Esk Tales {TWWM-ARPG Writings Collection}

Again {Majanthi #5- Challenges}

Again

Prompt 5- Challenges
{Majanthi}

.:+:.

Turn

She swiveled, plumes of smoke billowing on air above her thick and dense, tracing lines into a sun-bleached sky of a muddy, dirty gray and black, streaking through blended scarlet and orange dipping to violet on the far horizon.

Step left

Her feet dragged across the sand, wearing lines into the grainy surface, deliberate, methodical, exact.

Say the chant

Her head bent close to the parched earth, whispering words into the depths that were built up of tongues and languages long since lost to anyone but the Dunemother. Her muzzle grazed millimeters off the surface, her breath stirring up dust, breathing life and energy into wispy clouds of near nothing, shaping and molding with each word..... Pleading.

Turn

Her body swayed, lumbering and hefty- the delicate movements and tracing in the sand losing their grace with every passing line drawn, each curve threaded, each track worn, each pattern repeated over and over. A dozen, a hundred, a thousand recreations and repetitions- and still not one had come yet, and been the last.

Always one more time, always once more, another... again.

Another line drawn, another pattern and design crafted in earth and sand, overlapping, twisting. Another piece of the whole being woven into dirt, whispering things, writing them another time, a tenth time, a hundredth time- recanting and revisiting, retracing steps, and actions, and thought. Over and over for as long as it takes to find the hitch, the misstep- the mistake.

Turn, step, trace, chant- again.

The last line connected, the swirling grooves and etchings a recollection of the event, all circling back around to it's end once more- but still she didn't see it.

Again

The pattern came another time, burned into sand just the same as all the others, but she still did not see a deviation. She did not stumble on the err of her ways, she did not feel the tug of some realization, nor any sense or hint of settling. None at all.

Again

Three more turned to ten, then fifteen, and thirty- all of them exactly the same as the last, without fail. Always the same each time, and with each one drawn over she felt her soul growing heavier, her senses suffocating, weighty.

It was supposed to work. She was supposed to see it, to find the answer, to unwind and untangle this knot in her core that was strangling her, dragging at her, and making each reiteration of the lines she wore in the sand all the harder to keep inscribing, and re-inscribing.... It was supposed to work, but every turn over and every retry had the sinking feeling growing worse. And with it came an unwanted and nagging thought that it would not work.

She faltered a moment, hours of constant movement stuttering suddenly as she stood still for a moment, surrounded on all sides by those hundreds of lines she'd carved into the land, threading together memory and action in the earth as she tried to unravel and reveal whatever was wrong.... Because something had to be wrong.

It had to be wrong, otherwise the ritual would not have failed. It had to be wrong, otherwise she would not feel so tightly wound, so heavy, so anxious.

Majanthi fidgeted, shaking herself off rather fruitlessly and bending her head to the earth again, her movement resuming, a little more desperate, a little more rushed.

Again

Something had to have been wrong, she must have made a mistake- she needed to find it. She needed to know, to make the connection so she could try again, and this time she would not fail. She must have done something wrong, she needed to find it, she had to fix it- so she had to keep going, for as long as it took.

Again

The scarlet sky turned dusky violet and blue, but the stars remained hidden and blotted out as her smoke clogged the air, hanging heavy over the endless dunes. She continued to trace, unaware of her fire mimicking the broiling turmoil deep down, she just kept pouring her thoughts and feelings into the sand, hoping for an answer.... Hoping for some relief.

Turn, step, trace, chant... again.

Her nose dug into the sand, no longer skirting the surface as she kept wearing those lines in, dust and particles spraying haphazardly as she whispered tensely into the depths, willing the tightness in her body and soul to leave her with each word, as if they were but breaths of unwanted air. Begging the earth she worked tirelessly to tend to take from her the threads that had wound so tightly around her being, and would not loosen their grip even after all those many attempts of trying to untangle them with her tracing.

Turn... Step... Trace... Chant.... Please.

The desert lay unnaturally still, the wind nonexistent and unable to wash away the miles of designs stretching across dunes, scoring into the land hundreds and more identical mandalas made up the Wanderer's thoughts and feelings. They lay where they'd been drawn, persistent and not yet yielding, swirling and twisting just like her soul was. Still tangled, still heavy, still suffocating and tense- but growing more tired, and with it a little less wound up, a little looser, and a little more frayed.

It was taking what felt like a million years, but perhaps she was managing to shed a little bit with each one. It had to work eventually, it must.... so;

Again