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09-07-2014, 12:12 PM
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The tones of the harp, a bird song in the night, cover the soft plod of strong hooves. I do not see the shadow of the boy that approaches, do not hear his firm approach. I am blind to his presence, looking forward the the bleached birchwood of my former life, the glittering of the emeralds of the instrument. I can recall singing, for I had once loved to sing. Son of the earth, a wandering minstrel - perhaps I am not to remember my life through forced thought, but through song. A rough, brutish voice makes me turn, looking at this new stranger with deadened eyes. The surprise that I would have felt before is muted. There is nothing that can surprise me, now that I had walked an island only to find a bloodied, battered corpse. Unless this colt before me suddenly burst into flames, I doubt I will bat an eye. What is your business here? he asks me, demands me, cold eyes glowering at me from behind strong features. He is burly for a young stallion, I think. I imagine his father must be a giant much like my own. The expression on his face is not kindly, not wise, but poisoned. I long for the bearded, crinkly smile of my Father. Had he smiled in our last meeting? Am I just chasing the flickers of old memories? Everything is so unclear. Looking at this stranger, I feel like he, too, is a shadow belonging to the night. Like the menacing twists and coils of the trees painted black against the moonlight, something about this boy's expression is just not right. "I wish I knew," I say with a tired voice, turning my eyes back toward the harp that plays eerie tones now. I feel as though my instrument does not like our new visitor. Does this mean I should be weary of him, too? Can instruments really judge character that quickly? I must really be going insane. I feel heavy, awkward, as though I am obligated to ask this stranger something. However, I think if I asked his name he would ignore me, and by the cold glare he arrived with, I doubt he cares for mine. I guess I will just settle with: "What's yours?" Probably a bad choice, but I can't take it back now. |
