a single shoulder. The air ripples and dissolves when they do so, and absently, he notes that this visit of theirs will be a short one. Neither they nor Life tell him much about Time's affairs, but he's gotten bits and pieces: Time's form is not natural the way his or Life's is; manifesting is taxing, because it diverts their power from their duties; sometimes their form is more volatile than others. They've never given him a straight answer, though, and they've never specified what 'duties' implies. He's begun to stop asking.

It's fitting, isn't it? Time waves a hand in his direction. You're always so stiff and timid when you walk.

That is not what stumpy means.

It is, actually, Life chimes in.

He shoots her a scowl, but she's scarcely paying attention as she scratches her rabbit's ears. Says who?

Says me, she says. I'm the one who created the word.

...Oh. He crosses his arms and turns back to Time. Well, he declares, pointedly ignoring the past thirty seconds of conversation, I'm not stiff or timid, so.

Prove it, Time challenges. It's moments like this when he can tell Time and Life are siblings; they're both equally irritating, equally persistent, and equally good at pressing his buttons.

Case in point: Fine. What do you want me to do?

Create again, Time says immediately, because of course.

He wrinkles his nose, but doesn't outright decline. He could do it. The Undarkness hanging over their heads is proof enough of that. But, if he's being honest-- he doesn't enjoy it. It's stressful, and he doesn't want to wade through... those images again, and he has no interest in wrestling with the mist.

He's not being honest, though. Instead he says, Easy. Create what?

Time looks over his head at Life, who says, with no lack of glee, An animal! Try an animal, Stumpy.

He contemplates if it's possible to sever family bonds. If there's even a word for it yet. He'll have to think one up. Divorce, maybe?

You love me, Life teases as if reading his thoughts. She probably is. Now, animal?

You're awful, he mutters as he closes his eyes. The last thing he hears as he calls the ever dwindling mist to him is Time's laughter.

He pulls the mist into his hands. Images flash before his mind as they did last time, and the time before that. He grabs the first image to pass by his fingertips, and--

<3

--he opens his eyes. That's the first sign something has gone horribly, horribly wrong.

The second sign comes when he opens his eyes and doesn't see, in this order: Time, mocking him; Life, smiling along; and the undarkness.