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Woodfall [private, see topic in recruiting]
Topic Started: Jul 29 2008, 06:45 PM (404 Views)
Kyerme
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Slave
[ * ]
Isn’t it strange how some of the smallest places in the world seem to hold just as much of the great mysteries of life as the sprawling metropolises do? No matter where a man may run, he will always face the same problems, for men are men, and the fish are but fish.

The sun began to rise over the island, casting a golden blanket over the flora and fauna that dwelled upon it. But such a blanket was not meant to comfort one to sleep, as one might lay a doeskin over a child at night. No, this was an awakening, in more senses than one. The dulled colors of the night were now released from their bonds, free to shine in all their glory. But no one ever seemed to notice. They just went about their trade, working the daylight hours away, oblivious the glory that was all about them.

These thoughts ran through the mind of a young man as he stood in the threshold of a hut within the village. He was tall, about six-and-a-half feet from his toes to his crown, which was adorned with rich, brown hair. His gray-blue eyes gleamed in the morning sun, and his tanned skin was evident of many days laboring under that shining sun. In his weathered hands, he held a satchel, which was full of something,

Pulling himself out of his musings, he entered the hut, his thoughts still stirring within him, however he might try to quell them.

“Somethin’ on your mind, love?”

The melodic voice came from a young woman who sat at the back of the small dwelling. Even as she talked to him, she was spinning threads and weaving cloth with amazing dexterity, as if it were merely second nature to her. All around her were tapestries, garments, sails, and other such products of her craft. She seemed to be about twenty winters in age, about the same as the young man. Her hair was a brilliant purple, and her eyes a deep black. She had intensity in her stare, leaving one with the feeling that she always knew more than she was saying. Smiling, the young man replied,

“You might say that. But there’s nothing out of the ordinary about that, now is there?”

With a coy smile, the woman answered,

“No, I s’ppose not. You’ve always had your head in the clouds, love. Never could pull you down.”
“I could say the same of you”
“Really, now?”
“You always have your feet in the water, your hands in a loom, and your hair in the dye-pans.”

With that, the young woman ran her fingers through her purple locks, and laughed. She had dyed it using oil found in some of the local mollusks.

“So you like it, then?”
“It’s an acquired taste.”
“I see. Virg’n tongue, eh, love?”

A sly smile was on the woman’s features, and the young man could not help but chuckle a bit at the bold yet subtle humor.

“Maybe. But I’m quick to know what I like.”
“Oh? And just might I have that you like?”
“Some fishing string, for a start.”

With that, the young man gave her the satchel he was carrying, which turned out to be full of fruit. The woman stood and handed him a tightly spun line of string about ten feet in length. With a coy smile, she said,

“And here I was hopin’ that you had come to tame me, beast-master.”

The boy replied with a hearty laugh,

“If your mother couldn’t do it after eighteen winters, I doubt I’d stand much of a chance. I trust the payment’s enough?”
“For the string, more than enough. For me, let’s just say I’ll keep a tab.”
“How about some fish, later?”
“Can’t wait.”
“Liar.”
“Beast-lover.”

With a grin, the man retorted,

“Why do you think I came to see you?”

With a mixture of surprise and mirth, she shooed him out of the hut playfully, pretending rather transparently to be offended. As he walked towards the coastline, the young woman couldn’t help but smile as she leaned on the doorpost. He had been a great friend to her, and she would miss him the next time he left.

You see the young man was a vagabond, a wanderer, traveling from village to village, helping where he could, and exploring the wide world. A small pier, which the men of the village used for a dock, served his needs quite well. Sitting on the end of it, he tied the string to a stick that he had been carrying, and dropped the bait. He had all day to fish, and to think of the world around him, and even the one within.
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Kyerme
Muirín


Out of inspiration? Neil Gaiman has a few words for you.
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