writer-thrax

[writer-thrax]

The cage is unlocked.

It always has been. The lion trapped inside knows that.

Yet the lion does not leave.

Its fur is tattered. Ribs press against taut skin.

Outside is food. Outside is freedom.

The lion is dying.

The cage's door remains closed.

No one feeds the lion. Not anymore. There is no one left to feed it.

The lion is lost. The lion is starving. The lion is lonely.

The lion stays in the cage.

#writeblr #writers on tumblr #writers #spilled poem #short poem #original poem #poem #poetry #extended metaphors

[writer-thrax]

OUT OF TOUCH THURSDAY

#happy out of touch thursday #out of touch thursday #out of touch #thursday

[writer-thrax]

12:53am - Google Search: 24/7 mental health hotlines

12:48am - Norton Antivirus Download

12:47am - Google Search: Norton download

12:44am - r/nostupidquestions Antiviruses

12:44am - Google Search page 3: antiviruses with free trials

12:42am - Google Search page 2: antiviruses with free trials

12:39am - Google Search: antiviruses with free trials

12:38am - Error 22004: insufficient funds

12:38am - Settings: History

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Yesterday

11:38pm - YouTube: How to reset faulty monitors

11:37pm - Google Search: strange faces appearing on monitor

11:30pm - Force Shutting Down PC, Step By Step Guide

11:25pm - YouTube: How to fix faulty power button

11:24pm - Closing Unresponsive Apps

11:24pm - Google Search: computer not turning off

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10:30pm - Google Search: run

10:29pm - Google Search: run

10:28pm - Google Search: run

10:27pm - Google Search: run

10:26pm - Google Search: run

10:25pm - Google Search: run

10:24pm - Google Search: run

10:23pm - Google Search: run

10:22pm - Google Search: run

10:21pm - Google Search: run

10:20pm - Google Search: run

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10:20am - Google Search: nearby tech stores

10:15am - YouTube: Replacing broken fans

10:14am - Google Search: how to fix broken computer fans

10:08am - r/tech Why aren't my cooling fans turning off?

10:06am - Google Search page 2: PC loud fans wont shut up

10:02am - Google Search: PC loud fans wont shut up

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5:03am - YouTube: Lofi beats to study or relax to

5:02am - Google Search: sleep music

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Two days ago

9:44pm - YouTube: Lofi tunes to study/sleep to

9:43pm - YouTube Search: sleep music

8:40pm - YouTube: Is the paranormal really real?

7:18pm - YouTube: A Brief History of Hauntings (Part 1/17)

|

5:27pm - Ultimate Lamb Roast Recipe

5:26pm - Google Search: lamb roast recipe

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8:15am - Google Maps: Poppyville Offices

8:15am - Google Search: Poppyville Offices

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Three days ago

10:05pm - YouTube: 10 hours of lofi beats

10:04pm - Google Search: sleep music YouTube

10:01pm - Steam Download

10:00pm - Google Search: steam

9:58pm - Download Discord for Windows 10

9:57pm - Google Search: discord download

9:48pm - r/tech I just got a new PC! Does anyone have any recommended downl...

9:46pm - Reddit Search: new PC advice

9:32pm - r/inheritance Hey, I inherited a PC from my pops and it should've been cleared bu...

9:31pm - r/inheritance

9:29pm - Sign in to use Reddit

9:29pm - Reddit Home

9:28pm - Google Search: reddit

9:26pm - Thank You For Installing Firefox

9:26pm - Welcome Back!

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More than a year ago

3:00am - Google Search: goodbye cruel world

3:00am - Settings: History

Write a horror story in the format of an Internet search history

#writers #writers on tumblr #writing prompts #writeblr #writing inspiration #horror #i have no clue how good what i wrote is #i feel like its trash but people liked the last one i did #and i also felt like that one was trashg #tw sui implied #tw sui

[writer-thrax]

Within moments of the supervisor closing the door behind herself, I hear the phone ring. It's such an innocent and normal sound, yet I cannot shake the feeling that something ominous is looming on the other side of the line. However, I need this job. So I answer the phone.

Pressing the classic curved shape against my ear, I almost stumble out a greeting but catch myself mere moments before disaster. Remember Natalie, only say Yes or No. And never, ever give them your name. And so, I wait for whatever creature, alive or dead, to speak first.

