Son Of Sea & Fire (Part I)
The ever present snow blankets the grounds outside Balagwyrd, pure and untouched from the night's fall. Dylan steps off the wrap around porch of the house, pulling the cloak of red and gold wool closer about him. At his throat, a broach of a gryphon clutching an apple refracts the light reflected by the snow. Beneath he wears warm woolen britches and a white sash under a tunic of Gwydion green and gold. A bulging rucksack rides against his right hip. His steps take him to the woods that surround the house, every step measured and careful.
No birds sing, and no squirrels twitter from the trees. His only companion is silence and shadows. At last, when the house and grounds are beyond sight, he kneels in the snow and scrapes the snow away from the ground, revealing a circle of smooth stones; black ashes from an old fire are all that remain within. With care he clears the ground around it of snow, and pulls firewood and an old tinder box from the ruck sack.
Cold as the northern winds
In December mornings,
Cold is the cry that rings
From this far distant shore.
With cold and fumbling fingers, he lights the little pieces of tinder, watching them catch and gently breathing on the infant flickers to grow into a blaze. As the flames lick at the larger pieces of wood, he stands and takes a deep breath, smelling the scent of smoke and listening to the crackle of fire. Gently, he sets his circlet on a stone with reverence.
"Once the world was pure. And so was I." His voice crackles with belief, as he unclips the broach and solemnly wraps the cloak into a square, the broach laying atop the pile of wool.
"It was unbound in glory and grace. And so was I." He pulls the tunic over his head and drapes it ontop of the cloak with care. The cold air whips across his barechest, a shiver rolls across his chest as his fingers deftly untie the white sash and lets it fall atop the tunic.
His voice grows stronger, more confident as the britches fall and he steps from them, his body exposed to the now blustering cold. "Here and now, we go back to what was so that we might see what could be." sliding out of soft moccasins, he steps on the cold earth, and moves the clothing from the circle around the pit.
Winter has come too late
Too close beside me.
How can I chase away
All these fears deep inside?
Slowly, self concsiously at first, he begins to dance, to the crackle of the flames, to the whispers of the wind. His eyes never leave the flames, and soon his body becomes adjusted, his steps coming more freely, more naturally. The dance about the fire builds in pace, his nude form spiraling about the flames, coming closer to them and dancing away. A thin sheen of sweat glistens against his skin as the lithe sidhe moves fluidly to the pulse of his own heartbeat. It is a dance that venerates fire, creation, destruction and rebirth. As the flames reach a roaring blaze, he finishes the dance and drops to the ground to lay beside the fire.
Fresh mud clings to his side as he watchs the flames and speaks softly, "Where first there was the sundering, and then the shattering, is this the last phase of the cycle before rebirth? Will now the souls of fae and man be seperated? The souls of fae sent to Arcadia while the souls of man remain on Earth?"
For the first time, his body tenses as it braces for the vision that will come.
I'll wait the signs to come.
I'll find a way
I will wait the time to come.
I'll find a way home.
No birds sing, and no squirrels twitter from the trees. His only companion is silence and shadows. At last, when the house and grounds are beyond sight, he kneels in the snow and scrapes the snow away from the ground, revealing a circle of smooth stones; black ashes from an old fire are all that remain within. With care he clears the ground around it of snow, and pulls firewood and an old tinder box from the ruck sack.
Cold as the northern winds
In December mornings,
Cold is the cry that rings
From this far distant shore.
With cold and fumbling fingers, he lights the little pieces of tinder, watching them catch and gently breathing on the infant flickers to grow into a blaze. As the flames lick at the larger pieces of wood, he stands and takes a deep breath, smelling the scent of smoke and listening to the crackle of fire. Gently, he sets his circlet on a stone with reverence.
"Once the world was pure. And so was I." His voice crackles with belief, as he unclips the broach and solemnly wraps the cloak into a square, the broach laying atop the pile of wool.
"It was unbound in glory and grace. And so was I." He pulls the tunic over his head and drapes it ontop of the cloak with care. The cold air whips across his barechest, a shiver rolls across his chest as his fingers deftly untie the white sash and lets it fall atop the tunic.
His voice grows stronger, more confident as the britches fall and he steps from them, his body exposed to the now blustering cold. "Here and now, we go back to what was so that we might see what could be." sliding out of soft moccasins, he steps on the cold earth, and moves the clothing from the circle around the pit.
Winter has come too late
Too close beside me.
How can I chase away
All these fears deep inside?
Slowly, self concsiously at first, he begins to dance, to the crackle of the flames, to the whispers of the wind. His eyes never leave the flames, and soon his body becomes adjusted, his steps coming more freely, more naturally. The dance about the fire builds in pace, his nude form spiraling about the flames, coming closer to them and dancing away. A thin sheen of sweat glistens against his skin as the lithe sidhe moves fluidly to the pulse of his own heartbeat. It is a dance that venerates fire, creation, destruction and rebirth. As the flames reach a roaring blaze, he finishes the dance and drops to the ground to lay beside the fire.
Fresh mud clings to his side as he watchs the flames and speaks softly, "Where first there was the sundering, and then the shattering, is this the last phase of the cycle before rebirth? Will now the souls of fae and man be seperated? The souls of fae sent to Arcadia while the souls of man remain on Earth?"
For the first time, his body tenses as it braces for the vision that will come.
I'll wait the signs to come.
I'll find a way
I will wait the time to come.
I'll find a way home.