Double Strung

1 - Illusions

Spring had newely sprung, its arrival made evident by the returning deuris birds, breaking frost and budding forest leaves.
It was at this time that, deep within the clutches of a windswept valley, a village lay quietly, abandoned utterly by its residents - whom were all clustered merrily nearby.

Every single one of them was celebrating the warm promises of a new year, holding a feast of the leftover winter rations and lighting a bonfire of the collected dry timbers spared from cold hearths.

Stories of old and relatively new flew from the mouths of the young and elderly, including ancient tales from long ago and the small happenings of the previous week.

None were unmoving, all of them eager to, in their own ways, represent their retained strength and acquired skills.

Jane and Lewis, the newest darlings in the community, were brought up to begin the next dance. They called all the obliging older folks over to raise their hands, forming a row of 'houses' with their arms and arched backs.

"What will we sing?" upon the slight encouraging movement of a waving hand, the crowd joined in a chorus.
"It begins with an L," started Jane.
"And ends with S!" finished Lewis.

The crowd repeated themselves at another subtle prompt, and the young children watched wide-eyed as their older counterparts screamed joyously, "Low are the mountains!"

The crowd began clapping at a steady rhythm, and those that had decided against taking part - instead choosing to speak with friends and relatives they'd avoided in the colder months - turned to look over and sing along.

It was obvious that they'd been practicing.

"Low, they are, the mountains, made taller by the snow. Lowest, they'll be, come the sun! The winds still whisper of those olden days, when the mountains stood tall in the face of change..."

Amidst this musical scene of gladness, a small boy stood out among one of the sidelining groups. While most other children had begun linking arms, skipping around one another and twirling till they were quite dizzy, he remained crouched by the side of his distracted mother. His attention not once strayed from an identical figure to his, laughing and chasing his friends.

Gradually, as the light faded from the sky, so too did the music and the dance and the laughter of the people that also slowly dissipated.
Almost as if blown away by the gentle breeze, the change was slow and easy and the boy did not notice until it was all gone.

Even when everything was empty, replaced by scorched earth, ruined fauna, charred bones and a deathly aura, the boy remained looking forward blankly at where his identical self had stood.

Now all the sound was gone, his own voice, wavering terribly and sung without a clear definition of the words, continued on for those that had been flown away.

"...so low... the mountains... too, join us to sing... now..."

At last, having finished the folksong rather poorly, his small figure faded too.

Oleir stood up shakily, his legs numbed by the length of time he'd spent crouched upon them, and stretched. He looked down, recalling the image of his much younger self, and yawned, mumbling incoherently.

"Well, nothing like a good memory dump to get you going in the morning..." the sun began peeking over the horizon, the illusionary spell having completely done its doing.

He leaned over to pick up his cloak and belt pouch, fasting both to him securely. His hood flipped over to hide his head from the growing glowing rays of morning.

With a heavy sigh and another yawn, he left the place, not once looking back.

He had more important things to do.