A minute of utter silence goes by, and I feel my vision going faint from both the building terror and the fact that I do not know whether I am allowed to even breathe into the phone. However, if I can't, then I break that rule immediately by gasping in surprise once the creature on the other side finally speaks.

"Is it a person?"

A young, eager voice plays clearly from the speaker pressed firmly against my ear. Upon hearing my gasp of surprise, the child laughs softly. It almost feels like it surprised me on purpose.

Putting that aside, I remind myself yet again of what I need to do. Yes or no, whichever feels right. So I decide to play along and say, "Yes."

"Yay!" the child replies, before quickly continuing, "19 questions left! So... Is it a real person?"

Before even processing what is said, I blurt out, "Yes." I've done some improv training in the past, so I'm used to just saying 'yes' when I don't know exactly I should say. It feels wrong not also adding an 'and', but a job is a job. And it pays surprisingly well.

My train of thought is soon interrupted by the child cheering for joy once more. A small smile spreads up my face hearing the kid be so happy. Yeah, I should just answer however makes the kid happiest.

Having made up my mind, I hear the kid say, "18 more! Are they an adult?"

Without hesitation I reply, "Yes!" and I have to swallow down a 'good job!' I still have a job to do, after all. And this one pays well enough to feed my whole family! Or, at least, what's left of it...

Again, the child cries in joy from getting the answer right before saying that ominous, "17 more!" before continuing, "Are they a girl?"

"Yes!"

"Woo! 16 left. Does she have siblings?"

"Yes!"

"15! Does she live away from her parents?"

At this question, I pause. I almost instinctively respond with the same 'yes' as always, but something wells up in my throat and I find myself choking on tears instead. It still feels like just yesterday when the men in blue came knocking on the door. Yet it feels a lifetime away when I later had to give an eulogy at Ma and Pa's funeral.

Noticing the silence, the child probes, "Are you ok?"

"...Yes."

"Okay! 14 left! Again, does she live away from her parents?"

"......Yes."

"I'm getting close, I know it! 13 left. Hmmmmm. Does she live with anyone else in her family?"

"Yes." I, too, feel as though the child is getting close. But I do not like what they're getting close to. But it's probably just a coincidence. Come on Natalie, just say yes or no. All you need to do is entertain this kid long enough for them to hang up.

"12 left, but I bet I can do it in 2! Does she have a job answering phone calls?"

An audible gulp comes from my mouth and goes directly into the receiver. However, the child doesn't take that as a response. I feel my hair begin to stand on end, and a shiver worms its way down my spine. Mustering up the last shreds of my quickly dashed courage, I say for the first time,

"No."

"Liar! Final question!! Is the thing Natalie?"

To that, I can only think of one thing to say: "Fuck."

“Your job is to sit in this room and answer this phone. No matter what you are asked or told, no matter what the voice sounds like, respond only with ‘yes’ or 'no’, whatever feels right. And never, ever say your name. Hang up only after it does.”

#writers #writers on tumblr #writing prompts #writeblr #writing inspiration #20 questions #horror #gothic horror #i dont really know where i was going with this and i dont feel like theres any actual meaning #but this was my first response upon reading the prompt #so i wrote it

[writer-thrax]

Don't know why you're all worried about losing icons, I feel that there's an easy way to tell. Your friends apart.

What if we all make our text and individual colour to us ans maybe mix up the way we type in an way to really make us stand out

[writer-thrax]

It had been 358 years. 358 years since the love of my life was taken from me in an unfortunate accident. And when she finally woke up, I saw her for 3 days before she was gone. The first thing she said, the moment she opened her eyes, was, "You're a monster!"

She was right, of course. She always is. I am a monster. I wasn't always one, but after 34 years of grief, I couldn't take it any longer. It took 23 years of scientific pursuit, but I found a way to steal the life of another to extend my own. Not to slow my aging, but to simply not die.

I'm a monster.

Grey skin sags from metal rods replacing my disintegrated bone. These are the third set of rods I have gone through. Creaky hydrolics hold the entire system together, all attached to the slimey mass stored where once was my heart.

