Raven Tales
[I thank Neil Gaiman for a brief idea!]
Auspice grumbles something incoherent, then lies back down again. "Tell me a story."
Wilhiem shifts to look at the woman, lying o n his side now. "...a story? Why?"
Auspice offers a faint smile, then shifts, placing her hands over her stomach. "Because that is what typically accompanies a shadow puppet show, does it not?"
Wilhiem smirks, lying on his back and looking up. "Appropriate, I suppose. What kind of story would you like to hear?"
Auspice offers a faint shrug. "Tell me one ... " She purses her lips slightly, then furrows her brow. "Do you have a favorite?"
find it a bit odd. It's a story about just that. A love for stories."
Auspice tilts her head slightly. "Well - the best premises are often strange. I'd be ... interested to see what kind of shadow puppets you could ... conjure, for such a tale."
Wilhiem chuckles. "Very well then. It's not much of a story, more of a... There is an old tale that the wanderers tell - more of a rumor, really, a flutter, or a myth. But quite a few choose to believe in it. It's about birds, funny enough. Ravens."
Auspice 's lips curl into a slow smile. "Really?" She laces her fingers together, joined at the thumbs to project a rather simple bird against the ceiling. "I never thought you'd be the one to enjoy a story about birds."
Wilhiem chuckles, folding his palms together to form a sort of a simple mountain. "The ravens, you see, are not just birds. A few people, some very, very long time ago, believed that they are what happens to people upon passing. They would make one round about their past place of residence - just one - and sing, and call, and let their past know that they are gone. And then they would rise to the mountains, and flock."
Auspice nods, then moves her simple bird over the mountain, fluttering her fingers slightly as she does so.
Wilhiem smiles widely. He spreads his fingers out, then raises one - the shadow resembles a hunched over male figure. "Few knew what happened to the ravens afterward. But, one man managed to find out, then a few others - and the odd, morbid ritual was noted. The ravens would have gatherings."
Auspice folds her fingers downward to play the part of a raven landing. She curls her index inward to make a beak.
Wilhiem makes a raven of his own. "First in twos, then in larger groups, then hundreds upon hundreds of birds would gather at those dusty plains." He 'lands' his raven beside the woman's. "The man, this wanderer, witnessed one such gathering. And he hear them talk, oddly, just like humans would. They would gather in circles. And push one raven out. They talked - cawed - but he could not understand a word."
Auspice purses her lips slightly, then bobs her raven up and down. She parts the beak made by her index.
Wilhiem chuckles. "They would single one raven out and push him to the center of the circle. The gathering would grow quiet then, still. The raven would let out a sound - sometimes, it would talk for a while. Elaborate construction of sounds. But when it did could not talk, the entire gathering would come into the middle and it would rain black feathers, and they would part - and there would be nothing left of the bird."
Auspice closes her raven's beak, then splays her fingers out in one sudden motion, parting her hands and ripping the shadow bird in two.
Wilhiem bites his lip. "The wanderer watched the birds for a while. This would happen once every month and go on for about a week, and after every gathering at least a quarter of the birds disappear." He makes a lone male-figure again. "It was his fourth visit to the raven's plains when he realized that he was followed by a bird. It stayed just a few steps behind, and hid in the rocks and the foliage every time he turned. But he could hear it. The faint shuffling of coal-stained wings."
Auspice takes up the shadow bird puppet once more, then - curls her fingers inward to resemble furled wings. She places it a few steps behind the man, then bobs her hands from side to side. Hopping from "foot" to "foot".
Wilhiem shakes his head. "You are better at this than me. Anyway, the man returned to his wanderings, and one day found the raven sitting right atop of his chest. He was afraid at first - then curious. That is, he was not afraid until the raven started to speak in an even, soft voice. It told him that he will let him come to yet another meeting - but just one, one last time, and that he will be his guide and explain what the ravens had in mind."
