Juggledude
11-09-2006, 08:52 AM
Hi Waccovians !
I've been intending to write fiction for some time, and, with the help of the accountability gained from public statement of purpose, have finally gotten off my arse and made an initial forray into this realm.
I hereby post for your enjoyment and review the first little bit of what I feel is a compelling story of adventure and truth, and would appreciate greatly any and all feedback.
Water Sister (working title)
Copyright 2006
Royce Williams
As her mother pulled painfully on another section of her flowing tresses, binding them tightly against the coming days, Tara tried to quell the butterflies in her midriff. Surely, another summer could be spent in the carefree play of the youngers, chasing birds and insects through the forest, creating grand palaces of the imagination, blissfully unaware of the larger world about them. Such happy times had been hers, in the company of innocence.
“Ouch, Sheiz!” even as the curse escaped from her lips, Tara new the inevitability of the coming passage.
Her mother leaned over and placed her lips lightly on the tender portion of scalp, knowing the exact spot of pain. This intuitive comfort was at once unsettling and comfortingly familiar. The specific empathy of the N’maru had been part of her life and upbringing, giving her the daily benefit of gifts most of the populace traveled far and long to receive. The knowledge that she, too, would soon bear the responsibilities and skills gave her no small measure of concern.
“Your father has prepared the Windrose for the journey” her mother said.
“I’m ready” Tara managed to reply.
“You will do well, I have seen as much”
“Have you seen my guide?” Tara asked
“No” her mother smiled, “only the warmth of your smile as you return to the harbor”
This gift of sight was rare, even among the N’maru, and little understood. Tara did not quite trust the confidence of her mother’s vision. If only there were some assurances, some way of knowing if the Elyhain would accept her as water-sister, would bring her into the fold, giving her the key to unlock her true potential.
As her mother put the final bindings in her hair, Tara reviewed the preparations she had made against the voyage. Her bedroll was tightly tied, the bag of dried mango, travel bread and jerked venison near the threshold. A warm cloak and a new pair of soft yet sturdy hide boots had been a gift from the tanner last New Moon’s Eve, and she reveled in the luxury of their finery. All that remained was to collect Ash from her favorite spot, curled up in the corner of Tara’s bunk, near the hearth. As the little marmol climbed up to her shoulder, Tara turned and gave a last wistful glance around the cozy home, then up into her mother’s eyes.
“Travel well, young one” Her mother said, with a warm embrace.
“I will, mama,” Tara returned, determined to hold back the tears threatening her with embarrassment.
She stepped out of the cottage, making her way through the gardens surrounding it, some tended by people of the village. They were planted there to enjoy the benefits of proximity to the N’maru. All things living, people, animals, plants and trees thrived in the nurturing radiance of the N’maru presence, but her father had told her that it was tradition to surround the hilltop homes of their kind with cultivation, for the emotional well being of the chosen, who lived with a constant awareness of the energy around them.
Strolling now through the wide streets of the village, she caught site of a group of youngers ducking behind a house, the smallest one being pulled by his shirt, his feet and stare entranced by her passage. No doubt, she would be the subject of heated discussion in that circle as they told each other stories of adventure and myth. Even the adults she passed looked down as her eyes met their stares, giving honor to her potential, embarrassed by the threat of her failure. If the Elyhain did not welcome her, if they did not sense in her whatever elusive traits they responded to, she would be a pariah, of sorts. Certainly, she would still be welcome in the village, but there would be no place for her among the youngers, having clearly grown to the cusp of maturity, and there would be no skill for her at her own hearth, having failed to become of the N’maru. Her lot would be to tend the gardens, perhaps even alone for life, for who would want to mate with a failure?
Entering the trees as the houses passed away, she cast these thoughts aside, and implemented a practice of D'lan, the mental discipline she had been taught her by her parents. Bringing her awareness first to her breath, for the measured count, then to her steps, the soles of her feet in the new boots, the pressure of each step as it landed on the mossy trail. As her presence in this moment became clear, she slowly widened her focus, trying to be aware of the life of the wood, of the whisper of the wind, of the sunlight falling through the leaves. Hovering on the edge of perception, her awareness seemed about to expand, then burst into shards, each individual facet falling around her like the panes of a broken mirror.
