Work Text:
At the core of it is a spike of pain.
| | | | A beggar sits upon the street, doing tricks for coin.
| | | The line is pulled taught, the rod bowing.
| | | | | | He will throw the match or lose his head.
| And his kingdom will be lead to ruin.
| | | | | As any father would, he fears for his daughter’s future.
| | | | | | | Her husband towers over her, masked, silent as they are bound.
| | | | | | | | Never to feel the wind beneath his wings again.
| | The kits are small, and weak.
| Seeing nothing but goodness in the world around himself.
The body pets the silk scarf with imperceptible motion.
| | | | Hearing an offer for a job, he walks for days.
| | | The sun rises and sets as he battles the fish.
| | | | | | | She spends hours searching for the path.
| | Lying in wait where the voles run past.
| | | | | Hoping to hear anything from her secret beloved.
| | | | | | He polishes his blade.
| | | | | | | | And cries out in sorrow at his fate.
| The prince is summoned by an old friend, visiting from afar.
The body feels a gentle tugging at its chest.
| | | | | | | | The man in red splints his wings.
| | | | | It’s an offer that every young lover dreams of.
| | | | ”A field of my own to carry these stones but five li?”
| | | The fish is driven into his boat by those jaws from below
| | The kits feast upon her giant catch.
| | | | | | And his heart runs hot with the joy of the fight.
| | | His heart twinging with pain, he rows on.
| | | | | | | | Yet able to ignore it all as he glides over the hills below.
| If it all goes well, by this time tomorrow the kingdom will be saved.
| | | | | | | The path up the hill her only salvation.
| | | | It’s an easy walk, even with a pocket full of stones.
| | | | | | Be it from pride or simple joy, he does not give up.
As pinpricks of light enter his vision.
| | | | | The father grins, seeing his daughter all grown up.
| | But she wants as much time with them as she can get.
| The young prince slides the knife into the usurper’s heart-
| | The stoat’s neck snaps within the snare-
| | | The fisherman collapses as he glides into harbor-
| | | | The old beggar’s belt-pouch rips open-
| | | | | The girl at last goes to her lover’s side-
| | | | | | The swordsman’s blade draws his enemies blood-
| | | | | | | The bride dives from the cliff-
| | | | | | | | The falcon catches the falling star in it’s talons-
-and he wakes in his husband’s arms.