VOICES

Act one

This land is new.

I'll need a guide.

The forest wispers as the wind dances through its leaves.

The river babbles out of sight.

I press forward through the trees to find a village filled with life. A merchant haggled by a woman with little ones at her knees. A man with a lady at his side, transfixed by her eyes, nearly collides with a tree. A horse rests from a journey. A well settled, soundly centered...

A well...perfect!

I slip past the bustle of people each their own lives, their own stories, their own beginnings, and ends. I inquired a young lady about a guide.

"I can show you around if you'd like."

We walked past the taverns and shops, past the homes and stables, to a meadow, her favorite spot...

So trusting this one.

...where her friend sat on a blanket with a collection of small polished stones from the river. The boy said how one sparkled like her eyes.

"Mrs. Mont will pay 20p for a gem like that."

The boys didn't mind. His eyes showed a tiredness as tho this was how she often took compliments.

"So who's your friend." the boy questioned after a moment of defeat.

"A woodsman, I think, or river guard." For these were what the villagers called us who come and go by trees or stream.

"I am neither. I come by breeze."

Half-truth. For I  come by light. But light and breeze bring smoke that chokes the land so I hide in his mind.

"Wind folk," they say with awe.

The villagers are familiar with our kind. We are their friends. Their guards. Or at least most are.

He speaks of me. I am my own friend. And his of course.

"Your cloak is brilliant." The boy breathes.

An eye for beauty.

And he'd be right. The colors nigh glow in this light. Bright reds and soft, deep browns.

I must be more careful to hide deeper.

The grass and flowers of the meadow moved in waves that flow like the sea. A shadow of cloud drifts over the ground.

A storm comes.