08-24-2009, 02:45 AM
[html]
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v515/ ... ombann.jpg); background-position: bottom center; background-repeat: no-repeat;">
It’s okay! That detail was taken from the DDM announcement box, so if you hadn’t read it, then you probably wouldn’t have known, ^=^
I was reading part of my last reply, and there’s totally a random, incomplete sentence in there… o__o
500+
"A gift of flowers requires no reason?" That was a strange concept for the warrior. Everything that she did had a purpose. Every weapon had its reason, every strategy had its justification. And yet, the gifting flowers required nothing, Anu said. "Forgive my curiosity," the black fae sang. "I have never known of such a thing." A brief smile passed over her quiet lips. The Caledonian-Korean disliked to trouble others with questions, but, at times, the warrior’s natural curiosity moved her to ask and to understand. She had believed this gifting of flowers to be of this culture, and it was this culture that she was now a part.
As Anu grew near, the pups abandoned their want to feed and turned their eyes simultaneously towards the stranger. For a moment, those eyes simply watched the other woman. But then, when they continued to not recognize the scent and when Anu had grown too close, they growled and pressed closely against their mother. Cwmfen’s woad-banded maw was pulled back into a snarl, and the quiet growl sounded her discontent of the pup’s behavior. They grew silent, but their gaze grudgingly watched the stranger until hunger drove them back to suckle at her belly. Tranquility smoothed her features as she gave mild smile to Anu.
There was a brief silence as if Cwmfen struggled with the right words with which to speak. There was a particular melody humming within her soul, and words were inadequate in their expression. The white orbs watched the blue eyes of the Crimson Dreamer, that tranquil gaze impassive as ever, masked by her own diluted emotions. "A winter blossom," she began at length, "grows in the silence of snowfall. The petals watch the heavens, and the heavens can see its pure shade." There was a brief pause, and the soft alto held a strange formality within her words. She was no story teller, nor was she a poet. But she simply spoke with the shades and sounds that best portrayed the song that moved within her. It was almost, however, in the way of the royal Koreans and the recitation of poetry unrhymed and rhythmless. "The stem is black with thorns of poison that does not kill, but such is the snow in its silence that keeps the poisonous thorns hidden." Another brief pause, and her gaze shifted to watch a distant place. "One stumbles upon the winter blossom and drinks deeply its scent, and the winter blossom revels in the company it so rarely is given. Frequently one comes to drink once more until it is wished to pluck the blossom, the blackness of the poisonous stem unbeknown."
The white gaze shifted slightly, focusing once more upon the other female of sand and stone. "How shall the tale proceed?" The soft alto deemed those words a ‘tale’, for she herself could find no other descriptor. That tale had no war, nor hunt that seemed to relate to the passions of the black fae’s soul. "I cannot see where it should end." The admittance of unknowns had never caused the warrior hesitance, for she had no pride upon which to hesitate. And perhaps Anu would not know where the story would end. Perhaps her words had the sound of a fairy tale upon the other female’s ears. The Caledonian-Korean would not have known, for her library of tales was sparce with lack of exposure. Save for the occasional tale of the gods or of Corvus’ rare and twisted lessons, the young Cwmfen had known few tales. And no one since had regaled her with the tales of books long forgotten or of cultures unfamiliar.
I was reading part of my last reply, and there’s totally a random, incomplete sentence in there… o__o
500+
"A gift of flowers requires no reason?" That was a strange concept for the warrior. Everything that she did had a purpose. Every weapon had its reason, every strategy had its justification. And yet, the gifting flowers required nothing, Anu said. "Forgive my curiosity," the black fae sang. "I have never known of such a thing." A brief smile passed over her quiet lips. The Caledonian-Korean disliked to trouble others with questions, but, at times, the warrior’s natural curiosity moved her to ask and to understand. She had believed this gifting of flowers to be of this culture, and it was this culture that she was now a part.
As Anu grew near, the pups abandoned their want to feed and turned their eyes simultaneously towards the stranger. For a moment, those eyes simply watched the other woman. But then, when they continued to not recognize the scent and when Anu had grown too close, they growled and pressed closely against their mother. Cwmfen’s woad-banded maw was pulled back into a snarl, and the quiet growl sounded her discontent of the pup’s behavior. They grew silent, but their gaze grudgingly watched the stranger until hunger drove them back to suckle at her belly. Tranquility smoothed her features as she gave mild smile to Anu.
There was a brief silence as if Cwmfen struggled with the right words with which to speak. There was a particular melody humming within her soul, and words were inadequate in their expression. The white orbs watched the blue eyes of the Crimson Dreamer, that tranquil gaze impassive as ever, masked by her own diluted emotions. "A winter blossom," she began at length, "grows in the silence of snowfall. The petals watch the heavens, and the heavens can see its pure shade." There was a brief pause, and the soft alto held a strange formality within her words. She was no story teller, nor was she a poet. But she simply spoke with the shades and sounds that best portrayed the song that moved within her. It was almost, however, in the way of the royal Koreans and the recitation of poetry unrhymed and rhythmless. "The stem is black with thorns of poison that does not kill, but such is the snow in its silence that keeps the poisonous thorns hidden." Another brief pause, and her gaze shifted to watch a distant place. "One stumbles upon the winter blossom and drinks deeply its scent, and the winter blossom revels in the company it so rarely is given. Frequently one comes to drink once more until it is wished to pluck the blossom, the blackness of the poisonous stem unbeknown."
The white gaze shifted slightly, focusing once more upon the other female of sand and stone. "How shall the tale proceed?" The soft alto deemed those words a ‘tale’, for she herself could find no other descriptor. That tale had no war, nor hunt that seemed to relate to the passions of the black fae’s soul. "I cannot see where it should end." The admittance of unknowns had never caused the warrior hesitance, for she had no pride upon which to hesitate. And perhaps Anu would not know where the story would end. Perhaps her words had the sound of a fairy tale upon the other female’s ears. The Caledonian-Korean would not have known, for her library of tales was sparce with lack of exposure. Save for the occasional tale of the gods or of Corvus’ rare and twisted lessons, the young Cwmfen had known few tales. And no one since had regaled her with the tales of books long forgotten or of cultures unfamiliar.