Familiar, or the Same?

▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄

#FSWEntry

Word Count: 1,640

▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄

▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄

Familiar, or the Same?

◇

    Long ago chaos reigned. It was worshiped, praises and feared. All beings were the same, no gods existed.

    Until once in the night sky, thunder shook. Controlled and calmed, rolling on and on. Until out of the night sky came the Mother.

    She had no children of her own, no comfort to rest her weary head on when she grew tired. With her powers she controlled the chaos, reigning over it.

     Everyone feared her, except for one girl, who approached her memorized.

    “How do you hold back such a thing?” She asked, her eyes reflecting the stars in her ice blue irises.

     “Would you like to know?” The Mother asked, comforted for the first time.

     The girl nodded her head shyly, and with that the Mother created her first child. The chosen child, one who she bestows great power. To guide us when she is absent from this world.

•~•

    An old raven slumbers, his mind at work. ing a long time ago that night he lost everything.

    Of the crisp cold night, the wind lashing on his face. Making it difficult to keep up in the rain. Of the streak of lightning, of Dawn falling earthward. Of the pained that followed. Of his screams.

     He awakes, grumpy from his fitful sleep. He looks around to make sure none of the other creatures saw him.

     He finally nods, satisfied, before hopping down from his perch. He nimbly climbs down the tall tree, he labels as his.

    He enters the small meadow, and he sees busy movement from all the others animals. The deers running in circles, the sparrows and blue jays flying high. Doris, the old bear slowly walking around the edge of the perimeter. The squirrels huddled around their great old oak tree.

     The raven is surprised by such activity, until he overhears some of the younger, more eager sparrows above.

    “I’m so excited! Mom says it can be tough to chose your first witch!”

    “Nonsense! I want one with bravery and guts to go against the rules!”

    “Of course you do!”

    They call to one another, excited and nervous.

    The raven’s shoulders slowly slump, as the peaceful expression on his face runs off into one of pain and grief.

    “Selection day.” He mumbles. All the animales going still as they hear him. They know what this day means for him.

      “Moral.” Gin starts, turning her delicate head towards him. “Let the younglings have their day. We all know your pain, but please-“

    “You know nothing!” He interjects, almost hisses out. “No one here is as old as I! No one has seen so many generations as I have! No one, so they should know the cost of losing a witch before her time! Of the pain and grief!” He caws, his cries turning into almost a scream.

    “Moral... Please. We understand.... You were the last chosen’s familiar, it was a tragedy.... What she did to you and what you’ve gone through....”

    “What I still go through.” He hisses, storming past the old doe. Towards the small worn path that leads into town.

     There he sees the buses and cars arriving, delivering the newest generation of witches. Their parents proud, and doubting.

    He grunts, annoyed by the prospect of more noise near his part of the forest. He’s become almost a myth to those young witches. They become scared whenever he yells at their broom forms, or their potion making.

    He knows only one place where their noise does not reach him, where he can truly be at peace away from everyone.

     He makes it in no time, knowing every root and bump along his path. He’s walked it hundreds, if not thousands of times before.

    He squeezes easily in between the old rusted bars, and into the long unkept grass. Their long blades push against his chest making his feathers wet with morning dew.

     “The elders have better reminded the community to leave me be this year.” He mutters, thinking of that one year the new witchlings wanted to see if the tales of the “immortal raven” was true. His throat still hasn’t recover from the yelling match he got into afterwards.

     He makes his way bristly to an old, cracked stone. Where a tiny wooden ladder leans against it, the raven makes his way up.

    Pausing halfway for a breath as his wing flaps to try to keep his balance. He glances around, waiting to see the young birds giggling behind the gate.

    How they love to mock him, and make comments behind his back when they think he can’t hear them.

    He’s surprised though to see they’re no where to be seen. Instead a girl with ice blue eyes, and midnight hair stands nervously at the gate.

    The raven looks away quickly, hoping it’s only his eyes playing tricks on him. He know’s she’s gone, she’s been gone for almost a thousand years now. She wouldn’t come back this soon, not if the Mother has mercy on him.

