Bessa

Stain Of Skin

The drums beat...

The Savage remains standing with hands behind his back to the posturing alphas without the outward threat that they could bring to his hierarchy.

Pride for the Savage shuffles between bones and flesh from the Wild within the cocoon of skin.

Circular tension spindles around the Alphas shoulders.

The Savage grows within himself, consuming all the space of his body.

"You will bow before the Luna of the Far North, you will bow before the Luna of the World. The Far North is where you all have descended from." The Savage hones complete stillness. Nothing moves on his body of flesh.

Eyes raging and dangerous, malicious intent bristles forward from the closest Lunas. Thier Nature bristles within themselves. There is an elevation to the bounding beat of my heart.

Defiant chins lock up without a bend down.

Females of the Far North with paint on their bodies and braids throughout their hair take a step around the group of alphas and lunas, along with their healers.

They hold silver-tipped spears in their hands.

Orva is shoulder to shoulder with her greatest nemesis. The rest of the persecuted females are between stronger females, shoulder to shoulder. These females who have fought against each other are now standing as one body, in unison.

A female army of great consideration stands strong, eyes forward, without the shuffle of fear.

"What's the meaning of this?" An alpha asks.

"My Warriors are here to watch the bow of alphas to their Luna." When the Savage turns to look at me, his smile is sharp with a deadly point.

Spear bottoms hit the ground as one, their right foot stomps as one forward movement. Sound circulates around the noose that is forming around the group of visitors. Standing higher than everyone I can see it clearly.

A crow caws out with the approach of the healer, Morvared. Her blue eyes are of icy threat, mauling into the healers of the world. Her waist length hair is loose and as black as the raven cape she wears. There is a Male with his face painted as a Wild. So complete is the mimic of the artistry of illusion you would think a Wild's head holds the body of Skin. They walk shoulder to shoulder - the wind starts to rustle the leaves on the trees, there is a rush of sound at their approach.

It sounds as if Nature is clapping...

My old Luna's hands go into the sleeves of her Silk, it's the most expensive Silk she holds. It's made of gold thread and silk with gems carved into flowers. How does she carry the weight of it?

Only her eyes show...

I'm wearing my own Silk, without knives. My face is now uncovered - she looks at me like a common whore.

The bottom of my feet digs themselves into the platform I'm standing on. Pulling my shoulders back, a slide of teeth angles outward for all to see.

I can become a Savage of this land.

The bottom of the spears hit the ground again, another step is taken by the females who all stand like Warriors in the great army of Old.

Pictures of a female army line the walls of our ancient shrines in my birth pack. The paint is slowly flaking, peeling away over time. But it still takes your breath away to imagine what that would have looked like seeing a nation of Females standing against Alphas, Lunas, healers.