Dance

The gentile murmur of whispered voices is the only sound to reach my ears. The air is rich with the green scents of damp earth, decay, and vegetation. The ground is soft beneath my bare feet, and a cool breeze blows agents my face. I can see the silhouettes of slender bodies slipping through the shadows all around me.

Though I can't see them clearly, what I do see of them is both breathtakingly beautiful and terrifying. It seems as though the forest itself has come alive and taken human shape. I am afraid, made nervous by what I am seeing.

Before me is a stone dais, with two thrones atop it. One slightly larger then the other they look as though they were grown from a pair of hawthorn trees. Sitting on those thrones is an odd pair that seems to be the physical embodiment of spring. They have an air about them that screams of royalty.

In the larger of the two thrones sits a woman. Her skin is the pail shimmering blue of a summer stream. There isn't enough light to tell the color of her eyes. Her hair, the color of sunlit honey, is dune up in an intricate braid that twines itself down an around her body ending in a coil by her delicate looking, bare, feet. On her back sits a pair of incandesce wings, much like what one might find on a dragonfly.

The gown she wears brings to mind images of the cascades with its flowing swirling colors of clear blue and white. On her head she wears a simple circlet of silver with a single clear jewel dangling on her forehead. With her left hand she clasped the right of the man sitting beside her, but with her right she holds a silver and white ashwood staff.

Her beauty is not something that can be adequately described with words. She is splendor and grace the likes of which I have never seen. She has the kind of wild elegance that is found only in myth and folklore. She easily could have been the inspiration for any number of goddesses through out mythology.

If this woman is the physical embodiment of the waters of spring then the man beside her is the green growth of spring. Like his mistress this man is beauty beyond compare. Though he has a masculine air about him.

His skin is the young soft green of fresh spring grass. His shoulder length hair and short beard, are reddish amber in color. As with the woman beside him I can not tell the color of the green man's eyes.

On his feet he has a pair of snappy black boots. The worn leather pants he's wearing leaves nothing to the imagination when it comes to that lean, hard, body of his. He wares no shirt just an open leather vest that shows off a muscled chest, flat stomach and strong arms. He too wares a circlet upon his head, though his is gold rather then silver like the woman's. No jewels dangle from his circlet, but at his waist gleams the golden hilt of a sword.

It is almost as if they are dressed in garb for a renaissance festival. They both have the pointed ears, large eyes, and sharp facial features that always come to mind when one thinks of the fair folk, such as elves and fairies. Because of this I can not help but feel as though I have slipped into some other worldly dimension. I do not know where I am or how it is that I have come to be in this place. I am at a loss for what to do.

It seems that I have been lost in my own thoughts for too long. I do not know what just happened a moment ago, but four players have just come from out of the shadows to stand before the stone dais. Each is clutching an instrument of some kind.

It is only because I have attended the Highland Games stints I was a child that I recognize the instruments they carry. The first and only woman of the group carries a Bodhran, a Scottish drum. Her skin and waist length hair are the same pail green color. Her hair has dozens of cherry blossoms each woven into it. She is bare footed and is wearing a short wispy dress the same pail color as the blossoms in her hair.