sisterofiris:

Artemis is strength.

She is muscles aching and feet rough with calluses hitting the ground. She is nimble fingers pulling brambles off clothing despite the sting. She is deep breaths, hands clasping branches, toes curling around riverbed stones, glares that say I don’t care, I’m doing it anyway. She is the untamed. The primal.

The hidden.

She is dirt under fingernails, blood under bandages, lips pressed against each other in defiance. She is clenched teeth and swallowed tears. She is knees curled up against guts, heart and lungs to stifle their aching. She is masks of bark and twigs, carefully sewed to hide the pounding veins within. She is steps in the darkness, ears that make every rustle into a predator, and legs that go on anyway. She is survival. She is roots gripping the earth, rabbits venturing from their burrows despite the rain. She is not fearless. But she is stubborn.

She is an overturned stomach, sweaty palms and the echo of a voice that says I don’t care, I’m doing it anyway.

Artemis is quiet strength, like a deer darting out of sight.