Another Word For Waiting

A Morning Like Other Mornings

Mornings used to be my favorite time of day, and in a way, they still are. Nowadays, it means waking up into an endless nightmare.

Mornings used to be alive, blossoming with sound and light, the lingering peace of night keeping everything hushed. Life was awakening, and I thought it was the most beautiful thing I saw each and everyday.

The only difference now, is that I am wilting, and my soul is empty.

Everything is too quiet, too lonely. It's been a long time - I'm not sure how long. Time has been slipping away from me lately, and sometimes weeks feel like months, and years like weeks.

Every now and then I see a glimpse of dancing, laughter and a pair of pale arms folding me into a gentle embrace. Of a babbling brook chattering lazily beside me and two others, three pairs of legs tangled together in a myriad of colors - tan, cream, and dark, dappled with hazy light streaming from the canopy above us. Of a chorus of hushed laughter as a shorter figure dances after the stomping deity of wrath, the firelight casting shadows that seem to be painted onto the earth. Of dark hair flowing between my fingers in inky streams as I braid them loosely down a broad back.

Sometimes they trick me into thinking I'm waking up - as if this were all a bad dream - but the moments flicker away before I get the chance to delude myself.

Eventually, I got used to the quiet mornings and eerie silence. It's alright now - new people started to meander towards me and my village of ghosts atop the hill. For everything bad, Fate brings good. They've sparked new life in their homes at the base of the hill. What was originally a heap of caravans and ragged tents had blossomed into a bustling hive of activity. It was unlike anything I had ever seen.

They were a joy to me, filling a piece of this empty heart of mine with their patchwork people and undiscovered fauna. Not enough to completely rebuild the little heart that remained in me, but enough to keep me going.

The Amkhals as they and I call them, were a mixing pot of people from all over the world. Primarily Niissith and Sydre people, but I've seen some Eziq as well. Either way they were all here, and now they were none of those things. For the town they had built, with my help, was New Amkhalid and those who found their niches there were Amkhals.

Despite this growing habitat, I still prefer staying in my own village, empty as it may be. As of right now, I was currently coaxing a stubborn flower that had grown astray and begun creeping into the old stonework of a cottage. Didn't it realize that the cottage walls were an awfully uncomfortable place to live? I told the spry blossom as such.

"Talking to the flowers again, Lady Asha?" Looking over my shoulders, I saw a girl, no young woman, standing barefoot upon the dancing grass. As if trying to copy its dance, her dark hair fluttered from her face, brushing against her neck and just barely - on occasion - her shoulders.

"I thought I'd asked you to stop treating me as if I were above you, Hana. Besides how old are you again?" I raised a dark eyebrow at her, making sure to flash my sharp eyes at her.

"Twenty this winter, milady," I wanted to rip that sly smile off of her face.

"There you go, you're old enough to respect a tired woman's wishes," I muttered, waving her off with my hand as I returned to the important task at hand, whilst trying to ignore her chuckles.

"Would you like any help today, Asha?" The persistent gnat was now crouched beside me, her eerie olive - almost yellow - eyes peering at me with soft amusement. A gentle smile found its way onto my face and a hummed yes found its way past that smile.

"Gently pull the overgrown grass from the stonework in the center of the cottages there and find a new place for it to grow. After that we can go out upon the sunny field and eat something,"