Siren's Summit
12-29-2017, 07:08 AM
this is fact not fiction, should have held them in your lungs.
the words I said are spinning, reeling; your wide-eyed dreams weigh a ton.
the words I said are spinning, reeling; your wide-eyed dreams weigh a ton.
The girl's starlit eyes flutter open as the stallion walks into the meadow, altering his presence with a question that startles her from her reverie. She turns, watching on his figure with some difficulty. His tones mimicked the earth and trees around him, making him hard to discern from the forest. Eventually, the shaman manages to lock find his eyes set within the landscape, and slowly recreates his figure.
He asks her about the stones, and Taivas looks expressionless as ever as she replies with one simple word:
"No."
Someone else may have explained that they could read, but not the particular language scrawled upon the rocks. They might have bragged about their learned skills from previous episodes of their life. Taivas was not one of those types. Instead, she saw all of that as irrelevant to the conversation. His question only begged for a yes or no reply, and even if she could, in fact, read the writings, she probably would not have responded with much else.
The oddity of the shaman was that she never quite mastered the art of conversation. She had long been a bookish girl, living in her studies and throwing herself into her connection to the spirits around her. Her peers had envied her prowess, and rarely did they talk to her without sharp tongues and even sharper eyes. Here, however, she got a fresh start as an unknown face. Her remarkable aptitude for healing had been reduced by the virulent soul of the Rift, and she started over from square one.
Looking at her company, she begins to realize that he has horns, something uncommon for her still. He also carries a small orb of light, though she knows he had not been present at the meeting with Kisamoa. She wonders who keeps meeting these unfamiliar faces before her, but honestly cares not enough to ask the stallion who passed the hope to him. Instead, she turns gracefully around to face him directly because her neck was becoming strained from craning it about to look at him.
She almost asks this stranger if he knows what is inscribed on the stones. She suspects that he, also, will be unable to read the stones. Why else would he have asked her such a question? So, instead, she stands looking at him silently amid the stones of obsidian in the light of the summer sun.
He asks her about the stones, and Taivas looks expressionless as ever as she replies with one simple word:
"No."
Someone else may have explained that they could read, but not the particular language scrawled upon the rocks. They might have bragged about their learned skills from previous episodes of their life. Taivas was not one of those types. Instead, she saw all of that as irrelevant to the conversation. His question only begged for a yes or no reply, and even if she could, in fact, read the writings, she probably would not have responded with much else.
The oddity of the shaman was that she never quite mastered the art of conversation. She had long been a bookish girl, living in her studies and throwing herself into her connection to the spirits around her. Her peers had envied her prowess, and rarely did they talk to her without sharp tongues and even sharper eyes. Here, however, she got a fresh start as an unknown face. Her remarkable aptitude for healing had been reduced by the virulent soul of the Rift, and she started over from square one.
Looking at her company, she begins to realize that he has horns, something uncommon for her still. He also carries a small orb of light, though she knows he had not been present at the meeting with Kisamoa. She wonders who keeps meeting these unfamiliar faces before her, but honestly cares not enough to ask the stallion who passed the hope to him. Instead, she turns gracefully around to face him directly because her neck was becoming strained from craning it about to look at him.
She almost asks this stranger if he knows what is inscribed on the stones. She suspects that he, also, will be unable to read the stones. Why else would he have asked her such a question? So, instead, she stands looking at him silently amid the stones of obsidian in the light of the summer sun.
taivas.