     He reaches the top, and perches there, closing his eyes slowly. The crickets chip, and he can hear the birds far away singing to one another. It is peace.

    “Mr. Moral.” Someone says from behind him. He sighs, before opening his eyes and turning around. He staggers back, almost falling off the stone.

    “What! Are you doing?!? You foolish girl!” He yells at the young witch standing before him. His chest raising and falling fast, his mind a whirl in pain and fury. He told the elders he wanted nothing to do with the next chosen child, yet her she is!

     “I-um-I just wanted to know.....”

    “What? That the tales are true! That the raven stands on his witches grave this day!” He caws, trying to hold his sobs at bay. His eyes growing moist with unshed tears.

    “Well.... I just wanted to know what she was like..... What I have to live up to.” She states, looking at the ground ashamed suddenly.

    “And the elders let you just wonder off? Much like they did with the last one!” He mutters, turning away. “All you have to know is she died before she was meant to. Listen to your familiar, and pay attention to the wind.”

    “Well, no. I sneaked away....... and well...”

     The raven chuckles before she can continue. Reminded of his sweet Dawn, of her rebelliousness, and courage.

     The girl looks up to him, surprised and confused.

     “You’re very much like her.... She had the same eyes and hair as you..... even got nervous in the same way. Yet she always went her own way. I should have been stronger that night, listened to the elders more.” He remaniises, a deep sorrow buried in his cracked and worn voice.

    “I don’t-“

    “You don’t need to. It’s my fault she’s dead. I got picked up by the wind, and I lost control. She tried to dive after me, and...... you know the rest.” The raven turns to the girl, his shoulders hunched, and his head hanging low.

     “Is that how you lost your wing?” She quietly asks, her eyes wide. And her hand twitches.

    The raven looks down on his lost wing, his other one twitching with a sort of nervous energy. Like it wishes to fly suddenly, ing that night and how it was free in the wind.

    “Yes.” The raven whispers, dragging his one claw along Dawns gravestone. He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. “We familiars live as long as we do because of our relationship with our witches.... I was the chosen’s familiar, she died giving me her life. No one knows how much longer I have, and I don’t wish to live that much longer anyways. Familiar’s are meant to go with their witches.”

    The girl, watches the raven. Her mind ablaze with many questions, and yet she can’t make herself speak them. How can she when Moral still mourns his dear witch. She turns to go, pulling at her dark cape. Until she turns back and looks at the raven.

     “Everyone’s wrong about you, they say your angry and resentful. But, you care deeply, and well, can you be there when I get my familiar? I think she would have liked that....” She shyly asks him, lowing her head as she leaves.

    Moral sits, his mind at battle with himself. He has sat here on this day for more than 900 years. He has cried for each day, more tears than possible for a living being. And yet he sits here, faced with the newest child.

    “What is your name?” He asks quietly, looking to the girl. His feathers ruffled and fluffed as he tries to keep from crying, from showing weakness.

    “Kinder. Gwen Kinder.” The young witch says, stopping but not looking back. Waiting for the raven to say something more.

    “Kinder, would you mind giving me a lift to the ceremony? The elders will need an explanation for your disappearance, and I’ve had more than enough experience with the last chosen witch. She was always getting herself in trouble.” He states, a small smile playing at his sadden face.

     She hesitantly approaches back to the raven, where she lowers her shoulder so he can climb aboard. He gracefully steps up onto her cloaked shoulder, suddenly reminded of his days with Dawn.

    He never has liked many witches after he lost Dawn, but he feels better, almost normal around this new witch. Yet he doesn’t want to take away someone elses right to share her experiences, especially those of such a rare witch.

     He will wait, he thinks, until the ceremony. If no one will dare chose her, than he will. No one probably will after they see him on her shoulder, he intimidates many of the witches and other animals. But he will step up to the plate again, and maybe do right this time. Maybe he will be let into the Mothers arms finally, able to meet again with his family and his favourite witch.

Fin.

▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄

I hoped you enjoyed and are having a gladly mysterious day/night!

▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄

(No photo’s belong to me!)