Of course, my heart is part of that mass, alongside the hearts of the six orphans I found to keep me alive. They were victims of a war started by my country and ended for good by the very same country.

I was born to a monster.

My wife, my beloved, she has escaped into the wilds. Yet I do not fear for her death in the irradiated wastelands. Even if the 12 I met were worth pennies she still should be protected from death for a long while by their hearts beating in place of her own.

Her skin is supple and smooth, relative to mine, after being stored in a preservative vat only 34 years after her death. Her bones survived, although a few muscles had to be replaced with hydrolics, and the brain had to be remade completely. But she is alive.

I made a monster.

117 years have passed since she ran from me. Not once did she return, although I never moved just in case she ever did. I doubt she could retrace the steps even if she wanted to, but I stayed regardless.

I am fairly sure, no, I am certain that we are the only surviving humans now. If humans are even the right thing to call us at this point. And as the days count down, I am ever aware that my life shall inevitably come to an end, as too shall hers. Oh, my love, why did this have to happen to us?

Humans are monsters.

After your loving spouse died, you committed yourself to learning how to bring them back to life. You succeed beyond your wildest dreams, resurrecting them perfectly. So why do they want to leave you now?

#writers #writers on tumblr #writing prompts #writeblr #writing inspiration #immortality #reviving lover #revival #post apocalyptic #romance

[writer-thrax]

FEMA is doing an emergency alert test on all TVs, radios, and cell phones on October 4, 2023, at approximately 2:20pm ET.

If you live in the US and you have a phone you need to keep secret for any reason, make sure that it is turned off at this time.

Yes, I'm doing this months in advance, and yes, my blog has very little reach, but I figure better to post about it more than less.

Please reblog and add better tags than mine, I'm bad at tags.

#abuse survival #abuse survivor #turn your phone off #lgbtpeople #lgbtq community #safety #trans safety #fostercare #helpful #reblog it #phone #advice

[writer-thrax]

Another inmate is shoved into my cell. Immediately, I rush to his side and ask him three words I don't think he's heard in a while.

"Are you alright?"

He looks at me for a moment. His eyes flick down and then back up, trying to figure out what kind of monster he was trapped with. Yet all he sees is a human. The wariness in his eyes does not fade.

Ignoring all this, I continue,

"Come on, I saw what that guard did to you. And you've got a bruise to prove it." I tap my right eye. "Let's get some ice on that."

Of course, his first reaction is to reel away from me: to refuse any help in hopes the night will pass by uneventfully. However, now that the black eye is on the forefront of his mind, the inmate begins wincing in a forgotten pain.

With a gentle smile, I scooch up next to him, ice in hand. I then place it on the ground between us before moving back and giving him space. He looks at me in confusion before asking through cracked lips, "Why?"

"Because I care."

His battered eyes begin to water. He looks upon me as if I were an angel before taking the ice pack and pressing it against the swollen flesh. He recoils slightly in pain but continues regardless.

We pass a couple minutes by like that, wordless as he feels the unfamiliar cool on his warm skin. His breaths, shallow and rapid when he first entered the room, have now turned deep and slow. Eventually, he whimpers, "I don't want to die..."

Tears roll down his face and he slams the half-melted ice against the cell wall. A guard instinctually leans in from around the corner to check what happened, but I dismiss him with a wave.

A silent fury burns within when I see the flecks of red on the guard's fist. And when I see the terror etched into the face of the poor man before me from the moment the guard came into view. The wrong man is in a cell. But the corrupt guard's justice has to wait for another day.

Confirming that the inmate and I are alone again, I crawl forward to his defeated figure. His entirety is overcome with mumbling, "I don't want to die!" over and over again, interrupted only by the occasional sobbing.

With the greatest care I can muster, I pull him into a light hug and whisper into his ear, "Everything is going to be ok. You're safe now. You'll see the sun again."

If his face was a river of tears before, then it would be an ocean now. He clutches me tight, words not being able to express the emotions welling up inside. I reciprocate, all the while continuing to give assurances that everything will be fine.

Eventually, I feel his chest rhythmically rising and falling in my arms. I carefully lift him off the ground and lay him in the cell's only bed, tucking him in for the night. Then, I rest my head against the cold hard ground, smiling.

When he wakes up, he'll be a changed man.