Auspice offers a faint grin, then drops her hands. "Not at all, Wil - the story is half the show. I am only following your lead, but - " She falls silent, then rests her hands on the man's chest, forming the hand bird anew.
Wilhiem nods slowly, then continues. "And so they went, the man and the raven perched up on his shoulder. They hid behind a large boulder as the birds gathered into yet another circle, beaks lowered and scraping the ground with a sort of faint, cacophonic rhythm. The raven whispered into the man's ear. 'Your people were right, but only half-right. It doesn't end, after you die, that is.' One of the birds, then, landed into the middle of the circle. 'After you die - you leave things. Traces. That might not be a good thing, but there better be at least one thing that remains behind you. Your story.' The birds stirred, and the raven in the middle shuffled - nervous. It let out a small 'caw', the circle of birds stirred. Another sound, another disapproving reaction. 'And if you have no story to leave behind?' The birds darted in, at once, enclosing on the desperately screeching thing. 'Then you did not deserve a life.'"
Auspice lets her hands fall, then purses her lips. She lets her hand settle over her stomach, clasping them together. "I... nteresting story." She's silent for a few moments, head angled up towards the ceiling.
Wilhiem smiles widely. "Oh, but I am not done yet." He shuffles about the bed, raising his arms to form the human figure once again. "The man turned away from this display of needless violence, only to see the raven looking at him - head lowered. The air was silent, black feathers raining down once again. The bird seemed bigger, somehow. It cawed at the ground and gave the man a nod. 'Look, now.' And the man turned." He turns the hand-shadow, forming a sort of profile with his fingers. "And saw that every bird now was looking in his direction."
Wilhiem slowly shifts the figure to look like a raven once again. "So the man turned to the raven, and asked him what happened. The raven replied with one simple sentence."
Auspice blinks, then raises her hands once more. She reprises the role of the raven flock, leaning over to place her hands opposite of the hunched figure, forming a beak with her fingers.
Wilhiem folds his arms across his chest. "It just said: 'It's your turn.'"
Auspice offers a distant smile, then dissolves the raven flock, setting her hands back down.
Auspice grumbles something incoherent, then lies back down again. "Tell me a story."
Wilhiem shifts to look at the woman, lying o n his side now. "...a story? Why?"
Auspice offers a faint smile, then shifts, placing her hands over her stomach. "Because that is what typically accompanies a shadow puppet show, does it not?"
Wilhiem smirks, lying on his back and looking up. "Appropriate, I suppose. What kind of story would you like to hear?"
Auspice offers a faint shrug. "Tell me one ... " She purses her lips slightly, then furrows her brow. "Do you have a favorite?"
find it a bit odd. It's a story about just that. A love for stories."
Auspice tilts her head slightly. "Well - the best premises are often strange. I'd be ... interested to see what kind of shadow puppets you could ... conjure, for such a tale."
Wilhiem chuckles. "Very well then. It's not much of a story, more of a... There is an old tale that the wanderers tell - more of a rumor, really, a flutter, or a myth. But quite a few choose to believe in it. It's about birds, funny enough. Ravens."
Auspice 's lips curl into a slow smile. "Really?" She laces her fingers together, joined at the thumbs to project a rather simple bird against the ceiling. "I never thought you'd be the one to enjoy a story about birds."
Wilhiem chuckles, folding his palms together to form a sort of a simple mountain. "The ravens, you see, are not just birds. A few people, some very, very long time ago, believed that they are what happens to people upon passing. They would make one round about their past place of residence - just one - and sing, and call, and let their past know that they are gone. And then they would rise to the mountains, and flock."
Auspice nods, then moves her simple bird over the mountain, fluttering her fingers slightly as she does so.
Wilhiem smiles widely. He spreads his fingers out, then raises one - the shadow resembles a hunched over male figure. "Few knew what happened to the ravens afterward. But, one man managed to find out, then a few others - and the odd, morbid ritual was noted. The ravens would have gatherings."
Auspice folds her fingers downward to play the part of a raven landing. She curls her index inward to make a beak.
