The forest slowly began to decline, and mist hung about in the air in thin curtains, sifting ever so subtly in an even subtler breeze. Ravine felt her breaths rise through her lungs and slip out of her lips. Her shoulders were loose with calm. She was beginning to smile to herself when, abruptly, Haze stopped, whiskers trembling.
"What is it?" the woman asked. Spire tilted his head.
Haze paced in a circle once, then sat. Her paws shifted on the ground, as if she could hardly contain her excitement.
"We are approaching the Bridge—
We shall find it next at the stooping ridge.
Don't you two love my southwest home?
The clear air parts your skin like an ivory comb,
And through the deep'ning air songs roam—
Can you hear them? We journey among
The voices of trees, thin and dew-strung.
The tall white birches with red reef-leaves,
The quaking green aspens with pink petals, these—
These trees sing soliloquies.
Oh, oh—gathering, the dusk comes, wrapped in white.
And quietly we journey on
Through the whisp'ring Shrouded Lands."
Now it was coming on night in the Shrouded Lands. A vast array of stars—fine as spilt flour—was visible through the canopy.
Still they traversed through the woods, the ground growing damper underfoot the farther they went. The ornaments of the trees quivered in a temperate breeze. It was as if they were approaching the coast of a foggy sea.
Soon the land opened before them, revealing a vast expansion of cool gray water drifting leisurely downstream, cutting through the forested landscape. Ravine gasped. She had never seen so much water in one place, and moving so gently, too. She'd heard tales about the ocean, of course, but had never seen it in real life before. This made up for that.
The water was so gray, so soft, like it almost had feathers. She wanted to dive into it, to swim all throughout it, though the fall would be unfathomably far.
Haze brushed against the woman, seeming as if she was about to speak, but she didn't. She sat and curled her tail around her paws, letting Ravine stand in silence for a minute.
Then they carried on, stumbling towards the wide-swept water.
Finally they reached the edge of the cliff. The Mist was overwhelming here, smothering them in dense waves.
"The Fjord of Whispers," Haze breathed. Her words were nearly swallowed by the billowing gray.
"Isn't it incredible? In its presence, I cannot even rhyme.
After we board the Bridge I can again,
But here? Above such sights? Not at all.
Oh, what intensity! What touch!
Okay—okay. Before us, though hardly visible
By the all-consuming Mist,
Lies our long and ancient Bridge
Of which we now must cross.
Dear Ravine, step hesitantly forward.
Dear Spire, flutter ahead a tentative inch
And we shall begin our travels
Across the creaking wood."
YOU ARE READING
Aeolia
Ficção GeralA woman runs from everything. A songbird joins her from nowhere, singing colors and images. A whisperer finds the pair among a field of poplars and graves. A dark and vicious viper stalks them from deep in the earth. They must flee from the Viper...
