Dia cannot move. The heavy heart of an ageless something– ancient, and powerful– was anchored to this pine like a river stone. It is reduced to infancy in death; a newborn, crying out for the mother it outlived.
She beats her body against the pine until her hide is bloody and raw. But she cannot mend this. She is too meek, too little. Lesser. Minor. Waning. She joins the spirit in its dying dirge: We are too meek, too little. Lesser. Minor. Waning. We cannot. We cannot.
I can’t fully participate in the mountain biome event this year, in light of school starting and Dia being such a homebody. But I got a very strong image from the first chapter that I wanted to get out in some form or another… Dia doesn’t really know how to be an esk, and struggles with feelings of smallness, helplessness in general.