Wilhiem makes a raven of his own. "First in twos, then in larger groups, then hundreds upon hundreds of birds would gather at those dusty plains." He 'lands' his raven beside the woman's. "The man, this wanderer, witnessed one such gathering. And he hear them talk, oddly, just like humans would. They would gather in circles. And push one raven out. They talked - cawed - but he could not understand a word."
Auspice purses her lips slightly, then bobs her raven up and down. She parts the beak made by her index.
Wilhiem chuckles. "They would single one raven out and push him to the center of the circle. The gathering would grow quiet then, still. The raven would let out a sound - sometimes, it would talk for a while. Elaborate construction of sounds. But when it did could not talk, the entire gathering would come into the middle and it would rain black feathers, and they would part - and there would be nothing left of the bird."
Auspice closes her raven's beak, then splays her fingers out in one sudden motion, parting her hands and ripping the shadow bird in two.
Wilhiem bites his lip. "The wanderer watched the birds for a while. This would happen once every month and go on for about a week, and after every gathering at least a quarter of the birds disappear." He makes a lone male-figure again. "It was his fourth visit to the raven's plains when he realized that he was followed by a bird. It stayed just a few steps behind, and hid in the rocks and the foliage every time he turned. But he could hear it. The faint shuffling of coal-stained wings."
Auspice takes up the shadow bird puppet once more, then - curls her fingers inward to resemble furled wings. She places it a few steps behind the man, then bobs her hands from side to side. Hopping from "foot" to "foot".
Wilhiem shakes his head. "You are better at this than me. Anyway, the man returned to his wanderings, and one day found the raven sitting right atop of his chest. He was afraid at first - then curious. That is, he was not afraid until the raven started to speak in an even, soft voice. It told him that he will let him come to yet another meeting - but just one, one last time, and that he will be his guide and explain what the ravens had in mind."
Auspice offers a faint grin, then drops her hands. "Not at all, Wil - the story is half the show. I am only following your lead, but - " She falls silent, then rests her hands on the man's chest, forming the hand bird anew.
Wilhiem nods slowly, then continues. "And so they went, the man and the raven perched up on his shoulder. They hid behind a large boulder as the birds gathered into yet another circle, beaks lowered and scraping the ground with a sort of faint, cacophonic rhythm. The raven whispered into the man's ear. 'Your people were right, but only half-right. It doesn't end, after you die, that is.' One of the birds, then, landed into the middle of the circle. 'After you die - you leave things. Traces. That might not be a good thing, but there better be at least one thing that remains behind you. Your story.' The birds stirred, and the raven in the middle shuffled - nervous. It let out a small 'caw', the circle of birds stirred. Another sound, another disapproving reaction. 'And if you have no story to leave behind?' The birds darted in, at once, enclosing on the desperately screeching thing. 'Then you did not deserve a life.'"
Auspice lets her hands fall, then purses her lips. She lets her hand settle over her stomach, clasping them together. "I... nteresting story." She's silent for a few moments, head angled up towards the ceiling.
Wilhiem smiles widely. "Oh, but I am not done yet." He shuffles about the bed, raising his arms to form the human figure once again. "The man turned away from this display of needless violence, only to see the raven looking at him - head lowered. The air was silent, black feathers raining down once again. The bird seemed bigger, somehow. It cawed at the ground and gave the man a nod. 'Look, now.' And the man turned." He turns the hand-shadow, forming a sort of profile with his fingers. "And saw that every bird now was looking in his direction."
Wilhiem slowly shifts the figure to look like a raven once again. "So the man turned to the raven, and asked him what happened. The raven replied with one simple sentence."
Auspice blinks, then raises her hands once more. She reprises the role of the raven flock, leaning over to place her hands opposite of the hunched figure, forming a beak with her fingers.
Wilhiem folds his arms across his chest. "It just said: 'It's your turn.'"
Auspice offers a distant smile, then dissolves the raven flock, setting her hands back down.