So many years since she last stood here; an awful number of years had passed since she had last dabbled in such waters. Dangerous waters, some would say, the surface a shade of dark and dismal grey, flecked with sporadic patches of green akin to some spawning lichen. These weren't exactly the shallow waters which lapped at the feet of sheltered bays in which anxious mothers eagerly urged on their young, reassured by the idyllic appearance. Of course, Sang had never really resembled such a doting and absorbed parent; she had born plenty in her heyday, raised each with the required nurture and subsequently passed on the reins to natures finest. Such was her task. Those who fawned and fretted, spiralling their young into nests of soft wool amused her, particularly the pitiful snap of heart strings which followed each little darling taking that one big, brave leap beyond the safety of the nest.
This whole farce vaguely resembled the complex kingdom of food presentation, in a queer sort of sense. Nouvelle cuisine at it's finest; the arrangement of the fine substenance always preceded the taste itself. The awe inspiring exhibition created such a depth of anticipation, as conscience outstretches the limits of the taste buds, conjuring up a presage far beyond the limitations of the first morsel to hit the tongue. Near always a bitter disappointment, as the brain conceives the truth behind said dish, the key lying in its epitome delivery, rather in taste itself.
Such cuisine metaphors could also be compared to Sang herself, she supposes. Why, she could wrack her mind all day, shake out the dust and rattle a few old chains to conjure up those old pieces of knowledge.
She supposes she isn't overly dissimilar to one of those fine-dining dishes, out in the threshold today. Yes, today she's all show; head held high, carrying herself with a flight to her step, streamlined tail bringing up the rear. A pretty sight, you'd say, just the sort of delicacy you couldn't wait to delve into with that silver spoon. Alas, here the circuit completes itself, for appearances can be deceiving. Sang has no doubt whichever dinky little goldfish that bites the bait will find the taste rather disheartening. A fool's game, this whole facade. Her eyes flicker to one or two of the figures with whom she shares the valleys on this dimly lit evening. She knows they aren't the first to participate in the tos and fros of herd etiquette, to throw in their fair share of charisma in hope of stealing the most noble man of the day. Nor of course shall they be the last, in a rather admirable line of descendants who will no doubt totter down these well-trodden paths come the following seasons.
Musings aside, she hardly wishes to dwell on the unpleasant aspects of today's purpose, if she is to accomplish what she set out to do. Drawing her attention away from the surrounding congregation, Sang slips past the preferred areas of the forest, away from those already in the midst of conversation, her leisurely gait drawing to a halt in the slightly more shaded section to the east. An ostentatious debut wouldn't quite become her usual style, garish neon lights blinding passers by with her name imprinted in glittering bulbs - it all seems a little excessive, don't you think? She'd far rather deliberate further in her shadows, let them come smoke her out the nest.
"blah blah blah."
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