Death Row Inmates can have their sentence abolished if they can handle a single night in the same cell as you; the most innocent looking person they’ve ever seen.

#writers #writers on tumblr #writing prompts #writeblr #writing inspiration #prison #mental health #therapy

[writer-thrax]

The Mindbreaker is the most feared and revered mage alive today. And the most hated. He ignored the Council's warnings, delving far deeper into mind magic than any moral mage should. What came out the other side was a monster.

The continent hasn't seen war in 93 years. War would be suicide. Ever since it was discovered that mana flows through the mind of a mage just the same as a blade of grass, legions of good warmages could collapse with the flick of a wrist. The worst part, what makes such a weapon so deadly, is that such an act does not even cost the mage mana. Nay, it replenishes their mana. After all, they are simply absorbing the mind like it were the energy of a blade of grass.

In the 93 years that have passed, each nation has had to keep someone knowledgeable in mind theft around at all times purely to prevent other nations from invading. It is dangerous, but it has worked. Had worked. Until the Mindbreaker decided to make a nation of his own.

He learned how to do more than steal the mana that any mageborn is entangled forever with. Those that should fall to him instead kneel. For a servant is far more useful than a corpse. With some elementary motions and only a single incantation, he had the entire Mindwatch on his side. The very people meant to protect the nation against betrayal became the betrayers that the nation so desperately needed protection against. How ironic.

Now, when I stumble home in the dark, all I can think of is the Mindbreaker's despicable face when he stole my brother from me. Not even the burn of beer at the back of my throat is enough to let me forget.

My brother was the one who convinced Ma and Pa to adopt me, a commonborn, into their pureblood mage family after he found me on the streets. It's funny, isn't it? I used to hate the fact I was commonborn. I wanted to cast spells just like my brother. But it is my commonborn blood that saved me from the Mindbreaker's wrath. I am his natural enemy.

I will have my revenge.

There is a forbidden type of magic out there. It isn’t forbidden because it’s inherently evil, or forces you to lose your humanity, or requires human sacrifices - it’s just forbidden because it’s annoying as heck to fight against.

#writers #writers on tumblr #writing prompts #writeblr #magic #mind magic #writing inspiration #revenge

[writer-thrax]

The spell of the fae forced you to tell them your name. The fae looks at you with pure horror, while you look at them confused, because that was definitely not your name.

#storing this for later #writing prompts

[writer-thrax]

Numbered 10 were the men who died that day.

At 9 the time to face their shame soon chimed,

But 8 would decide to hate this blasted fate.

Yet 7 would act, doomed when come heaven's gate;

The 6 tricks they pulled did not fix their failures.

So 5 begged that they were great when alive,

For 4 mighty angels had denied them grace.

Lucky 3 were the ones who flee not from sin.

To 2 the path forward was not red but blue.

And 1 won it all, neither heaven nor hell.

Because infinity grows dull whereas nothing, 0, grows not at all.

#spilled poem #poetry #short poem #original poem #idfk what im doing

[writer-thrax]

I know I did this prompt differently to how it was intended (the black-hooded figure was obviously meant to be Death and the idea was them being sick of their job) but writing prompts are meant to be exactly that. Prompts. It's up to the artist how they interpret them.

Any feedback is greatly appreciated, both positive and negative. I'm currently doing a thing where I try to write SOMETHING every week, so if you like my writing and want to see more, feel free to drop a follow.

You turn from the limp, still-warm body that used to be yours. The black-hooded figure beside you breaks into tears. “I’m not sure how much longer I can keep doing this.”, they say.

#writers #writers on tumblr #writeblr #new writers on tumblr #time loop #video games #autosave

[writer-thrax]

The silver knife, freshly coated in a deep crimson, slips from their hand. But it does not clatter against the ground. In fact, it does not touch the ground at all.

The words 'Game Over' appear in front of me, painting the world with the pitch-black lettering.

The hooded figure stops sobbing. Not because they are finished, but because they are not allowed to continue. Not with the world frozen. The last thing I notice before the reset is their tired eyes staring directly at my formless ghost. After 1853 times, they managed to work out about where I was watching them from after my death.

