Blodeuwedd (D28 #NaPoWriMo)

Blod5

It screeched, a bitter broken sound that rent the air, and heaved itself alight, and silent went its rage, into the night;
Her fate, flower-faced, bane of birds, consigned to night;
On knees, hair wet as if from rain, she trembled, not with fear,
Her eyes like burning coals watched him weave his spell;
The wizard stood before her staff in hand and thunder on his brow,
Meadowsweet and broom beside her as she ran, her scent like summer in the autumn wood;
A cloud of feathers stumbled in the sky, and feathers fell to earth were lost in leaf and bough, she saw not where they fell;
She watched the spear fly true and strike her love, and her heart too felt pain as if a knife drove deep within;
She whispered in his ear, what magic, method, contrivance would his fate undo, her hair like shadow on his face, her breasts like fruit, ripe against his chest, hunger in his eyes;
Old Gwydion, brittle boned and loins as dry as dust, held oak, and broom and meadowsweet, and for a moment felt a tremble in his hands, as if from lovers touch, but shifting like the seasons;
He sighed, no guarantee the spell would hold for magic, like love, never came with guarantee.

© Greg Richards

Day 28 from 2016, A Story Backwards …

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