The Eternal fire blazed, golden against the black of The Spring night, it's flames licked upwards casting dancing shadows around the forest trees. Sparks flew merrily disappearing into the nothingness, burning logs emitting 'pops' and 'squeals'. The Alderfolk danced around to the music of their drums, bare feet slapping the damp soil. Movements flowed like water downstream. Heads swayed, some gently, some more vigorously.
The Spring Night. What brought them here every year for this dance was many things, all unknown. Stars gazed down at them longingly, yet performing dances of their own, winking in and out of existence. The forest sounds were quiet now, drowned by the voices of the Folk, spirits were drunk by the fire and then raised as an effect of that cause.
The Spring Night.
Like possessed ghosts they moved drunkenly, elegantly...Beautifully. They moved with a purposeless purpose until the dawn began to creep with its familiar chill, the first light of the morning touched the tips of the long fir trees, steam rose gently, wafting upwards then disappearing slow.
The dawn light descended lower and lower. The dancers stopped. All stood statue as if in fear of the morning light, and rightly so. For as the light fell upon them mercilessly, that which it touched began to evaporate like the mist from the firs. Like smoke they vanished one by one till all that remained was the dying embers of the Eternal fire...Until the next Spring Night.
YOU ARE READING
The Spring Night
Short StoryA short tale of one magical night that takes place in the heart of a forest. As always, my pieces are short but blissfully sweet
