The Dark Heart Longs For You

Cwmfen nic Graine · 02-20-2011, 09:51 PM

[html]

P: Onus; I’m a little rusty…
WC: 619

The Song of Autumn whispered along the surface of the rivers, kissing the calm, glassy view that reflected the empty heavens. The soft voices sang with golden mirth, lifting the fiery leaves from the branches and carrying them great distances from the branches that held their lithe forms. One day, when the leaves had decayed upon the frozen earth, new, green buds would bloom with slow grace from wooden limbs. But many moons would pass before then. And now the world grew colder, the breath of winter causing the earth to shudder and shimmer in a golden shroud. The soft voices whispered, singing the light-hearted songs of a dying earth that new of the life that would soon return. The water laughed and bubbled with a serene mirth, the voices merging with the wind, enticing, enjoying, loving of the world in which it moved. And the world was still in the golden afternoon sun. The earth was warmed by the slow, vast breath of the golden orb above, and the life that moved within its realm was able to find comfort in a place that encouraged the life that would surely bloom in future months; in the world of the dying, naught was mourned. Life that was able still to linger was cherished in the cooling breath of the world, for even in Death Life was able to persist.

The slowly-held silence was broken only by the soft sigh of the fallen leaves being crushed by silent paws. That soft song, sudden for the silence, was caressed by the laughter of the September trees. The scent of the dying foliage was comforting—familiar to one who had only just returned. She found that the Earth remembered her and hummed a golden tune of rejoicing. Her own soul sang in response, the silver tones dancing upon the air with silvered paws. She was naught but a passing shadow graced by the cerulean brush of the Morrigan. The One-Eyed Raven, the pied form trailing overhead, became the tenebrous form of the shadowed Warrior. The sinew of her weathered form carried the lupine body in silence and grace. Each step was given to the earth with ethereal grace. So fluid was each step that she seemed naught but the eased laughter of the trees’ leaves dancing upon silver winds of a dying world.

A familiar scent caught the she-wolf’s attention. Suddenly her movements had ceased, and she had become naught but a shadow beneath a great tree standing sentinel. Woad-banded ears stood erect, catching even the sound of the wind’s laughter in the distant winter, in the golden autumn, in the silvered dying. The white orbs closed, enveloped in the similar tenebrous world, and the she-wolf listened to the world, to the dancing of the familiar scent. She knew it, and her soul sang and danced upon a silver tune. She was able to rejoice once more in one thing that she had not known would be possible in the life of one who followed the step of Death: Love.

”Onus.” The light, Caledonian-Korean lilt called out, the silver song so soft that it seemed but a continuation of the iridescent song of the Autumn world. The Woad Warrior’s form was held in a way that appeared as if the walking Dead had only just paused. The woad-marked shadow knew who must be near and waiting, and her beating muscles waited to with great yearning. The white orbs had revealed themselves to the world once more, their glowing, hidden depths bright once more as they searched for a face that the heart longed for so dearly—a face that had been absent from the heart so completely and yet was never forgotten.

Login




Remember me Lost Password?