The Woman is drenched in blood, dirt, and sweat. Ignorant to what she has set into place, she has sealed her child's fate. The child will only know these psalms.
He crowns.
Tears and rain water mix on the apples of her cheeks. Her abdomen muscles clench with the rhythm of the thunder. The calloused hands claw into the mud. Her child demands more room, but she has no more space to give. The woman's eyes mirror the clouds; Rolling, crying, cloudy. Her last breath exchanged for the child's first.
The child slips from the woman.
The tiny fist holding on a clot of blood, as if knowing that's the last he will have of his mother. He will only know blood as a mother, only finding love in it. This will set his foundation. He won't be crowned in thorns and laurel but in teeth and blood.
YOU ARE READING
War's Bride
WerewolfRed The goddess is clothed in his favorite color. He is painting my homeland in it. His teeth are his paintbrush and I am his muse. The song of my people rings in the mountains, but the hymns fall on deaf ears of our gods. The tribeswomen's cries a...
