Bard's wandering feet had carried him away once more, to where his bright eyes could take in the sight of an orchard, fruit trees filled to bursting with their fall bounty. Prey animals were plentiful here, feasting upon the windfall, though Bard made no attempt to chase any. He'd eaten his fill already on his way in, making short work of an unwary rabbit. Now he was here just to enjoy the wandering. Soft words dripped from his jaws, part of an old poem he'd learned long ago, the lilting cadence of his Irish voice turning it near to song.
"Though I am old with wandering
Through hollow lands and hilly lands,
I will find out where she has gone
And kiss her lips and take her hands;
And walk among long dappled grass,
And pluck till time and times are done
The silver apples of the moon,
The golden apples of the sun."
He fell silent once more, allowing the wind rustling through the autumn-doomed leaves to make it's own music, the soft descant of bird-song it's harmony. What a beautiful place this Alacratia was. He wished his mentor could be here to see this, but his old bones would never have made the journey. Far better for him to have remained in the bosom of their order, cared for by the younger druids until he finally passed to the Summerland. But oh, he would have loved the music of this land.
Speech
OOC: the poem he recites is part of a W.B. Yeat's poem called The Song of Wandering Aengus and it's really beautiful so yeah. :)
