Sonder Fen and Mead (#words)


Likes asking odd questions
Has way too many ideas
Likes Fantasy especially Blades of Actar and Staff and the Sword series
Original name Jasminandnightsky
(mead is another word for hill)

Scraps of Sky

January 27, 2021

PROMPT: Memory Object

    I held the tattered, weathered, and faded pieces of fabric in my hands.
    The material was coarse and threadbare, strands of blue handing from the edges of the many holes. Darker patches here and there suggested were stains once were or still was. A bit of the hem lay in my palm, the silver stitching still as bright as when it was first tailored.
    I knelt and slowly set the pieces down beside the others, gingerly arranging the scraps into the shape of a well-loved cape. I picked up a small scrap. This one was mostly hem and the darkest blue out of all the others. I knew what had made this one so dark. I knew exactly what circumstances had stained this edge.
    I had awoken in the dead of night when we were out in the woods. I had just enough time to get up and grab my staff before the first intruder's blow fell on me. It was not a bad fight, nor did I get injured greatly. It had just been a small scratch on my thigh. Prince Edvard had not agreed on that one. He was probably right since I had fainted.
    My mouth curved up at the memory. Both he and Zarkim had been furious that I had neglected to inform them. With care, I placed the corner in its place. It settled near a more intact piece than the rest. Slight outlines, faded from countless years of neglect, slinked around curves, forming a familiar insignia.
    A Tormble sitting erect on top of a crown, nose in the air and tail gracefully curving underneath. Or that was what it should have shone. The lines depicting the sign of royalty were too far gone to depict a clear picture. But he could still see it clearly, just like it had been when Prince Edvard had given him the cape.
    That day had been clear and bright, filled with festive ceremony. While thousands of citizens watched, the King, amethyst crown upon his head and Tormble seated on his shoulder, lifted the cape up for all to see. Back then it had been a lovely shade of dark royal blue, silver thread embroidered along the hems. It glimmered in the light like glistening waves in the sea and flowed down from his shoulders as fluidly as water.
    I set another strip in place. That day was grey, the gloomy expanse stretching above our heads farther than the eye could see. The sound of thousands of hooves beating the ground thundered under the melody of the jingle of tack interspersed with the snorts of horses and sighs of people.
    My cape slowly took shape as I set each tattered scrap in place. Each one had a story, a glimpse of memory. Each one flew to my mind, filling my vision as clear as it had been when I had lived it. But there were holes. Many holes. Too many holes. Holes in my memory. Holes in my cape. Holes in my life.
    I sat back. The scraps' threads fluttered in the gentle breeze, just snippets of past blue skies cut out and laid bare on a bed of earth. Blue skies I had fought under, laughed under, bled under, survived under.
    Snippets of blue sky that I had died under.
    I stood, the soft soil giving slightly under my feet. Shoots of green poked their heads out of the earth, reaching for the light filtering down through the rustling leaves. The scraps of sky lay in the middle of the small glen, protected by a ring of trees, their color -- though faded -- standing out among the greens and browns.
    I pressed my hand to my chest. It came away red. I hold my hand out, comparing the fresh crimson stain to the darkened on the cape. I turned and stepped out of the protection of the trees, the scene fading into the grey that had become my blanket in this space between life and death.
I am not sure if this counts because I'm jumping into Journey's head but... MEH, my life is not interesting at all -- unless you want to hear about a certain stuffed animal I had when I was a wee little kid.

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