✸ Bonemarrow, child ✸

In Bonetree, South Dakota, something is stirring. The forest is hungry, and the kids are too. Years of greed has bleached the forest grey, the plains grey, the herds of bison too struggling through the clay as the colour washes like blood from their feet. This town is rotting, rotting from the inside. Those grown haunt to ruin new flesh.

This is America.

But the forest has one last fight. One last surge of hope. The old gods, the pagan spirits of the woods see clearly through the blood and marrow. Gently with their wings they will lift up those born down from hate.

❝ Remember how we speak, in your bone marrow, child. Remember how we fill your blood with mud, grass and stones. Remember the leaves that fill your lungs with sand. ❞

[Original Folklore/Coming of Age apply fic.]
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