The pitch black had molded the appearances of the night. Its significance apt, as the star light broke the continuity of the darkness. The moon was full, and it's glow cut through the silhouettes of sandalwood outgrowth that marked the inner sanctuaries of the syda lands, just beyond the city of Rhys. The lichens and moulds fought for estates over the towering trees, running down from branches onto the forest floor.
The greens and moss intervened, diffracting the advance, and causing things to take a shade of tangerine and yellow.
In this infestation of flora and it's likeness, an opaque mist coiled inwards, away from the woods and the glow of the tangerine floor.
Amongst these mists, was a woodcutter signing a wayward song, while he walked into the depths of the lands.
He had been paid, like the ones before him, to retrieve lost children from beyond the veil. He strut a handsome tune and growled at anything that moved. He wasn't the kind to be afraid. Not that he was brave, but he was simply stupid, to not know enough about fear itself.
'Oh ye' old life and maiden gold, give this wayward son a kiss.'
*snap, crack, crunch*
Hold me steady now, as the night keeps calling us,
Oh! my dear analise.
*crunch, crack, silence *
Oh! Sing me a song,
As we live through our wrongs,
Just me and my analise.
*silence, giggle, silence*
Taken aback by the unusual interruption, the woodcutter stopped mid song.
"Woze' zer " he said, viciously swinging his axe, through the mist.
" you are singing the verses wrong" said a small voice.
"Yea? And who might ye' be?" He asked again.
*silence*
"You are singing the verses wrong, it's not the words, no! I think its your pipes. Somethings wrong with your voice chords..." said the voice again.
*sigh, snap, sigh*
"Show me ye self, or you'll be sorry"
*silence*
"No, no, no... it's definitely not the words. Those chords in your throat, They are strumming all wrong, the rhythm of your heart does not hold steady with the beats of your song... here let me correct that for you, so you may err no more.."
*Silence, crunch,growl*
Within a flash, the mists parted for the briefest of moments, and through them sprang a beast, grizzly and claws bare.
It pinned down the heavy-set woodcutter onto the forest floor, and ripped his throat out of its rest. The red kept spilling into the luminescent yellow and green of the moss covered floor, as the grizzly mane stretched back and an agonizing growl slowly turned to a shriek. The claws were tamed into petite hands and the beast was now a naked woman, singing a wayward song.
'Oh ye' old life and hunter bold, let me give your heart a kiss.
Hold me steady now, as the night keeps calling me,
Oh! my hunter of Rhys.
Oh! Sing me a song,
As we live through our wrongs,
Just me and you, and the wretched life, this?
*silence*
YOU ARE READING
From The Collections Of Rhye
SonstigesLegends are stories some say, where-as others believe , that they are long lost truths, that wither into song and story. Thus, once in a while, these songs hold truth, and the legends come alive. This tome, is the collection of such truths and song...
