(no subject)
The chill in the morning air is a telltale sign that autumn is approaching, and Arianrhod (who has finally reappeared here at the End of All Things) is happily dancing inbetween the trees of the forest.
"A pity it is," she says to them, head turned upward toward the still green leaves, "that your life span is so short."
The wind rustles the leaves and Arianrhod laughs, understanding. "I cannot do anything about it, no. Nor can Jack! You should be used to this by now, coedwig."
And again the wind rushes past the leaves and branches and the thick, old trunks, causing the trees to heave a sort of tired sigh.
"I know," Arianrhod says, placing a hand on the chipped bark of an older tree; after a moment the wind stills and she begins to dance again, humming a very soft, ancient song.
"A pity it is," she says to them, head turned upward toward the still green leaves, "that your life span is so short."
The wind rustles the leaves and Arianrhod laughs, understanding. "I cannot do anything about it, no. Nor can Jack! You should be used to this by now, coedwig."
And again the wind rushes past the leaves and branches and the thick, old trunks, causing the trees to heave a sort of tired sigh.
"I know," Arianrhod says, placing a hand on the chipped bark of an older tree; after a moment the wind stills and she begins to dance again, humming a very soft, ancient song.