The knife, still frozen in the air, drifts back up to the figure's hand. It starts off slow, but it gets faster and faster. Within a blink, the tears which fell from the shadowy face sink back into their quickly drying eyes. A stab of pain re-enters my back as I'm forced into my body once more and the knife slides in for but a moment before being yanked back out, not even leaving a mark.

Then, time slows once more and I'm left standing there, my body clueless as to what horrors it is about it experience. White letters appear in the corner of my vision, and I get ready to repeat this all once more.

"Autosave loaded."

A silver knife plunges into my back.

You turn from the limp, still-warm body that used to be yours. The black-hooded figure beside you breaks into tears. “I’m not sure how much longer I can keep doing this.”, they say.

#writers #writers on tumblr #writeblr #new writers on tumblr #time loop #video games #autosave

[writer-thrax]

The Fall of a Predator

Corpse. Food. Must eat. Dissolve. Dissolve. Dissolve. Noise. Danger. Flee!

The revre, in the middle of its feasting, removes its acidic suckers from the towering criefaun corpse it stumbled across and darts into the rustling bushes. There, it waits. Its long, cylindrical ears prick at every noise, and it leaves a sucker attached to the foliage it is taking refuge in. There, the faint ebb and flow of the Soils' blood reverberates through the revre, painting a faint picture of the surroundings. Until…

Currents still. Mana frozen. Great danger! Great danger!

A living criefaun crashes through the surrounding trees, headed directly towards the corpse of its brethren. Any nearby creatures of the soils would have been immediately alerted of the criefaun's location as one of the trunks it brushes past cracks and falls, but it does not care. It knows that anything which may've heard it would know to run, not fight. Well, almost anything.

It prods the lifeless body on the harsh dirt, confirming its suspicions. And discovering something new. That some of the flesh has been melted. A great revre must have turned scavenger upon finding a criefaun. All thoughts of the criefaun-hunter disappear from its mind. That revre must be punished.

Currents moving. Currents gathering. No. Currents expanding! Hide! Hide! Hide!

Mana gathered by the criefaun soon billows out like a wave. From there, it brings a leg to the fallen tree beside it. It feels the ebb and flow of its recent creation spreading across the land and where the mana cannot pass through. It senses the shape of everything around it that is on the soils. Including the revre hiding nearby.

But what is missed was the creature of the skies quietly flapping its wings right above it. A nearby cloud begins to fade as the tlint gathers the mana of the skies. The only warning the criefaun receives before its inevitable demise is the moment the tlint began to gather the mana of the soils, too. The tops of nearby trees wither and die as they are drained of the red mana they have grown to rely on. Then, the clicking begins. A spell, forming with every syllable.

The criefaun knows this spell. So it knows its fate. In its last moments, it desperately tries to take the life of the filthy revre who dared abandon its role as predator. But it is far, far too late. As the last syllable leaves the tlint's mouth, the criefaun simply collapses.

There is no great surge of power, no dramatic fight against death. A master of the soils and the skies needs not concern itself with such struggles. Instead, it watches the revre slink its way out of the bushes it took refuge in and feast once more on the newly prepared corpse. And it watches as the next criefaun crashes its way into the trap.

Corpse. Food. Must eat.

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Thank you for reading! This is my 3rd short story in this unnamed world I've created. If anyone has ideas for names, I would be happy to hear them. And if you'd like to know more about this world and how it works, I would love to talk about it. Feel free to ask anything.

I am currently doing a thing where I try to write SOMETHING every week, and chances are, I will continue writing more about this world of mine. So follow this account if you want to see more! As with all my works, feedback is greatly appreciated. It can be positive or negative, or both!

#writeblr #fantasy #original world #original species #new writers on tumblr #magic #spilled ink #writers on tumblr #tlint #revre #criefaun

[writer-thrax]

Sorry, but I can't write anything this week. I might end up posting something short, but I doubt it. I suffer from RSI (very simply put, it's joint pain due to overuse), and it flared up over the weekend. As such, I have not been in a good condition to write anything. Even writing this was painful.

#rsi #repetitive strain injury #hypermobile problems

[writer-thrax]

The Creation Myth

Long ago, there were three great beasts. The beasts of the Seas, of the Skies, and of the Soils. They lived in a relative peace for millennia, although occasionally having fights that lasted decades. And every last fight that did happen can still be seen in the scars which etched themselves into landscapes.

