Night time.
Always his favorite.
Walking in a field of waving gold that shines as briliantly as though the midday sun shone upon its windblown strands, stalking the strange vision.
As always, it doesn't take long.
A single step leads to the explosion of feathers, pure white in the darkness, as doves take wing from their resting place at his feet. Even though he is prepared, it takes him by surprise, making him jump back as hundred of the lovely birds spring into flight, a cascade of wamr, feathered bodies.
And held in them, glimpses of a vision of pure, aching beauty.
A slender body, gentle curves, smooth contours.
Skin of a pale, honey-gold color, smooth as silk.
Lips a lovely pink, soft and supple as rose petals.
Curved upwards in a teasing, elusive smile.
Showing a glimpse of dazzling white teeth.
But what catches his eye the most, what sticks in his memory, is none of this.
He has eyes for nothing but the fall of spun gold, wild and untames, swirling in an unseen wind.
Held within them, a pair of eyes like the most beautiful of uncut sapphires.
And as he reaches out to this vision, steps forward, the doves are gone.
Taking with them, the vision he cannot seem to pierce through.
The one thing he cannot see with absolute clarity, is only able to catch with subtle, teasing visions.
He jerks awake, settled as always in a familiar pose of patience and calm - cross-legged, hands resting lightly on his knees. Before him, the smoldering remains of a small fire, and beyond it, the sea.
Beyond that, the sun, a bloated, bloody red eye, gazing balefully upon his sitting place where the waves lap at the shore as gently as a lover's caress.
How did he get here"
Memory comes to him unbidden. A vision much as the last had been, as he sat, troubled, on the floor of his home, gazing at the fragrant smoke of the smolder before him.
His father had come to him and sat the opposite of that blackened spot, and for a long time was silent.
Finally, he had spoken.
"I am going to Rhy'Din, my father."
His father had merely nodded. The look on his face is unreadable to all but his own son, the one with the same strange gifts his older sister had had.
Under it, Daniel could see he didn't like it. There's the possibility of losing both siblings, perhaps the most powerful shaman to come along to the People in centuries, and twins, at that.
But his father also knew that Daniel will not be stopped.
Finally, he spoke. "You go to bring her home?"
Daniel had shaken his head. "I go to find her, Father. If she wishes to return, I will help her do so...but if she wishes to stay, I cannot force her to come with me."
His father nodded again, and this time his face betrays an emotion. Sadness.
"And what of you, my son' Will you be returning?"
For the first time, Daniel had been uncertain of what to say. He hasn't been able to see for...well, months, really. Because of the vision.
The doves.
The girl.
"I...I do not know for certain, Father. I can't see if I will come here again or not."
His father simply nods, picking up a bundle next to him and unrolling it, taking from the supple leather a long, blue pipe and a pouch of tobacco. "Then, my son, let us smoke a while. And I will pray that, one day, I may see you and your sister again."
And so they had smoked together a while.
Now, sitting on the shores of Rhy'Din, watching the sun as it touches the horizon, he stands. Tall, slender, and leans, clad only in buckskin breeches, the reddish light reflecting off his russet skin and blazing in his black hair like coals. The wind brushes against him, fluttering that hair to reveal four feathers of four types - muddy red-brown, ebon black, snow white, and golden-brown - held by those black strands.
Always his favorite.
Walking in a field of waving gold that shines as briliantly as though the midday sun shone upon its windblown strands, stalking the strange vision.
As always, it doesn't take long.
A single step leads to the explosion of feathers, pure white in the darkness, as doves take wing from their resting place at his feet. Even though he is prepared, it takes him by surprise, making him jump back as hundred of the lovely birds spring into flight, a cascade of wamr, feathered bodies.
And held in them, glimpses of a vision of pure, aching beauty.
A slender body, gentle curves, smooth contours.
Skin of a pale, honey-gold color, smooth as silk.
Lips a lovely pink, soft and supple as rose petals.
Curved upwards in a teasing, elusive smile.
Showing a glimpse of dazzling white teeth.
But what catches his eye the most, what sticks in his memory, is none of this.
He has eyes for nothing but the fall of spun gold, wild and untames, swirling in an unseen wind.
Held within them, a pair of eyes like the most beautiful of uncut sapphires.
And as he reaches out to this vision, steps forward, the doves are gone.
Taking with them, the vision he cannot seem to pierce through.
The one thing he cannot see with absolute clarity, is only able to catch with subtle, teasing visions.
He jerks awake, settled as always in a familiar pose of patience and calm - cross-legged, hands resting lightly on his knees. Before him, the smoldering remains of a small fire, and beyond it, the sea.
Beyond that, the sun, a bloated, bloody red eye, gazing balefully upon his sitting place where the waves lap at the shore as gently as a lover's caress.
How did he get here"
Memory comes to him unbidden. A vision much as the last had been, as he sat, troubled, on the floor of his home, gazing at the fragrant smoke of the smolder before him.
His father had come to him and sat the opposite of that blackened spot, and for a long time was silent.
Finally, he had spoken.
"I am going to Rhy'Din, my father."
His father had merely nodded. The look on his face is unreadable to all but his own son, the one with the same strange gifts his older sister had had.
Under it, Daniel could see he didn't like it. There's the possibility of losing both siblings, perhaps the most powerful shaman to come along to the People in centuries, and twins, at that.
But his father also knew that Daniel will not be stopped.
Finally, he spoke. "You go to bring her home?"
Daniel had shaken his head. "I go to find her, Father. If she wishes to return, I will help her do so...but if she wishes to stay, I cannot force her to come with me."
His father nodded again, and this time his face betrays an emotion. Sadness.
"And what of you, my son' Will you be returning?"
For the first time, Daniel had been uncertain of what to say. He hasn't been able to see for...well, months, really. Because of the vision.
The doves.
The girl.
"I...I do not know for certain, Father. I can't see if I will come here again or not."
His father simply nods, picking up a bundle next to him and unrolling it, taking from the supple leather a long, blue pipe and a pouch of tobacco. "Then, my son, let us smoke a while. And I will pray that, one day, I may see you and your sister again."
And so they had smoked together a while.
Now, sitting on the shores of Rhy'Din, watching the sun as it touches the horizon, he stands. Tall, slender, and leans, clad only in buckskin breeches, the reddish light reflecting off his russet skin and blazing in his black hair like coals. The wind brushes against him, fluttering that hair to reveal four feathers of four types - muddy red-brown, ebon black, snow white, and golden-brown - held by those black strands.