[Day 2]

Mar. 23rd, 2008 11:52 pm
tezcatl_ipoca: (tez face)
Swinging myself down from the truck into the morning light I stumble a bit. I spent too much of the night walking up and down upon the earth, and now the foot I have left aches to match the phantom pain of the one that's gone. Too proud to limp, last night, to show any sign of mortal weakness. Well, I'm paying for that now.

I had slept in the back of the truck for once. It was airless, but there had been something about the night that made me want walls around me - and no matter how thin these walls might be, they were warded with everything I had. Yet dreams had still stolen in, and I woke exhausted.

The truck; I had bought it (bought and paid for, for once, without trickery or bartering, as all magical things should be) from some kind of mechanical hedge sorcerer down south, and unlike so many vehicles now it still ran, after a fashion. She told me that it would run on anything that had life or spirit to it, and in my time I'd filled the tank with grain alcohol, cooking oil, swamp water, whatever came to hand, and still it groans along. No gasoline - in these days it's dearer than blood, and more closely guarded. (It'll run on blood, if need be, and has. Anything with life or spirit.)

The backlot's stirring around me, full of morning sounds and scents. Every one of them makes my head ache worse. May the day bring better fortune than my restless sleep.

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tezcatl_ipoca

September 2010

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