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Literature
The Trees the Winter Painted Black
When Hawk Donalds was five years old, her mother died. Her death was a loud death, one that took place behind closed doors, and behind the stern gaze of Hawk's father's glacier eyes. Hawk was relegated to the rug by the fireplace and charged with playing quietly, and she did so, trying hard not to listen to the screams and the heavy thumping of boots, the calls for hot water. She wanted desperately to help, though with what she was not quite sure, but even then she knew she was too small. Too small to heat the water hanging in the fireplace. Too small to boil the bloody rags.
Her father had ordered the midwives to hide those rags when they carried them out so that Hawk wouldn't see, but she saw anyway. They spilled from the frantic women's arms, bright red and dangerous, just as her brother spilled from Hawk's mother that night. His screams pierced the cold winter air. The screams of Hawk's mother weakly subsided.
The midwives and the doctor left with quick apologies and quicker feet,
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Umbrella by Nnuit Umbrella :iconnnuit:Nnuit 0 0
Literature
Fight Scene
So you are aware, dear reader, there is a table of key terms in the description. See a pronoun or verb you don't get? Head down there.
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Talith breathed in, tasting the cool autumn air. It was dusk, and the night sky that was falling lay obscured behind a thick blanket of cloud. The cold sword in the young captain's hand gleamed up with the last of the sunlight streaming from the horizon, but he noticed it not.
If he took his eyes off his opponent, he would most assuredly lose his life.
The man standing nearly twenty paces away was tall, only a few inches shorter than the long calvary spear he held at his side. Such weapons were easily eight feet long, made for punching through lines of infantry during a charge. Talith had handled such weapons, and knew how heavy and unwieldy they were. And yet this man carried his as if it were a willow wand.
But Talith knew too that this was no ordinary man. He was one of the Molath, great warr
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Spider Man by Nnuit Spider Man :iconnnuit:Nnuit 0 0
Literature
The Wolves
One must have the ears that jut forward
to hear the voice of the wind,
the screams of the sheer cliff face.
And have been cold a long time;
So long that fur is shagged with ice
And jagged teeth gnaw quick at your skeleton belly
to understand the stiff crunch of rabbit paws, or
the warmth of a mother's tongue that covers your eyes,
the spark of pup yips from the scrape of death threats.
To brave the misery
flung down our toothy throats by the wind
and to whisper the cold sound
of our elders dying
full the same
low wind
blowing thick
against the trees
and between our raised hackles
is to be the one
who dwells atop the mountain
and scorns nothing
save for the nothing
that lives
in the minute tender of the moon.
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Literature
Cellar Door
It is dark and
waiting. Its warmth
is that of an open wound,
of the old air above hot concrete.
I would push through it and go
down to where the old woman
in my stomach sits
in the firecracker glow of the hearth,
stringing herbs dry as dust
up in the corners to hang for
lost souls to touch and feel finally
the hard road under their feet again,
the spray of the sea.
This is what this door holds.
And it is forlorn
in the dust ground
between the years
but beautiful in the cool
dampness of its steps
that lead far down to the very foundation
of things, where you can feel against your flesh
every little mist-shard that seeps
down through the elephant maze of black pipes.
When I press my body,
the hot sweat of my little brow,
against its dark grain, it whispers,
Okay
and I feel like I can melt right through it
to float on the still black waters.
I feel like dying.
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Literature
Breathe In
The mist is rising, as if the wind is a warm breath from the earth. A man rests atop an earthy stage. His legs ache and the light is gold and gray for all to see. The world belongs to us, they say, but he sees now his smallness; his walking stick dawdles behind his feet as if he cannot find the courage to present himself to the old mountains that wait patiently to give his quiet verdict. I cannot follow. The trees are waving to me and to themselves and the world they serve. They are not in an uproar. They are simply stretching, quiet as they groan and ask about the night. I cannot follow you now into the mist. They do not even see him; he is lost amid the ghostly dance of distance. But he, for all his hard shoes and fine half-coats, is still a part of it. You can see it in the messy flame of his hair. He will conquer, or he will serve. He lacks the balance for both. Either way, he will leave on the next pass of rushing air.
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Literature
The Night
"My fingers are silent," I say,
a little reproachful.
She leans back and cackles and bends her elbows
and I am reminded suddenly of the spindly legs
of the crows disheveled in her dark hair.
Slowly
I walk my fingers over to her hips
and pull her close. She obliges
this time, and I see across the waters at her back,
and smell the soot
of her scalp, and taste the back alley teenagers
and alcohol-tainted breath that are her.
She is the night,
and her skin is rightfully starry;
she feels like shadow against me,
soft and heavy like wolf's fur
or warehouse funeral songs.
There, just a sliver of her tender chest;
how soft it must be to catch the light just so?
Car horns scream out in the east, and I catch her
looking up at me.
This is how she always is; she is the night.
She is a girl as roses are grenadiers.
She tells me that her favorite colors are violet and cream.
She tells me
that songs come from the places that are deepest.
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GORILLAZ by Nnuit GORILLAZ :iconnnuit:Nnuit 0 0 Gabite by Nnuit Gabite :iconnnuit:Nnuit 1 0 Little Red Riding WOLF by Nnuit Little Red Riding WOLF :iconnnuit:Nnuit 0 1 Landing by Nnuit Landing :iconnnuit:Nnuit 0 0 Ever been in a fight? by Nnuit Ever been in a fight? :iconnnuit:Nnuit 0 0 Rocket by Nnuit Rocket :iconnnuit:Nnuit 4 2 ROAR by Nnuit ROAR :iconnnuit:Nnuit 0 0 Hawke by Nnuit Hawke :iconnnuit:Nnuit 4 0

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Nnuit
the Wolf™
Artist | Student | Literature
United States
Current Residence: Fernando Martins de Bulhões
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:iconmarioteodosio:
MarioTeodosio Featured By Owner Mar 4, 2013  Professional Digital Artist
Thank u so much for the Watch!
And if you have the chance, here's my facebook page
with a lot of new stuff yet unposted here...
Facebook: [link]
Maybe take a look at it (and why not, leave a like :ninja: ) I will gladly appreciate it!
For each like, a citizen of Gotham will be saved. :batman:
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:icon0hgravity:
0hgravity Featured By Owner Oct 10, 2012  Hobbyist General Artist
Thank you for the fav on The Waste World :) glad you liked it as much.

sorry for the late reply!
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:iconkkohaku:
Kkohaku Featured By Owner Sep 20, 2012  Professional Digital Artist
Thanks for the watch :hug:
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:iconb-boyalfelor:
B-boyAlfelor Featured By Owner Sep 16, 2012  Professional Digital Artist
thank you for the watch :)
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:iconnnuit:
Nnuit Featured By Owner Sep 17, 2012  Student Writer
you deserve it, man. slick style
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:iconhakukamizaki:
hakukamizaki Featured By Owner Sep 3, 2012  Student Photographer
Thank you very much for adding me to your deviant-watch!
It is greatly appreciated :D :love:
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:iconsmiling-demon:
Smiling-Demon Featured By Owner Aug 6, 2012  Hobbyist General Artist
Thank you for the watch.
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:iconnnuit:
Nnuit Featured By Owner Aug 6, 2012  Student Writer
My pleasure. If there's anything I need more of in my life, it's kick-ass sci-fi art.
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:iconsmiling-demon:
Smiling-Demon Featured By Owner Aug 7, 2012  Hobbyist General Artist
:P
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:iconc-91:
C-91 Featured By Owner Jul 8, 2012  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Thank you for :+devwatch:! :love:
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