...and there it ends, for now.
thanks for listening,
Royce
I've been intending to write fiction for some time, and, with the help of the accountability gained from public statement of purpose, have finally gotten off my arse and made an initial forray into this realm.
I hereby post for your enjoyment and review the first little bit of what I feel is a compelling story of adventure and truth, and would appreciate greatly any and all feedback.
Water Sister (working title)
Copyright 2006
Royce Williams
As her mother pulled painfully on another section of her flowing tresses, binding them tightly against the coming days, Tara tried to quell the butterflies in her midriff. Surely, another summer could be spent in the carefree play of the youngers, chasing birds and insects through the forest, creating grand palaces of the imagination, blissfully unaware of the larger world about them. Such happy times had been hers, in the company of innocence.
“Ouch, Sheiz!” even as the curse escaped from her lips, Tara new the inevitability of the coming passage.
Her mother leaned over and placed her lips lightly on the tender portion of scalp, knowing the exact spot of pain. This intuitive comfort was at once unsettling and comfortingly familiar. The specific empathy of the N’maru had been part of her life and upbringing, giving her the daily benefit of gifts most of the populace traveled far and long to receive. The knowledge that she, too, would soon bear the responsibilities and skills gave her no small measure of concern.
“Your father has prepared the Windrose for the journey” her mother said.
“I’m ready” Tara managed to reply.
“You will do well, I have seen as much”
“Have you seen my guide?” Tara asked
“No” her mother smiled, “only the warmth of your smile as you return to the harbor”
This gift of sight was rare, even among the N’maru, and little understood. Tara did not quite trust the confidence of her mother’s vision. If only there were some assurances, some way of knowing if the Elyhain would accept her as water-sister, would bring her into the fold, giving her the key to unlock her true potential.
As her mother put the final bindings in her hair, Tara reviewed the preparations she had made against the voyage. Her bedroll was tightly tied, the bag of dried mango, travel bread and jerked venison near the threshold. A warm cloak and a new pair of soft yet sturdy hide boots had been a gift from the tanner last New Moon’s Eve, and she reveled in the luxury of their finery. All that remained was to collect Ash from her favorite spot, curled up in the corner of Tara’s bunk, near the hearth. As the little marmol climbed up to her shoulder, Tara turned and gave a last wistful glance around the cozy home, then up into her mother’s eyes.
“Travel well, young one” Her mother said, with a warm embrace.
“I will, mama,” Tara returned, determined to hold back the tears threatening her with embarrassment.
She stepped out of the cottage, making her way through the gardens surrounding it, some tended by people of the village. They were planted there to enjoy the benefits of proximity to the N’maru. All things living, people, animals, plants and trees thrived in the nurturing radiance of the N’maru presence, but her father had told her that it was tradition to surround the hilltop homes of their kind with cultivation, for the emotional well being of the chosen, who lived with a constant awareness of the energy around them.
Strolling now through the wide streets of the village, she caught site of a group of youngers ducking behind a house, the smallest one being pulled by his shirt, his feet and stare entranced by her passage. No doubt, she would be the subject of heated discussion in that circle as they told each other stories of adventure and myth. Even the adults she passed looked down as her eyes met their stares, giving honor to her potential, embarrassed by the threat of her failure. If the Elyhain did not welcome her, if they did not sense in her whatever elusive traits they responded to, she would be a pariah, of sorts. Certainly, she would still be welcome in the village, but there would be no place for her among the youngers, having clearly grown to the cusp of maturity, and there would be no skill for her at her own hearth, having failed to become of the N’maru. Her lot would be to tend the gardens, perhaps even alone for life, for who would want to mate with a failure?
Entering the trees as the houses passed away, she cast these thoughts aside, and implemented a practice of D'lan, the mental discipline she had been taught her by her parents. Bringing her awareness first to her breath, for the measured count, then to her steps, the soles of her feet in the new boots, the pressure of each step as it landed on the mossy trail. As her presence in this moment became clear, she slowly widened her focus, trying to be aware of the life of the wood, of the whisper of the wind, of the sunlight falling through the leaves. Hovering on the edge of perception, her awareness seemed about to expand, then burst into shards, each individual facet falling around her like the panes of a broken mirror.
...and there it ends, for now.
thanks for listening,
Royce