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IN Ficbit
Hmm. This...is not as good as the image in my head is. I regret that.
There are things other than battle to stand for.
The darkness presses around them, cold, musty, and filled with the low voice of stone stressed beyond its limits. The humans in the small mining group were still silent, as they had been since the main support gave with the roar of enraged stone, snapping the electricity line and plunging them all into eternal night. Half of them thought they might already be dead, and were thus afraid to speak, lest their sins answer back.
Finally, Marco fumbles in the darkness. He's one of the few left in this day and age who smokes, and in a couple of practiced motions, a fragile teardrop of light makes the darkness slink away. The faces around him are drawn and craggy with shadows. They crowd in, moths drawn in terror to the light. He counts heads, and comes up one empty. "Joshua? Josh, where are you?"
"There," Pat gestures towards a huge man standing silent, his arms upraised as if to catch the sky. Marco sidles closer, and realises that Joshua has caught not the sky, but the mountain. Shards of stone heap around his feet; his skin is grayed with rock dust. His huge hands, gnarled and calloused by years working the mine, are straddling a crack in the ceiling. A place where rotten stone finally gave way. Until Joshua caught it.
Marco can't breathe for a moment as he watches the unlikely Atlas. It's only the sudden scorching of his fingers that jars him out of it. He curses and shakes; darkness pounces. His breath is ragged in his ears, and it seems like another voice that finally says, "All right, guys. Not much time. Let's form up and get the hell out of Dodge. Pat, we'll divide up the matches. You take point, I'll take back..."
"But what about Josh?"
Silence. Josh had never been much of a talker, but in this case, the silence is eloquent. Then Marco breaks it, saying, "I'll stay with him until everyone else is out. Maybe we can figure something out. Let's make it worth it...however it goes."
There's no more argument. The men form up, matches are distributed, and the march, ragged and hunchbacked, begins. Marco waits dutifully until the last man is on the way. "Josh? Joshua?" More silence. In the flickering matchflame, Joshua's eyes are turned upward, as if he can see through the stone, straight to heaven. "Is there anything I can do?" He reaches out to touch his friend, and finds the skin cool and hard to the touch, as if the mountain had invaded Joshua's soul.
Marco withdraws his hand, blinks away the sudden dusty tears in his eyes. He turns away, starts to make his way towards the others.
Only silence follows him.
Alone in the darkness, Joshua follows the song of his attuned, the low bass beat of danger gradually becoming lighter and swelling into safe harbor. Sad, perhaps, but grief will make one stronger, and they will only be parted for a little while. The Cherub lets the choir attunement fade (not his own, but oh-so-useful).
The mountain embraces him.
There are things other than battle to stand for.
The darkness presses around them, cold, musty, and filled with the low voice of stone stressed beyond its limits. The humans in the small mining group were still silent, as they had been since the main support gave with the roar of enraged stone, snapping the electricity line and plunging them all into eternal night. Half of them thought they might already be dead, and were thus afraid to speak, lest their sins answer back.
Finally, Marco fumbles in the darkness. He's one of the few left in this day and age who smokes, and in a couple of practiced motions, a fragile teardrop of light makes the darkness slink away. The faces around him are drawn and craggy with shadows. They crowd in, moths drawn in terror to the light. He counts heads, and comes up one empty. "Joshua? Josh, where are you?"
"There," Pat gestures towards a huge man standing silent, his arms upraised as if to catch the sky. Marco sidles closer, and realises that Joshua has caught not the sky, but the mountain. Shards of stone heap around his feet; his skin is grayed with rock dust. His huge hands, gnarled and calloused by years working the mine, are straddling a crack in the ceiling. A place where rotten stone finally gave way. Until Joshua caught it.
Marco can't breathe for a moment as he watches the unlikely Atlas. It's only the sudden scorching of his fingers that jars him out of it. He curses and shakes; darkness pounces. His breath is ragged in his ears, and it seems like another voice that finally says, "All right, guys. Not much time. Let's form up and get the hell out of Dodge. Pat, we'll divide up the matches. You take point, I'll take back..."
"But what about Josh?"
Silence. Josh had never been much of a talker, but in this case, the silence is eloquent. Then Marco breaks it, saying, "I'll stay with him until everyone else is out. Maybe we can figure something out. Let's make it worth it...however it goes."
There's no more argument. The men form up, matches are distributed, and the march, ragged and hunchbacked, begins. Marco waits dutifully until the last man is on the way. "Josh? Joshua?" More silence. In the flickering matchflame, Joshua's eyes are turned upward, as if he can see through the stone, straight to heaven. "Is there anything I can do?" He reaches out to touch his friend, and finds the skin cool and hard to the touch, as if the mountain had invaded Joshua's soul.
Marco withdraws his hand, blinks away the sudden dusty tears in his eyes. He turns away, starts to make his way towards the others.
Only silence follows him.
Alone in the darkness, Joshua follows the song of his attuned, the low bass beat of danger gradually becoming lighter and swelling into safe harbor. Sad, perhaps, but grief will make one stronger, and they will only be parted for a little while. The Cherub lets the choir attunement fade (not his own, but oh-so-useful).
The mountain embraces him.
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And the last line - perfect. Just perfect. Stone embracing Stone, and it's death, and it's still an embrace, and the pain isn't an invalidation of that.
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Also, *sniffle, honk*.
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*snugs and hands over tissues*
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Also, have you had emu-jerky? It's really very good!
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Mmmmm, Cherubim.
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Yes. Stone Cherubim rock! (pun intended)
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Yes! [giggles!]
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