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update from sparkleup

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Madison Scott-Clary 2020-11-24 20:00:02 +00:00
parent bd4b5634f9
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writing/unseeing/cycles-heat.md
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@ -26,4 +26,4 @@ And then it is time for him to remove his simmering broth from the fire and to s
This, Lyut knows, Lyut relishes, is the cycle of the day, the cycle of the year, and, his lord promises him, the cycle of his life.
Ýng is a liar, but it is a kind lie, for when Lyut dies, I will take him unto me. I will take him together into my bowl and crush and knead and he will rejoice with me and I will rejoice with him and then whatever rest he has now, whatever glory he knows now, whatever elation he may feel shall be pale in comparison to what comes after.
Ýng is a liar, but it is a kind lie, for when Lyut dies, I will take him unto me. I will take him and his acts in life together into my bowl and crush and knead and he will rejoice with me and I will rejoice with him and then whatever rest he has now, whatever glory he knows now, whatever elation he may feel shall be pale in comparison to what comes after.

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writing/unseeing/foraging.md
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@ -1,6 +1,6 @@
After prayer, Lyut feeds his fire and sits for a while before it to ensure that the sound of the wood burning is just as it should be and that the heat of the fire is neither too hot nor too cool, for he knew that a hot-burning fire that roared and rushed with the voice of Ýng's anger was one that would at best burn out too soon.
With the smoke of the fire mingling with that of his incense, with the scent of his devotion lingering in his nose and clinging to his fur and stinging sightless eyes, he takes up his knife walking stick and pads slowly down the path from his cave to the section of river he calls his own. His feet guide him with soft shuffling. His stick guides him with gentle tapping. His ears guide him with the sounds of the river. Ýng guides him with their hand on his shoulder.
With the smoke of the fire mingling with that of his incense, with the scent of his devotion lingering in his nose and clinging to his fur and stinging sightless eyes, he takes up his knife walking stick and pads slowly down the path from his cave to the section of river he calls his own. His feet guide him with soft shuffling. His stick guides him with gentle tapping. His ears guide him with the sounds of the river. Ýng guides him with Their hand on his shoulder.
At the river by his cave, there is a pool where the water flows out from between two rocks, and it is across that gap that he has strung a net.