Post by exitstageleft on Jul 26, 2007 20:58:40 GMT -5
The perfect spot is hard to come by. A stream was close enough for cool water when the soft grass itself grew warm from the sun beating down on droves on it. There was a rock just angled right to lean against without hurting ones back. Their were flowers of the silverstar, the poppy, and of course plenty of liontails for an army of druids.
Yet it was her spot and she came here often to escape the voices that grew louder each passing summer. Here they seem to quiet and she could sit still and sleep in the sun. Sometimes she would drift off asleep and wake to find food nearby in the shape of a berry bush or some sorts.
The children of the village would often walk over and spy on her and sometimes a lass or a farmer worried for a good yield would come and sit with her. She would greet them by name without even looking up and they would leave a gold coin for her as she worked what they called her magic.
Left alone over the years she would talk to the tree that had begun to grow around her and smile and laugh as it got bigger till one day she fell asleep and when she awoke it towered over her and her hair was grey from the lack of sun.
She stood up and railed at the tree to move but it stubbornly refused her request and she beat upon it with her hands then blasted it with her magic till it threw a branch at her and she scrambled out of the way.
“Fine you old wench of a tree, I will keep this as my walking stick.” She gave a mighty humph and set about looking for another spot in which to welcome her dreams.
Yet it was her spot and she came here often to escape the voices that grew louder each passing summer. Here they seem to quiet and she could sit still and sleep in the sun. Sometimes she would drift off asleep and wake to find food nearby in the shape of a berry bush or some sorts.
The children of the village would often walk over and spy on her and sometimes a lass or a farmer worried for a good yield would come and sit with her. She would greet them by name without even looking up and they would leave a gold coin for her as she worked what they called her magic.
Left alone over the years she would talk to the tree that had begun to grow around her and smile and laugh as it got bigger till one day she fell asleep and when she awoke it towered over her and her hair was grey from the lack of sun.
She stood up and railed at the tree to move but it stubbornly refused her request and she beat upon it with her hands then blasted it with her magic till it threw a branch at her and she scrambled out of the way.
“Fine you old wench of a tree, I will keep this as my walking stick.” She gave a mighty humph and set about looking for another spot in which to welcome her dreams.