(no subject)
A (very) short story, written for a contest. Opinions welcome.
He sighed heavily as his horse clomped through the brush that the trail seemed to be succumbing to the further into the wood. A well placed Heir in this land shouldn’t have to make this trip, let alone by himself, his prideful arrogance told him, and so late in the day besides! He would miss supper to meet with the caravan making their way to his family’s estate with riches from the far realms. Still, this was his duty, and part of his becoming a man. At age 20, he felt this was overdue. Tradition was tradition, but that did nothing to ease his mind, for there were stories of bandits and worse on the road.
He dismounted now, no less than 10 miles down the path, where the brush became too heavy and the trail too narrow for a horse to navigate. Sending the horse back to the estate, he continued on as the sun dipped behind him in quiet retreat, leaving the claim of the sky to the full moon and her stars. The trees were spaced far enough apart to allow the eerie light of the moon to illuminate the path and guide his footsteps, he was too engrossed with the beauty he’d never before realized this Wood held in the early night to consider that there was no way a horse could make it down this path, let alone an entire caravan.
He felt himself being drawn in deeper into the Wood, and an hour passed before he realized he’d reached a large circular clearing, the faint sounds of music being overshadowed by a song of words he could not recognize, but tugged at his soul none the less. At the center of the clearing, a small Willow Tree, a sapling no older than 5 summers, stood in its full glory under the moonshine. Naked figures danced in harmony to the song they sang tirelessly, endlessly. Their bodies glistening with sweat caught the rays of the moon and reflected them several times over, giving the entire clearing a beautiful otherworldly look.
They were elves, and only the females danced. All along the edge, clothed males played various instruments to accompany the song, and as he watched, the elves would abandon the dance and the instruments to sate physical desires, always one picking up where another left off in song and dance or in play. He watched, a sharp intake of breath coming as a dancer caught his gaze and would not release it. She did not stop her dance, or her song, but she motioned for him to join them. He was taken aback by a voice in his head that said “Are you worthy of this celebration? Will you join the Heathenreel?”
Yes! He wanted to shout, tears of joy lining his eyes, but he thought better of it. He made his way out to the clearing, and into the circle of dancing females, their sweat lined bodies brushing against him without modesty. “Dance.” The word came to his head and he was compelled to oblige, though he didn’t know the steps. Dance he did that night, though exhausted, he could not stop for the joy it caused in his heart propelled him. The Elves eloquently moved to accommodate his clumsy actions, and the moon shown brighter upon The Willow that night than in the centuries to follow.
He was home the following morning and had forgotten all about his original business. His father, upon seeing his son, offered him food and drink and asked how the night faired. He spoke of a tale to great for words, and a truly unbelievable meeting. His father, looking more at his son’s face than listening to his words, pointed to a scar that ran from cheek to chin, splitting his lip, and said “Never before have the females allowed a male to dance. More than a man you have become this night. Blessed are you, Elvenfriend.”
He sighed heavily as his horse clomped through the brush that the trail seemed to be succumbing to the further into the wood. A well placed Heir in this land shouldn’t have to make this trip, let alone by himself, his prideful arrogance told him, and so late in the day besides! He would miss supper to meet with the caravan making their way to his family’s estate with riches from the far realms. Still, this was his duty, and part of his becoming a man. At age 20, he felt this was overdue. Tradition was tradition, but that did nothing to ease his mind, for there were stories of bandits and worse on the road.
He dismounted now, no less than 10 miles down the path, where the brush became too heavy and the trail too narrow for a horse to navigate. Sending the horse back to the estate, he continued on as the sun dipped behind him in quiet retreat, leaving the claim of the sky to the full moon and her stars. The trees were spaced far enough apart to allow the eerie light of the moon to illuminate the path and guide his footsteps, he was too engrossed with the beauty he’d never before realized this Wood held in the early night to consider that there was no way a horse could make it down this path, let alone an entire caravan.
He felt himself being drawn in deeper into the Wood, and an hour passed before he realized he’d reached a large circular clearing, the faint sounds of music being overshadowed by a song of words he could not recognize, but tugged at his soul none the less. At the center of the clearing, a small Willow Tree, a sapling no older than 5 summers, stood in its full glory under the moonshine. Naked figures danced in harmony to the song they sang tirelessly, endlessly. Their bodies glistening with sweat caught the rays of the moon and reflected them several times over, giving the entire clearing a beautiful otherworldly look.
They were elves, and only the females danced. All along the edge, clothed males played various instruments to accompany the song, and as he watched, the elves would abandon the dance and the instruments to sate physical desires, always one picking up where another left off in song and dance or in play. He watched, a sharp intake of breath coming as a dancer caught his gaze and would not release it. She did not stop her dance, or her song, but she motioned for him to join them. He was taken aback by a voice in his head that said “Are you worthy of this celebration? Will you join the Heathenreel?”
Yes! He wanted to shout, tears of joy lining his eyes, but he thought better of it. He made his way out to the clearing, and into the circle of dancing females, their sweat lined bodies brushing against him without modesty. “Dance.” The word came to his head and he was compelled to oblige, though he didn’t know the steps. Dance he did that night, though exhausted, he could not stop for the joy it caused in his heart propelled him. The Elves eloquently moved to accommodate his clumsy actions, and the moon shown brighter upon The Willow that night than in the centuries to follow.
He was home the following morning and had forgotten all about his original business. His father, upon seeing his son, offered him food and drink and asked how the night faired. He spoke of a tale to great for words, and a truly unbelievable meeting. His father, looking more at his son’s face than listening to his words, pointed to a scar that ran from cheek to chin, splitting his lip, and said “Never before have the females allowed a male to dance. More than a man you have become this night. Blessed are you, Elvenfriend.”