As the pendulum oscillates to maintain balance, and every effect must reciprocate a cause, so was the exhausted hunchback forced to capitulate to the cries of nature - of the aching creaks of his joints and searing pulse of his heart, the tumultuous throbbing of his skull and the rasping gasps of his breath. His weary pace trickled down from halfhearted jog to brisk walk, then a dreary amble, before entirely dropping the weight of a man and a half onto his knees amidst the spongelike sands. The foam of the tides washed about them under the cobalt haze of the aged night and the whole of his broad figure shivered with spasms of frigid, streaking pain...yet now he sought to drown out the rest - to rebel against the limitations of the body and carry on, to escape the treacherous callings of sand and sea that beckoned rest despite all the dangers of this foreign land; even a fulldial or so back, an unexpected light had cut across the sky, blinding him, and convincing the wanderer to gain evermore distance from the sight of that awful din...
"Fhurth'r...jhust...fhurt'er..."
Closing his eyes only accentuated it - the feeling of his chest caving in on itself with every breath...the needling anguish of his contracted hands and the locked state of his elbows. In this darkness he was alone, cloaked in torment, basked in agony - acutely aware of every horrible sensation as they ran wild with frenzy up and down his limbs, his torso, his head; cartwheeling around inside his throat, playing the drums across his crown - a merry little band of feral torturers seen fit to party well into the night's end. They swirled and writhed about inside him, morphing and melding into a galling maelstrom of fiendish purpose, coagulating their disseperate masses into a ghoulish design of singular, unadultered P A I N.
...
...And then with sudden dissipation, he opened his eyes, and was alone no longer.
The night had grown still - silent as the pits he'd dug for so long in his youth, and an enigmatic chill lingered on the deafened air. The lapping sensation of the waves sent shivers up his spine, causing him to glance downward...and there, he saw it...but what *Was* it? The being was faceless, gaunt and emasculated, stretched like hide upon the moonlit strip and set to dry amidst the rolling tides; everywhere the moon struck, it fled, but with an endless hunger it sought to covet all else devoid of the Lady's protection. The shape of a man, imitating a sense of life in mocking mimicry - if it were to be questioned on its identity, what would it describe itself as? A mirror without face, a Master of all yet servant to "else" - a character without character in the presence of its own? It moved as Ifor moved, felt as he felt, mouthed in unintelligable silence as he mimed his idle thoughts aloud.
...A paradigm lacking its moral?
Startlingly, it shot out across the sugary dunes - tearing outwards but then suddenly bouncing back, like a beast fettered by the rope! The world tilted askew, and as he desperately tried to maintain his balance astride this unannounced quake, Ifor shot his gaze back up toward that distant guardian of the night; her ethereal face, though low only seconds before, now launched itself across the sky - hurtling in mad desperation towards the stars! Yet...yet the seas remained constant - and in the middle of a seeming cataclysm, the drifter quite apparently understood the gravity of the scenario unfolding about him: ...The world was stable...*He* was falling. Reality slipped into still darkness, and in those final moments Ifor oddly found himself mutter a sole thought:
"...Ouw..."
...
"...GNYAHG, OUW! Whatch werr'yr bhumblin' a'bout, youh bhear you!" she growled, gingerly rubbing the bruise on her cheek. The harvesthand beside her quickly dropped his scythe and shortly followed suit onto his knees; yet the helping hand outstreched was just as swiftly rebuked, and with a growl the muscular little woman shook the lanky buffoon around by his ear, barking "Whhat part o'thaht did yhou missheere?! Pick up iht uhp 'an pahck it up, Scrounger!" Shoving him aside, the vixen shot a sharp glance over her shoulder and added: "IFHOOR, HEEHRTO! COHM SHOWH THIS DOLT 'OHW TO CAAHREE 'IHS TOOLS 'ROUND..."
As per his instructions, up hobbled the hunchback, his face sweaty and young, lacking the wrinkles of age though as always possessing his patented "Couldn't Care Less" visage. With a grunt, he quickly heaved the tall reaper up onto his shoulder, then, tilted it askew so that it's head faced the ground and its butt the sky. Having demonstrated this ludicrously simple concept, he then returned the tool to the dirt, nodding at Scrounger before pointing back towards the it; however, as soon as the gaunt young man had reached over to retrieve it, quite unexpectedly from above came the wrathful hand of, it seemed, the Old Lord himself...what with the size of that mitt, anyway.
"OUHW - WHAT WHAS THA'FOR?!?"
Ifor shrugged, nodding back over at the temptestuous woman sitting adjacent within the flax as he turned to make his exit: "...Dhon't go hittin' on muh mhom."
"Eyey there, wher're youh off to soh qhwick? Cohm cohm an' lay awhile - you wohrk tooh 'ard lad...it's noh'guhd tah' work so 'ard." mother insisted, patting the dirt beside her with a calm hand.
...
"...Oih thought yhou said'dcha wahnted mhe tah'go?!"
"LAY OFF, SMARTARSE!!!"
...The night laid still, save for the rustling of the seas - two corpses adrift under darkness did ease; stranded strangers entwined in fates unknown...but to what end, who could ever know? Bad enough was it that neither seemed to move, even though the tides lapped aimlessly at their clothes...
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