02-24-2009, 09:02 PM
[html]
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v515/ ... banner.jpg); background-position: bottom center; background-repeat: no-repeat;">
Is this thread ending here?
500+
"Perhaps," the female agreed, "but I do not act with the intent you believe me to." The alto voice paused as the white orbs considered her, ignoring the male for the moment. "You are young, yes. And that is why I trouble myself with you. You can still learn and change, like the wind and water. But the others are older and cannot learn, like the earth and the fire." Or perhaps, in your need to dominate, your soul has grown old. But the female kept this to herself.
"Always threatening the material, Svara," the black warrior replied quietly, and there was something quite remorseful about the way in which her voice sang. "The Dream will live without the bird." It was never the material that mattered most. The material was merely there for the living to see and feel, to experience. But the soul could experience too, and the soul’s experience was immeasurable, insurmountable, and profound. There were things that could not be said or heard or felt or tasted. And such things—such profundity—was a thing that many could not understand anymore. At times, the warrior wondered if she were the only creature who still did. But she knew that there had to be some one out there. And she had thought that Svara, who, as she had heard, had arrived at the boarders of Dahlia with so little...could not that person understand?
"Perhaps those wounds and pleasures will be given and taken with equality," the female agreed, "But there is something that you will have lost, and something that he will have gained. And that thing will not be compensated for." The female struggled with the proper words with which to explain it. But words were always getting in her way, and perhaps that was why she was better off with her bellicose battles and with her pulchritudinous solitude. "The society in which you live is patriarchal. Words are patriarchal. And the ideas instilled within you, the actions, ideals, and identity—they all belong to that patriarch. To males." But there was no point in trying to allow her to see what many could not, for she saw Svara’s stubborn mind, that mind that was too soon like the earth and fire.
As they turned away, the warrior, though it was her duty to do so, did not follow. She knew what would find them. Haku would not tolerate this defeated dog to return, and she would not deny him his right. It was a pity, Cwmfen thought, that she had lost that trust she had gained through that day of training. But perhaps she was training the wrong soul. And if she found that the child misusing the weapon that she had been gifted, the female would not tolerate it. As a warrior, and as one who taught the art of war, she could not tolerate such a thing. But it was too early yet to say. And Svara would learn that she was playing the wrong game.
Is this thread ending here?
500+
"Perhaps," the female agreed, "but I do not act with the intent you believe me to." The alto voice paused as the white orbs considered her, ignoring the male for the moment. "You are young, yes. And that is why I trouble myself with you. You can still learn and change, like the wind and water. But the others are older and cannot learn, like the earth and the fire." Or perhaps, in your need to dominate, your soul has grown old. But the female kept this to herself.
"Always threatening the material, Svara," the black warrior replied quietly, and there was something quite remorseful about the way in which her voice sang. "The Dream will live without the bird." It was never the material that mattered most. The material was merely there for the living to see and feel, to experience. But the soul could experience too, and the soul’s experience was immeasurable, insurmountable, and profound. There were things that could not be said or heard or felt or tasted. And such things—such profundity—was a thing that many could not understand anymore. At times, the warrior wondered if she were the only creature who still did. But she knew that there had to be some one out there. And she had thought that Svara, who, as she had heard, had arrived at the boarders of Dahlia with so little...could not that person understand?
"Perhaps those wounds and pleasures will be given and taken with equality," the female agreed, "But there is something that you will have lost, and something that he will have gained. And that thing will not be compensated for." The female struggled with the proper words with which to explain it. But words were always getting in her way, and perhaps that was why she was better off with her bellicose battles and with her pulchritudinous solitude. "The society in which you live is patriarchal. Words are patriarchal. And the ideas instilled within you, the actions, ideals, and identity—they all belong to that patriarch. To males." But there was no point in trying to allow her to see what many could not, for she saw Svara’s stubborn mind, that mind that was too soon like the earth and fire.
As they turned away, the warrior, though it was her duty to do so, did not follow. She knew what would find them. Haku would not tolerate this defeated dog to return, and she would not deny him his right. It was a pity, Cwmfen thought, that she had lost that trust she had gained through that day of training. But perhaps she was training the wrong soul. And if she found that the child misusing the weapon that she had been gifted, the female would not tolerate it. As a warrior, and as one who taught the art of war, she could not tolerate such a thing. But it was too early yet to say. And Svara would learn that she was playing the wrong game.