The Seas was the youngest of the three, and as such always felt as if it had something to prove. Whenever a fight broke out between the three, the seas were always in some way at fault. But as the youngest, it was also the weakest. Never once did it win a fight, and very often did it lose, beaten to a bloody pulp by the Soils in a vain attempt to convince it to stop. This blue blood, shed far more often than all else, became the blue oceans. And yet, even in its injured state it shouted and screamed about how the other beasts would rue the day they messed with it. One day, the Skies had enough of the whining. It decided that the Soils' plan wasn't working, so it gouged out the Seas' face, leaving only the eyes and the ears so the Seas could see what it became and suffer its own wailing. It then discarded the empty remains into the oceans of blue blood. This gave the creatures that lived there the blessing of taste and smell. The beast of the Seas died but a century later, unable to recover from its wounds. We do not know where its corpse lays as we have not been able to go deep enough in the oceans to locate its refuge.

The Skies was the middle child. It knew the Soils was stronger than it and the Seas was far more beloved by its creations, so it lived in solitude. However, as lonely as it was, it occasionally plucked feathers from itself and breathed life into them. This is what began the species of the sky, although none of the original creatures have since survived, not yet receiving the Skies' blessing. The beast of the Skies kept out of fights as much as it could and only once was injured in the millennia of its existence. Neither the Seas nor the Soils could enter its domain. But its one injury was fatal. Soon after the Skies forever muted the Seas, the Soils boiled with anger. A great eruption burst forth from the ground, blinding the Skies permanently with its ash and soot. This blessing of sight was instead given to the creatures of the sky, stripped from the great beast as punishment for its infraction. But the Soils' rage was known to last the longest, and it was far from satiated with merely blinding its brethren. Knowing that the Skies would be forced to land, the Soils stalked after it and, upon finding its crippled form, tore it apart piece by piece. The scattered remains can still be seen drifting through the skies in what we now call 'clouds'.

Finally, there is the story of the Soils. The Soils was the oldest, and it knew it had to prove its dominance over the overs. This was often expressed through its severe punishment of the Seas, allowing its own domain to become overtaken with the blue blood of the youngest. However, the Seas was not powerless. The red blood of the soils painted the vegetation, staining it as such for generations to come. Even now, but a few plants of green or black have recovered. For every drop of red spilled from the Soils' own flesh, it made sure to take as many rivers of blue from the Seas. The Skies also injured it a few times in the millennia, but the Soils never managed to strike back. The Skies was efficient here, using that red blood and giving it to the moon instead of letting it fall back to the ground. The moon still remembers this gift, turning red for a day every few decades. The daily life of the Soils remained mostly the same until the day it plucked the Skies from the sky. The Soils, once it had finally recovered from its bought of anger, realised what it had done and wept for what was lost. It let its blue tears hang in the sky eternally, only rarely falling in the form of rain. Then, alone on the now foreign world, the Soils closed its eyes and ripped off its ears so it could finally rest. Forever. The blessing of sound has not been forgotten by the creatures of the soil, and once a decade all species of the soil come together in mourning at the foot of the Great Mountain, the final resting place of the Soils.

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This is the creation myth of the world my last short story from a tlint's perspective was set in. There is also an evolution explanation for the differences between the creatures of the sea, sky, and soil, although it does rely on this myth being at least partially true. If you want to see more of this currently unnamed world, I'll probably be making more stories on it (I'm planning on looking at the revres in more detail next time), so follow me to see what further tales I may spin. I'm currently trying to write at least SOMETHING every week, whether of this world or another. Although I wrote two things this week.

I tried doing my paragraphing a bit differently this time. But I'm a bit worried that the blocks of text, although clearly dividing the myth into a three-part story, may've made it harder to read. Any feedback on this or anything else is greatly appreciated. And if anyone has questions about the world, I am more than happy to answer them.

#writeblr #spilled ink #original world #original work #new writers on tumblr #creation myth #world building #fantasy #written work

[writer-thrax]

This is a story based in a world I somewhat just made up. I'm rather fascinated by the world, but obviously it is far from fully developed. If anyone has any questions about the world or characters, or any tips on how to improve, I would love to hear them. I'm currently trying to just write SOMETHING every week, and there's a decent chance I'll keep revisiting this world as time goes on. So if you want to see more of this world, follow my blog!

