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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
He is a moment in answering, and in that space Aisling is left to wonder and his appearance. She had never before seen so much color! The stallion that had greeted her in Helovia had had streak in his hair of a similar shade but this creature was covered in blue and sported four horns! What a magical land this must be if such creatures roamed it. Magical and dangerous. Now that she had the time to look, the evidence of this stallions hardships was plain.
The naïve little girl had grown up sheltered, and even after leaving her home, her wispy way across the land had not yet forced her into any hardship or danger. The wounds across his body were barely beginning to heal and how on earth could he be so thin with such a rich bounty of Birdsong all around him?
A nightmare, he said, and she relaxed, confident of no danger. His apology seems a bit excessive, but thewhite girl thinks little of it. Her kind smile spreads again, trying to reassure him that he had caused no trouble, and the coo in her voice was aimed for a calming effect. “You’ve not disturbed me, I has just wanting to see that all was well. If…”
His second scream, a harsh “NO!”, has Aisling jumping back in alarm. Her eyes went wide for a moment and her hooves seem rooted to the spot. Caught in her confusion it was a second before she saw the change in him. There was a wildness in him, something she could not name or understand, and it puzzled her to watch his eyes as he stood there in his distress. He was there, physically and solidly, there but his eyes seem somehow so far away. Something from an old story came flitting back into her mind, for that’s all her mind seemed to contain was stories and no experiences of her mind. A brave soldier returns home from a terrible war. He is home and safe, surrounded by loved ones, but still haunted by the horrors he had seen. Only the woods witch had been able to help him to forget.
He seems to resurface and murmurs another apology, this one comes out in a sob and the girl feels her own heart break for the pain in the other. Her own smokey eyes well with tears, but she blinks them back and tries for the serene expression she had always loved so much on her mother’s face. Without a thought that he might lash out, that he might attack, she moves forward in a cautious step, not wanting to startle him further. “There now… Calma tú féin, mo chara.” Her words are quiet, a soft flow of gentle water. “There is nothing to be apologizing for. I am called Aisling, and I am here to help, so you just settle yourself down now.”
In truth she didn’t know what she could do for this beast, but she was determined to try. She curved her careful path, coming up to stand along his side instead of at his front. Gently, she reached her soft muzzle up to press itself to a spot on his shoulder, trying for a reassuring gesture, a grounding touch, and taking a care to avoid the scrapes along his skin.
- - -
Actions in the living world.
Daydreams and foolish fantasies.
“Words spoken aloud.”
Translations: Calma tú féin, mo chara. - Calm yourself, my friend.
The naïve little girl had grown up sheltered, and even after leaving her home, her wispy way across the land had not yet forced her into any hardship or danger. The wounds across his body were barely beginning to heal and how on earth could he be so thin with such a rich bounty of Birdsong all around him?
A nightmare, he said, and she relaxed, confident of no danger. His apology seems a bit excessive, but thewhite girl thinks little of it. Her kind smile spreads again, trying to reassure him that he had caused no trouble, and the coo in her voice was aimed for a calming effect. “You’ve not disturbed me, I has just wanting to see that all was well. If…”
His second scream, a harsh “NO!”, has Aisling jumping back in alarm. Her eyes went wide for a moment and her hooves seem rooted to the spot. Caught in her confusion it was a second before she saw the change in him. There was a wildness in him, something she could not name or understand, and it puzzled her to watch his eyes as he stood there in his distress. He was there, physically and solidly, there but his eyes seem somehow so far away. Something from an old story came flitting back into her mind, for that’s all her mind seemed to contain was stories and no experiences of her mind. A brave soldier returns home from a terrible war. He is home and safe, surrounded by loved ones, but still haunted by the horrors he had seen. Only the woods witch had been able to help him to forget.
He seems to resurface and murmurs another apology, this one comes out in a sob and the girl feels her own heart break for the pain in the other. Her own smokey eyes well with tears, but she blinks them back and tries for the serene expression she had always loved so much on her mother’s face. Without a thought that he might lash out, that he might attack, she moves forward in a cautious step, not wanting to startle him further. “There now… Calma tú féin, mo chara.” Her words are quiet, a soft flow of gentle water. “There is nothing to be apologizing for. I am called Aisling, and I am here to help, so you just settle yourself down now.”
In truth she didn’t know what she could do for this beast, but she was determined to try. She curved her careful path, coming up to stand along his side instead of at his front. Gently, she reached her soft muzzle up to press itself to a spot on his shoulder, trying for a reassuring gesture, a grounding touch, and taking a care to avoid the scrapes along his skin.
Actions in the living world.
Daydreams and foolish fantasies.
“Words spoken aloud.”
Translations: Calma tú féin, mo chara. - Calm yourself, my friend.
[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 ::
