THE RETURNER
I look into the eyes of a spirit ancient and beautiful- at once the eyes of a dragon, the eyes of a hawk, the eyes of a raging tiger. All these are present in his soul, all are warring for dominance.
He changes from century to century, a chameleon that can transform from gentile aristocrat to fierce warrior. He embodies both dark and light, beauty and brutality, joy and sorrow.
That is why I am enthralled beyond redemption.
And his voice! Oh! He Sings with such fervor, such veracity that any spell he would Sing, any force he would Call, would be as such that would put even Gwydion to shame.
His skill with a blade is equally as enchanting: the way he effortlessly slices through first one foe, then another with the finesse of a dancer, his katana dancing as an extension of his very being. I marvel at his beauty, stand in awe at the fierceness of his battle-rage which is not the rage of my berserker brethren, but rather the quiet rage of an avalanche- flowing, never-ceasing, all-consuming.
When he smiles, [which is none too often] it is like the sun parting dark clouds. He can be quite comedic even though often his intentions are not to be, leaving me with the difficulty of holding back my laughter so as not to alert him to my presence.
At times I see him grinning slightly to himself as if he knows some buried secret, then he looks back almost imperceptably, almost catching my gaze when I briefly let down my guard, and hear his beautifully accented voice in my head:
"I know you are there."
My wards go up even stronger after one of those encounters, after feeling the power of his chi reaching out like tendrils to tangle themselves in my soul. Yet I know he senses me- know he would flush me out like a rabbit if he so wished, but it seems the game amuses him, the idea that one such as I would be as enthralled with one half my age.
I date the man by some eight hundred or more years. I have seen things that mortals of this age regulate to mere myth and fancy, yet something about this one stirs within me something that is unnameable, something that I have not felt since I first heard Gwydion and his Song.
Ah, my Children, there are few that move me to such words, such adoration. Yet after observing this one in his infinite glory, I cannot be eloquent enough in my description.
I should like to think someday we should meet.
And perhaps we shall.
He changes from century to century, a chameleon that can transform from gentile aristocrat to fierce warrior. He embodies both dark and light, beauty and brutality, joy and sorrow.
That is why I am enthralled beyond redemption.
And his voice! Oh! He Sings with such fervor, such veracity that any spell he would Sing, any force he would Call, would be as such that would put even Gwydion to shame.
His skill with a blade is equally as enchanting: the way he effortlessly slices through first one foe, then another with the finesse of a dancer, his katana dancing as an extension of his very being. I marvel at his beauty, stand in awe at the fierceness of his battle-rage which is not the rage of my berserker brethren, but rather the quiet rage of an avalanche- flowing, never-ceasing, all-consuming.
When he smiles, [which is none too often] it is like the sun parting dark clouds. He can be quite comedic even though often his intentions are not to be, leaving me with the difficulty of holding back my laughter so as not to alert him to my presence.
At times I see him grinning slightly to himself as if he knows some buried secret, then he looks back almost imperceptably, almost catching my gaze when I briefly let down my guard, and hear his beautifully accented voice in my head:
"I know you are there."
My wards go up even stronger after one of those encounters, after feeling the power of his chi reaching out like tendrils to tangle themselves in my soul. Yet I know he senses me- know he would flush me out like a rabbit if he so wished, but it seems the game amuses him, the idea that one such as I would be as enthralled with one half my age.
I date the man by some eight hundred or more years. I have seen things that mortals of this age regulate to mere myth and fancy, yet something about this one stirs within me something that is unnameable, something that I have not felt since I first heard Gwydion and his Song.
Ah, my Children, there are few that move me to such words, such adoration. Yet after observing this one in his infinite glory, I cannot be eloquent enough in my description.
I should like to think someday we should meet.
And perhaps we shall.