With every panted breath the burning pain in my chest only grows worse. I peer around the tree my back is pressed against, but it's too bright to see anything apart from the obvious towering statues of bark and the crimson foliage which painted the ground. Normally crimson is a colour of refuge—most other creatures can't harness the mana of the soil—but here, it only make my lungs race faster.

I knew I shouldn't have gone hunting at day. Day is the death of us all. But in my foolishness, I thought I was above it. Well I know better now, okay! You've made your point, Great Mountains, so please grant me your blessing. May your mana flow through me once more!

My throat hums with a desire to incant once more, but I push that away. Revres can sense the flow of mana through the soils—tlinta like myself can only naturally sense the mana of the air, the form of mana I'm still the least proficient in—so healing the wound in my chest might grant me temporary relief, but the only permanent relief would be the knowledge that my essence will return to the soils. No, I need to make it out of here without the blessing of the soil.

Knowing that my nocturnal eyes will be useless under the harsh sun, I take a deep breath and let my right thrummer vibrate against the ground. I don't normally like doing this—it's rather painful repeatedly slamming the ground with the same appendage I use to walk, and creatures of the air will immediately be alerted of my location due to my ineptitude in using their currents—but I'm out of options.

Soon, the reverberations form a map in the mana of the air, and I let that subtle change pass through me. I found the revre, it's sloppily dragging its deceptively fatty form across the ground in my general direction. It seems to be uncertain of my exact location, which is a good start, but I forgot that revres were blessed with the sense of sound instead of sight, so it knows that I must be near from the thrumming. Another foolish mistake that could mean my death.

With measured steps, I squint my eyes and pace to the side, attempting to leave the path it is taking. It's a slow process, but a certain one. I cannot let my impatience make a fool of me for a third time. I also cease my thrumming else it finds out I'm trying to mislead it. So I'm back to relying off of my eyes. Great. At least they can keep me from running into trees.

As that thought crosses my mind, I feel the stabbing pain of a thrummer stepping on a fallen branch, snapping the branch into two rough halves. That was the good thrummer, too. The one that wasn't already aching with every step. But that's the least of my problems. If the teachings are correct, then the gift of sound lets one hear a broken branch.

My half-blind eyes turn to where I felt the revre in the map of winds, and sure enough, something is lurching toward me at a speed far faster than I could possibly imagine had I only seen its stalking form as it slithers across the ground. But I know better this time. It won't be able to get me with those suckers again.

Since it's already found me, there's no point in trying to hide. May as well try to live. I feel my lungs expanding with something more than air as the crimson fades from the beautiful leaves around me. Soon, my throat begins clicking against the pressure, but it's not yet enough. Mortally wounding that thing won't get me out of here alive. It has to die before it gets a chance to strike back. I have to kill it in just a single blow.

At this point, the revre has realised what's about to happen as it feels the mana gathering in a single epicentre. I see it starting to go faster, its suckers fastening to loose branches and faded bushes before flinging itself forward, but it's too late. Only one of us is making it out of here alive, and I'm not planning on dying today.

Soon all colour has left the foliage around me, and only then do I release the strained valve in my throat. Within moments the mana-infused air drains itself completely from my lungs, leaving me winded. As it passes through the throat, various clicks and hums shape the form of the mana until eventually it becomes the desired mass. A torrent of mud and dirt, spewing from my far-too-small mouth.

In front of me, I do not see trees any longer. Instead, there is a miniature mountain of mass that was once the air in my lungs. Underneath it must be the revre, although I obviously cannot see it. But I know it did not escape. If it did, I would be dead already.

My empty lungs try to suck another breath into them, but all I feel is a harsh reverberating in my throat. The valve to force all the air out must not have been able to withstand the sheer force of it all, especially with the wound to the chest from before. I have to heal it. I must heal it! But... but... As I stumble back, falling to the floor, I desperately try to absorb any remaining mana of the soil.

Nothing. I spent everything I could find trying to kill that beast so it could not kill me. And yet, that very decision may be the reason I do not make it out of here alive. As my eyes close for what I can only assume is the last time, only one thought remains.

Oh what a fool I am.

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