In the far reaches of this realm lay places best left for predators; where paws or claws clicked near silent in old earth on midnight prowling and even the smell of the earth whispered ancient secrets. The trees crowded together with trunks so large, rings of fifteen men or more could not encircle their trunks. Strange sounds, strange birds called eerie songs that echoed even in such dense greenery.
Here, this forest protected those as old as it was?or those creatures with hearts that beat the blood of ages long past. Here, this forest protected a being crouched within the underbrush as one of their own, even if its soul seemed as pitch as the shadows that night threw against forest floor.
Here, Suliss?urn had crouched on the fading trail of spring fatted buck. In mid pursuit however, something in the earth beneath her feet had caused the drow to stand still, and then lower her hands into the thick, rich loam. Fingertips spread wide; the female slit harvest moon yellow eyes and listened to a song that tickled along the edges of her senses. The touch of the deep earth sharpened the sound, an eldritch communication between two things long forgotten.
The feeling was familiar. Something was missing.
As one would walk through the home of someone just passed; there, the chair was still tilted as they?d once pushed it back to walk. The dishes still upon the counter and ready for afternoon tea, the table set, clothing folded...The feeling as if you could turn about and find that person standing there still and yet, they were not there. They were missing, while the rest of the world spun along on it?s merry way unaware of what had gone.
Some one was missing.
Suliss?urn curled her fingers into the earth and marred it. ?White One,? strangled words in the hollowed bone whistle of Suliss?urns ruined voice startled creatures silent. Startled herself.
?Now you have flown,? mused to the earth. ?I envied the pale of your skin and the power that you kept wrapped behind eyes. You let me kneel by your feet and listened. How many have done that for me? Not many. Not many.
"I remember you clearly; you were like the moon to me. Silvery bright, distant, beautiful. I envied you and some times, I hated you. Your beauty. I said things to a man I should not have, a man who lead your armies and lead my path to yours.
"You have flown, but where? You were old to me, but not ugly, not a crone. You were old like ruins of ancient palaces destroyed for peace. Ruins that children played around and through, not understanding the great history they placed palms upon.
"You have flown from here and this world is now a lesser place. It will not know of what it has lost. It will not remember your name.
"I will.
I will remember your name. I will curse time and the fact it has taken the chances for these words to be heard by you. I will remember your name and your ruins. Maybe...Maybe..."
Drow were not creatures of hope, light, laughter. They did not hold regret. They did not think that perhaps, not everything is forever. No. These things they did not do.
The drow tore the earth with her fingers and offered it upward to the moon, which primeval trees blocked with twisted branches.
A single name passed the wide mouth of the drow, held with strange respect and odd connotations of memory and lessons.
Alysia.
The forest heard the drows offering, the single name, and gathered it to its heart. Where many other names had been written in the green of leaves that sang in the wind and the sun. Where only the aged things could hear the song.
Here, this forest protected those as old as it was?or those creatures with hearts that beat the blood of ages long past. Here, this forest protected a being crouched within the underbrush as one of their own, even if its soul seemed as pitch as the shadows that night threw against forest floor.
Here, Suliss?urn had crouched on the fading trail of spring fatted buck. In mid pursuit however, something in the earth beneath her feet had caused the drow to stand still, and then lower her hands into the thick, rich loam. Fingertips spread wide; the female slit harvest moon yellow eyes and listened to a song that tickled along the edges of her senses. The touch of the deep earth sharpened the sound, an eldritch communication between two things long forgotten.
The feeling was familiar. Something was missing.
As one would walk through the home of someone just passed; there, the chair was still tilted as they?d once pushed it back to walk. The dishes still upon the counter and ready for afternoon tea, the table set, clothing folded...The feeling as if you could turn about and find that person standing there still and yet, they were not there. They were missing, while the rest of the world spun along on it?s merry way unaware of what had gone.
Some one was missing.
Suliss?urn curled her fingers into the earth and marred it. ?White One,? strangled words in the hollowed bone whistle of Suliss?urns ruined voice startled creatures silent. Startled herself.
?Now you have flown,? mused to the earth. ?I envied the pale of your skin and the power that you kept wrapped behind eyes. You let me kneel by your feet and listened. How many have done that for me? Not many. Not many.
"I remember you clearly; you were like the moon to me. Silvery bright, distant, beautiful. I envied you and some times, I hated you. Your beauty. I said things to a man I should not have, a man who lead your armies and lead my path to yours.
"You have flown, but where? You were old to me, but not ugly, not a crone. You were old like ruins of ancient palaces destroyed for peace. Ruins that children played around and through, not understanding the great history they placed palms upon.
"You have flown from here and this world is now a lesser place. It will not know of what it has lost. It will not remember your name.
"I will.
I will remember your name. I will curse time and the fact it has taken the chances for these words to be heard by you. I will remember your name and your ruins. Maybe...Maybe..."
Drow were not creatures of hope, light, laughter. They did not hold regret. They did not think that perhaps, not everything is forever. No. These things they did not do.
The drow tore the earth with her fingers and offered it upward to the moon, which primeval trees blocked with twisted branches.
A single name passed the wide mouth of the drow, held with strange respect and odd connotations of memory and lessons.
Alysia.
The forest heard the drows offering, the single name, and gathered it to its heart. Where many other names had been written in the green of leaves that sang in the wind and the sun. Where only the aged things could hear the song.