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Cyril Darkcloud · 06-06-2007, 12:39 PM

Elsewhere……

For Plaxica

Her movement along the jagged stones of the cliff face is swift and untroubled, having more about it of the dance than of climbing. Her face is flushed with the vigor of her movement but her breathing is relaxed and unhurried. She smiles. And she laughs in the sheer delight she takes in the act of movement upon stones so high and beneath a Sky so clear. She cares not what ears may hear her nor what eyes might see her, for few would be the eyes or the ears that might be in so isolated a place as this, and fewer still those that would be a threat, and delight is a thing that demands expression regardless of the presence of threat – be it real or merely the phantoms of one’s imagination. She carries little and her clothing is light, too light one might well think to provide much in the way of either comfort or protection in so harsh an environment as this, but she is not one to trouble herself much with either the comfortable or the safe.

Somewhere along the steep trails below is that one whom she seeks, that one whose exhaled words touched the winds with an outsider accent, and yet touched them all the same. Truly, there would seem to be no limit to the surprises of these strange lands where even so clumsy a tongue might master something of the speech of those that move about within the free and living air.

Her eyes settle upon a solitary tree, small but alive with a curiously defiant strength atop a windswept series of ledges. She claps her hands at this reminder of the distant peaks of her home and her movement quickens as she hastens to it. The tree is far too slender and far too small to provide either shelter or shade to any but the smallest of birds and even these would be better off seeking both shelter and shade within the clefts of the jagged stones. Still the small tree is for her a companionable presence and she sits contently with her back against its slender trunk. “Let us see,” she says quietly, “whether the ears of this outsider are as attuned to the wind as his voice.” And closing her eyes, she gathers her breath and begins to sing one of the songs of her distant home, a song of subtle tone and complex rhythm that settles within the seams of the wind and drifts gracefully outward along the steeply climbing hills below her.

06-06-2007, 12:39 PM	#253
Cyril Darkcloud Lord Soth Join Date: February 7, 2002 Location: New York Posts: 1,980	Elsewhere…… For Plaxica Her movement along the jagged stones of the cliff face is swift and untroubled, having more about it of the dance than of climbing. Her face is flushed with the vigor of her movement but her breathing is relaxed and unhurried. She smiles. And she laughs in the sheer delight she takes in the act of movement upon stones so high and beneath a Sky so clear. She cares not what ears may hear her nor what eyes might see her, for few would be the eyes or the ears that might be in so isolated a place as this, and fewer still those that would be a threat, and delight is a thing that demands expression regardless of the presence of threat – be it real or merely the phantoms of one’s imagination. She carries little and her clothing is light, too light one might well think to provide much in the way of either comfort or protection in so harsh an environment as this, but she is not one to trouble herself much with either the comfortable or the safe. Somewhere along the steep trails below is that one whom she seeks, that one whose exhaled words touched the winds with an outsider accent, and yet touched them all the same. Truly, there would seem to be no limit to the surprises of these strange lands where even so clumsy a tongue might master something of the speech of those that move about within the free and living air. Her eyes settle upon a solitary tree, small but alive with a curiously defiant strength atop a windswept series of ledges. She claps her hands at this reminder of the distant peaks of her home and her movement quickens as she hastens to it. The tree is far too slender and far too small to provide either shelter or shade to any but the smallest of birds and even these would be better off seeking both shelter and shade within the clefts of the jagged stones. Still the small tree is for her a companionable presence and she sits contently with her back against its slender trunk. “Let us see,” she says quietly, “whether the ears of this outsider are as attuned to the wind as his voice.” And closing her eyes, she gathers her breath and begins to sing one of the songs of her distant home, a song of subtle tone and complex rhythm that settles within the seams of the wind and drifts gracefully outward along the steeply climbing hills below her.