Of Spinning Gold and Song

| Twenty Six | The Reveal

The next three days on the road were the most exhausting and least rewarding I thought I'd ever experienced. Although the exhilarating feeling of being cocooned in the wind never faded and I felt a renewed excitement every time, it still didn't require any less energy as running or riding or any other method of travel.

I sang. I sang and sang and sang until I was sick and tired of singing.

Not really. I didn't think I'd ever really be tired of singing. It was just a part of me. But after a few days if I'd had to take a vacation and not be able to even speak, much less sing, for a long time, I didn't think I'd object.

It didn't take long for my throat to grow parched and hoarse. I quickly exhausted most all the water we had brought trying to quell the harsh sandpaper of my throat. When it became evident that we would run out in the matter of hours if I didn't stop, I forced myself to stop.

This, in turn, made my throat drier.

I didn't sing as strongly. More under my breath, whispered murmurs for just the wind and nobody else to hear. It worked, but for sure the feeling of excitement was far far less. And I think the wind sensed on that as our journey was smoother instead of the thrilling ride of the first day.

When I could bear it no more we walked. Those moments were rather refreshing, giving us a chance to stretch our weary bones.

For the most part I was the only one singing. I could tell Bradyn wanted to support me, especially when my throat grew parched and I thought there was no way I could force out one more word, but I think we had both realized that it was better to have one parched throat than two. Especially with our supply of water running low.

I couldn't help but think rather cynically of how blissful it would be if I could control the water instead of the wind.

But no sooner had those desperately thoughts crossed my mind that I apologized to the wind, as though it could hear my thoughts and perhaps it could. The wind wasn't a mere thing I controlled, it was my friend, listening to my song and doing my will. I wouldn't want to offend a friend that had been nothing but good to me.

Unfortunately, the long moments on the road, or rather, above the road, provided ample time for stewing in my own thoughts. One could only think about the lyrics to their song so many times before it became a brain dead, monotonous and mundane repetition that required no thought to keep going on the back burner. And my thoughts were anything but kind, shredding me to pieces as I tried frantically to decipher when exactly my life had fallen apart to the crumbles I was clueless on how to repair.

Luckily at least, the constant song prevented me from having to engage in any conversation with my companion. For as much as I may have once loved his company, as much as I yearned for it now and relished the feeling of being beside him all day, there was just too much awkwardness between us that I didn't know how to resolve. And when night fell and I could finally catch a breath, I was asleep before I had fully settled on the ground. To say that I was exhausted would be an understatement.

My dreams were plagued with dragons and flight. Most of all, I kept returning to that fateful day that we had come across it and it had slashed me. My cheek had stopped throbbing a few hours after the queen had hit it and I hadn't disturbed it since. But every now and then I raised my hand to my cheek and felt the raised ridge that was now a part of me.

I was disfigured. I wasn't beautiful anymore.

Or so they said.

Anyhow, I was so caught up in my thoughts that I scarcely noticed the time passing us by. The landscape was relatively monotonous as we trekked through the great forests that made up most of Lyvens. It wasn't until mid morning on our fourth day that the trees gave way, thinning and thinning until all that was left of them was some unfortunately charred grey skeletons.