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AISLING
my friend makes rings, she swirls and sings
she’s a mystic in the sense that she’s still mystified by things
my friend makes rings, she swirls and sings
she’s a mystic in the sense that she’s still mystified by things
A girl determined to be pleased with everything around her is not easily swayed, especially one so caught by her own dreams as the little white dove wandering through the willows. She had entered Helovia, only days before and was thoroughly enjoying exploring in the fine weather of late Birdsong. The singer would meet up with Kvothe, and his new Troupe soon enough but she had been eager to see more of this beautiful land. If the region was gripped by a silent terror, she had no knowledge of it.
She walked quietly through the willows, letting the low hanging wispy branches tickle her back and the tops of her pert little ears. Normally she would have sung as she walked but there was something in the low rustle of willows and the quiet of might that held her captivated. The young maiden finds herself in an enchanted grove, sleeping quietly in the blessed peace of night, and little did she know that here is where her magical destiny awaited her…
A scream interrupted her fanciful train of thought. Shocked out of her reverie, Aisling stood deathly still listening for danger, for surely someone was afraid, was in danger, and close. She was certain that the disturbance had come just through the trees in front of her. She waited, listening intently, when she heard no more sounds of an attack, she made her decision. Where a wiser horse might have fled, the kindhearted little dreamer moved slowly forward. If someone was hurt that she had to help!
Coming around a sweep of the willows boughs, she finally spied the blue stallion. He looks retched, a handsome form since covered in sweat and face a mask of misery. She stopped here she was, half hidden in the hanging leaves and called out in her soft chords “Dia dhuit.” She began in her native tongue and then realized that she should use what Kvothe had said was the common language in these parts. “Beggin’ your pardon, but are you alright?” her voice held the musical lilt of the Emerald Isle but it was washed in quiet concern. Her head was bent low, reaching forward in a thoroughly un-intimidating manner. She wanted to help, but was so unsure of what it is she could do, of what had caused this poor creature such pain. Kindness, her mother had always said, could heal any wound.
Actions in the living world.
Daydreams and foolish fantasies.
“Words spoken aloud.”
Translations: Dia dhuit - Hello
[now come the days of the dreamer and they are filled with wonder and light ]
:: permission given for use of magic and force :: please tag Aisling in all posts ::
