Speak To Me, Wiseman

She’d been unable to sleep. There was something in the air that poked and prodded at her—had done for a while now, ever since winter’s first breaths this year. Usually it was the mulling and planning that kept her awake, making notes on parchment in the main chamber while Red and the children, Paladin and Legacy, and Audra slept behind their curtained off alcoves.

She’d slipped carefully from the alcove after sketching a quick note to Red that she’d gone out and would be back, either later this night, or a few days, depending on which way the restlessness pulled her. Lyr peeked from under one wing where he perched on a ledge above the opening of Ardyn’s alcove, a sleepy croak purring from his beak before the Spirit slipped out of the main chamber and down the three steps into the ravine.

All around her the walls glowed in hues of blue and purple and silver of the moonlight. Blue fireflies winked in and out of sight through the natural lattice of vines over the top of the ravine walls. Her hackles rose slightly as she trotted briskly down the ravine. Maybe a patrol would ease some of the fractious feeling.

As she made her way through the wooded hillock’s flanks, she surveyed the surroundings, tracking the scamper of small animals that glowed among the night time shadows. Where the moon’s light didn’t create deep black, plants and fungi glowed and pulsated softly.

It would have been so beautiful if it didn’t set her teeth on edge. It all meant something, if she wasn’t just being strangely superstitious or paranoid. But… what did it mean?

Aurielle gathered herself and leapt with practiced efficiency, landing lightly on the wall. Her gaze scanned the land beyond the wall that marked Valhalla’s border and she breathed in deeply, searching for some clarity; some epiphany that might give her an idea of what to expect.

Drachen was of the mind that it was possibly the Gods causing all the strangeness. She, herself, was only mildly religious. The pantheon she had been born to weren’t considered to be of the strictest sort, not requiring utter devotion and daily prayer. It was a religion that suited the nomadic livelihood of her ancestress’s parents’ People. The name changes had come from Redwood Pack.

A string of blue fireflies drifted across the plains, as if carried like a feather on the wind, though there was no breeze, and the Spirit watched them, brow points furrowed.

They didn’t stop near her, instead drifting past and blinking farther and farther away into the distance, until she couldn’t see that particular bunch any longer. Finally, she leapt from the wall, glancing up at the soft screech of a barn owl, recognizing Chrystal. Cairo must be nearing the end of his patrol, and she called softy to the owl, “I’m heading out on a short trip. I shouldn’t be more than a day or two.”

She nodded her muzzle toward the west to indicate her direction before turning and taking off at a brisk traveler’s trot. Perhaps by the end of her trip she’d be dead tired enough to sleep soundly through the night. As much as she wanted more children, she was glad she hadn’t brought any into these odd times. Perhaps next year.

It was a long trek, through a desert that glittered under a bright moon, the small animals that made it their home standing out like sore toes, though not as brightly as herself. When she set foot upon the Dancefloor, she considered the wide, perfectly flat grassland before her. Only the river that cut through it was any deviation from the flat expanse.

Far off, though, she saw the fiery flicker of light and the shadows of the tents and yurts that belonged to Legacy’s mother’s Chapter.

Slowing to a walk, Aurielle made her way to the camp, singing a quick greeting, though she knew the guards had spotted her long before she’d called out.

Balvoros was waiting with the clay pot on for tea, and her nose told her the tea was a mix of mints and honey, soothing for the mind and heart. The tall man was shaggy and grey, swirled like marble and snow. It was clear he was Legacy’s grandfather through Eramaya, and Aurielle dipped her head in formal greeting as she took a seat by the Chapter Leader.

For a long while they sat in silence with their own thoughts as the Spirit accepted the tea he offered and drank, mulling over the worries and thoughts of the night, forming them together into thought before the Leader rose and invited her for a walk with a simple nod of his head.

Together the old male and the blazing younger woman strolled and the male kept quiet, letting her work through her thoughts before they stopped by the river, gazing down into the currents at the glowing fish that undulated below the surface.

She drew in a breath and sat, gazing up at the sky and the streaked stars, unusually bright with a full moon that refused to wane as time ran on. The moon was nearing the far horizon, but if she’d seen anything, and it remained consistent, the morning would still be long in coming.

Balvoros remained silent, though his silver eyes watched her with interest until she finally opened her mouth and breathed, “I don’t know what is happening to our world, Leader. I don’t know what it will do to Valhalla, to my people. I came, hoping that perhaps you might know. You are wise; one must be to reach Chapter Leader.”

The older male gazed at her with a faint smile, muzzle dipping in modest acceptance of her observation before he looked to the sky, then gazed around them. The two spoke fluently in the Old Tongue, and he suggested, “It is in trying times when one’s strengths show themselves to the highest order. I will admit, though I am wise in many things, that I do not quite know what is happening. The glowing animals we have caught bear the light in their very organs. The plants mostly stop glowing once cut from the ground.”

He drew in a sigh and Aurielle gazed at him. “These may be some of the strangest times I’ve ever seen. Last winter, it was extinct species back from the ages. This year…” She shook her head.

”I can only hope we make it through this alive and together as a pack and with our Allies safe.”

So much pressed on her mind and heart. Souzan and his daughter hadn’t arrived, and she was pretty sure his tone hadn’t suggested they’d be so long in arriving. Surely he’d have wanted to arrive before winter tightened its claws on the world…

[Count: 1140 words, apparently >.>]

Walk ---- "Speak" ---- "Labhair an Sean-Teanga." ---- "Hear" ---- Think