Such a fine gift, that well cared seedling, so promising and full of life?
Life.
It was the basis of Lilliana?s power, something pure and eldritch, intangible yet as drinkable as the very rain. Pale fingers sifted through the raw, freshly turned earth that cradled a young pear tree. Such lily-white skin against the fragrant, mineral rich soil, it brought a smile to the gypsy witch?s molten gaze long before it reached her lips. Rising, the buxom lass reached out to stroke one of the saplings? little leaves, reveling in the feel of dirt rolling between her skin and the foliage?s waxy surface.
Oddly enough Lilli looked quite at home with her bare feet curling in the grass and grit, or perhaps it was still the glow of Midsummer?s power still ebbing and flowing through her body? Who could tell?
That evening every inch of her was screaming with life, near bursting at her bonny seams with all the ardor of a practitioner in their Deities? cresting glory. Memories of the zeal fluttered behind her pale lashes, and the most serene of smiles spread slowly across her lush lips.
Breath in once, breath out slowly. Feel that life? Feel that energy? That underlying scent of the ripening summer?s air, of life in it?s most prime of moments, it streamed out of every blossomed pore, intoxicating the very air with it?s vigor. Lilliana was an empathetic victim to this onslaught, on visceral planes as well as physical, and it was all she could do sometimes no to melt with the sheer life that washed through her.
And Perceval, gentle, shy, steady, quiet Perceval Tucker; such a fine fellow, strong and patient. He?d raised that sapling from a seed, no doubt, and each day fed it with the sweat from his brow and the strength of his back. The toils of the earth, they reaped such sweet bounties, and it seemed the Shy Farmer, as she often called him, had found an apt hand for that life. Though Lilli was no otherworldly creature with superior olfactory organs, there was something palpable to the senses from this little tree; as if touching a leaf or a bit of the thin trunk would bring an endearing image of Tucker to the mind.
Breaking from the self induced spell brought on by thoughtful gifts and the ebb of power that still washed through her, the gypsy witch picked up her gaze, molten eyes refocusing as she slipped back into the here and now. Around she swept those magmatic whorls, a proud Cheshire?s smile curling up to dimple her cheeks.
Yes, it was time to move out from the Red Dragon. Here in this secluded niche of the Glen was as nice as any place. Now it was only a matter of bargaining with the Clan to let her keep one of the Caravan?s wagons?
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http://img2.photographersdirect.com/img/13917/wm/pd727327.jpg
Life.
It was the basis of Lilliana?s power, something pure and eldritch, intangible yet as drinkable as the very rain. Pale fingers sifted through the raw, freshly turned earth that cradled a young pear tree. Such lily-white skin against the fragrant, mineral rich soil, it brought a smile to the gypsy witch?s molten gaze long before it reached her lips. Rising, the buxom lass reached out to stroke one of the saplings? little leaves, reveling in the feel of dirt rolling between her skin and the foliage?s waxy surface.
Oddly enough Lilli looked quite at home with her bare feet curling in the grass and grit, or perhaps it was still the glow of Midsummer?s power still ebbing and flowing through her body? Who could tell?
That evening every inch of her was screaming with life, near bursting at her bonny seams with all the ardor of a practitioner in their Deities? cresting glory. Memories of the zeal fluttered behind her pale lashes, and the most serene of smiles spread slowly across her lush lips.
Breath in once, breath out slowly. Feel that life? Feel that energy? That underlying scent of the ripening summer?s air, of life in it?s most prime of moments, it streamed out of every blossomed pore, intoxicating the very air with it?s vigor. Lilliana was an empathetic victim to this onslaught, on visceral planes as well as physical, and it was all she could do sometimes no to melt with the sheer life that washed through her.
And Perceval, gentle, shy, steady, quiet Perceval Tucker; such a fine fellow, strong and patient. He?d raised that sapling from a seed, no doubt, and each day fed it with the sweat from his brow and the strength of his back. The toils of the earth, they reaped such sweet bounties, and it seemed the Shy Farmer, as she often called him, had found an apt hand for that life. Though Lilli was no otherworldly creature with superior olfactory organs, there was something palpable to the senses from this little tree; as if touching a leaf or a bit of the thin trunk would bring an endearing image of Tucker to the mind.
Breaking from the self induced spell brought on by thoughtful gifts and the ebb of power that still washed through her, the gypsy witch picked up her gaze, molten eyes refocusing as she slipped back into the here and now. Around she swept those magmatic whorls, a proud Cheshire?s smile curling up to dimple her cheeks.
Yes, it was time to move out from the Red Dragon. Here in this secluded niche of the Glen was as nice as any place. Now it was only a matter of bargaining with the Clan to let her keep one of the Caravan?s wagons?
_______________________________
_______________________________
http://img2.photographersdirect.com/img/13917/wm/pd727327.jpg