Blue light danced about the darkened trees, luring the child away from her village. The wisps dancing in the breeze, she followed them and their silent song deeper into the forest. They swept and swirled, caught up in an unsung tune, the rustling of the trees whispering its melody in strains just beyond her hearing. The brook was silent as she passed it, the burbling water listening close.
The music crescendoed, the wisps flickering and twirling faster and faster, the shadows joining the dance, leading her ever deeper. She felt them, the music seeping under her skin, her feet abandoning her, eager to dance to a song lost to time and reason. She could hear it now, faint notes, a rhythm, the trees passing faster than ever before. They parted for her, letting the music guide her path. And closed behind.
The next year, a new wisp appeared in the village, dancing the night away.
YOU ARE READING
WritOber 2022
Short StoryA few short autumn writing exercises for the month of October.
