Luna is a girl. A friend of my wife's. This girl is a bad ass. But she doesn't act like it. She's always got a sunny disposition. Nothing rocks her steadiness. And she's tougher than most men I know. Might be tougher than me! She dislocated her shoulder years ago. It was WAY worse than either of mine.
She got a shoulder surgery recently. All her ligaments had to be re-attached. Every last one. The surgeon was shocked. He thought it was going to be in and out. He'd never seen so much damage. Barely phased her. Back to work, lugging around her foster kids, pushing her uppity monstrosity of a puppy down to teach it not to jump on guests, moving furniture alone. Quite likely as tough as me, only she's nice. Got me beat, in spades.
She's cute, no doubt, but something about her transcends gender. Honest to God, most times I forget she's a she, and carry on just like she's one of the guys. She's the first girl I've ever known who that ability came naturally to. Some girls hang with the guys to get guys. Some girls are tom-boys 'cause they've got "something to prove".
Luna has nothing to prove. She deserves the mantle of a Cer.
The Beating...
The speeding feet in the pounding rain. The perpetual beat of a heart. Pounding blood. There is a cave in my heart.
Stepping out of the rain, into the shadows, the noise transitions from the wash of the cloudburst to the flow of your anxious blood. Then to the pounding of your heart. It's so loud. Terrifying, yet trusted.
The roar is overwhelmed by the beating. The beating of dark membranes. You have disturbed them. You are enveloped by their plethora of leather-silk wings. Neither bird nor beast, the ostracized. Bats. After they have settled, you see the moonlight reflected in two tapetums. The truth in those eyes, is it familiar to you? Or should you be frightened? How many lives has this creature lived?
Come in, friend. Step closer, enemy. You were washed by the rain, rinsed by the darkness, dried by the wings, and clothed. By a purpose.
Am I a panther? Am I the dusk?
Stepping out of the rain, into the shadows, the noise transitions from the wash of the cloudburst to the flow of your anxious blood. Then to the pounding of your heart. It's so loud. Terrifying, yet trusted.
The roar is overwhelmed by the beating. The beating of dark membranes. You have disturbed them. You are enveloped by their plethora of leather-silk wings. Neither bird nor beast, the ostracized. Bats. After they have settled, you see the moonlight reflected in two tapetums. The truth in those eyes, is it familiar to you? Or should you be frightened? How many lives has this creature lived?
Come in, friend. Step closer, enemy. You were washed by the rain, rinsed by the darkness, dried by the wings, and clothed. By a purpose.
Am I a panther? Am I the dusk?
THE PLAN for Labels
CHARACTERS are influential people in my tales.
BROWN is tales from a span of ages.
WHITE is tales from age 0-7.
RED is tales from age 8-14.
ORANGE is tales from age 14-21.
YELLOW is tales from age 22-28.
GREEN is tales from age 29-35.
BLUE is tales from age 36-42.
INDIGO is tales from age 43-49.
PURPLE is tales from age 50-56.
BLACK is tales from age 57-63.
Grey is an insight into how these tales may be affecting me.
BROWN is tales from a span of ages.
WHITE is tales from age 0-7.
RED is tales from age 8-14.
ORANGE is tales from age 14-21.
YELLOW is tales from age 22-28.
GREEN is tales from age 29-35.
BLUE is tales from age 36-42.
INDIGO is tales from age 43-49.
PURPLE is tales from age 50-56.
BLACK is tales from age 57-63.
Grey is an insight into how these tales may be affecting me.
Blog Archive
Friday, April 25, 2008
Luna
Put to Rest by Dusk Watchman on 25.4.08
Labels: Characters
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