Songs and Trees
I fell to a land where the songs of the people could be seen in the air. They danced through the trees, shaking the leaves until they fell quivering to the ground. The songs rippled the waters of the river, leaving small creases in its perfect surface. The songs played with horses’ manes and sped their feet upon the ground until horses looked like faint blurs of color, flashing once and then gone. The songs carry the voices of birds high, so that they are heard miles away but not where they are sung. The songs bring branches to fire makers and rocks to stone gatherers. They blow out the fires of fire makers and steal the stones of stones gatherers.
The songs serve no purpose, but their own. Everything they do they do by whimsy and play. The songs flit about the trees bringing leaves to the wrong branches. The songs know of no evil and no good. They know of barely any thing besides themselves. The songs are separate yet one. They seem to all follow each other but each one thwarts the will of another. The songs seem to quarrel, to fight and then forget about the fight. For the songs do not know of the past and the future. Only the present, only now exists in their world.
The songs look vaguely like their creators who are now long gone from this world. Their creations outlasted them by a long time. The songs are faint rainbows with flowing hair. They have round faces or at least as far as I can tell. They seem to be wearing tunics and leggings. When the songs move, the creatures inside them are running. The winds are beautiful and amazing. They leave a trail of strange happy- sadness behind them. Their voices speak softly of days gone by. Days long since past and left there because nothing, save the songs.
The songs do have one lasting thing. A castle where they sleep and rest. They are forbidden to take from it. The songs may not touch the walls of that castle but they rest within each night. The days pass slowly here and then quickly. Everything is up to the songs.
I have one song who is my friend. He sings in my ear. He sings songs of the old days when he was created. He sings of his familiar, who controlled him. I look like her. I remind him of her. He misses her because she was mortal and he immortal. Rana, she was called Rana. My friend does not have a name for songs do not use them. He wants me to ride him to the place where I become his familiar but I am not sure if I want to. He will wait because time seems to have no effect on him.
The songs call to me as I sleep. I am chosen. I will bring back the lost sun. They already have a sun. They might be saying son. They seems to think I will fulfill the last prophecy their familiar king ever made. I am not sure what to think about this. I will just try to sleep without hearing their songs.
They won’t be quiet so I will listen to the songs of the forgotten age. I will remember what was forgotten and resurrect the age of light.