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THE MOUNTAIN
The Devouring Wind
The lingering traces of power and presence left by the rituals have all been gathered into the desecrating embrace of the Devouring Wind. A whisper begins to form among the roiling currents of stale air, a slight and subtle sound of mockery and laughter that seeks release to ride along the winds and carry the tainted ritual touch to another.
O yes! Such a wonderful name he has given you .... Sof’ya ..... Sof’ya ush’a ha’shama’im ..... Such a delight to speak ..... Sof’ya ...... I shall whisper it to you even as he does ..... O yes! .....
THE CLEARING
As the woman sits before the fire, a whispered breath rides along the undertow of the breeze. It approaches her slowly clinging to the recently purified air, a presence too slight to be noticed if one does not know how to perceive it. “Sof’ya .... Sof’ya ush’a ha’shama’im,” the syllables of the name Cyril has given her speak mockingly from within her ears, and as she gasps in surprise the remainder of the breath joins with the intake of air into her lungs and within her a horrible laughter sounds its first notes .....
Ahh! Sof’ya! How good it is to finally meet you ..... O yes! How delightful an opportunity for us to come to know each other ..... we do have so much, so very much, in common ......
There is a slight burning within her throat that makes it strangely difficult to concentrate and the whispered mockery of the voice begins to echo within her thoughts .....
Off to the side Cyril sleeps unaware of the silent arrival of the Devourer’s voice.
[ 03-12-2002: Message edited by: Cyril Darkcloud ]
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