I'm in a prosey kind of mood today. Which is annoying, because the prompt I'd intended to use was very much meant for poems. I'll have to save it for another day.
I was just inspired to do some writing on LJ's site and I feel like using another picture to get ideas flowing over here. So, once more, lets go browse National Geographic's photos of the day and find something to get your imagination going.
I used this one:
The dry grass scratches my bare legs, like Rosun's beard against my cheek. But I cannot think of him now. If I lose focus now I will never feel his touch again, nor hear his words dancing in my ears, nor...
No. Now it is the time of the Hunt.
The spear is light in my hand, its finely carved shaft smooth against my palm. I keep low as I approach the clearing, using the dense trees for cover. I do not hear my Sisters on either side of me, but I know they are there.
I reach the final row of trees and peer carefully around a trunk. The beasts are alert but unmoving. I believe that some part of them feels our presence but they are unable to understand that feeling. To translate it to self-preservation, to flight.
A sparrow call reaches my ears from the right and I make ready. In moments we will burst from the treeline, whooping and screaming to the Gods, and the beasts will scatter. But they will not be fast enough to escape me. I will not fail my husband. I will not fail my daughter.
"Come, Sisters," I whisper fiercely, "let us, at long last, fill our bellies with flesh tonight."