Raging Star

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Don’t die, don’t leave me, sweet Allis don’t go.

My golden beauty.

My life.

Then he lit the fire to send her,

his heartsoul,

back to the stars.

What was best in us burned to ash.

She walked in my dreams,

my sunlight mother,

every night fer them first two years.

An the same fer Lugh.

Lugh an me, the same.

It was some kinda comfert,

I guess.

As her light faded our darkness grew an she walked in

my dreams no more.

But now, she walks agin.

In the dark of my dreams,

she lives

agin.

WE RUN. THROUGH THE NIGHT. THE FIVE OF US. THROUGH the white night-time woods of New Eden. Lugh an Tommo an Ash an Creed an me. The five of us. We run.

Dry tree litter cushions the ground. Hushes the pound of our boots. Our breath puffs steam in the chill. We’re all sharp, tight with intent.

Lugh’s got the rope, slung around his chest. I carry the blastpack. Swaddled in cloth, tucked in my sack, along with my meagre gear.

Long-looker. Sleepkit. Flint. Waterskin. Salt twist. Cooktin. Shirt. Medicine bag. Knife in my boot sheath. Bolt shooter. Ammo belt. My whiteoak bow an a full quiver. An the heartstone hangs at my neck. Cool in the hollow of my throat. That’s pretty well it. It ain’t much.

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