AND THE TEN THOUSAND TRAVELERS / EATING BREAKFAST / GUARDING THE WORD INVISIBLE
☙❧
I missed the brunt of the festival in Terrastella, when I arrived in Novus. I only saw the tail end of it – a collection of bright, hazy lights, visible even from the shoreline. Still, that was enough to make me wonder, and my wonder had only grown with all of the things I’d seen that had followed. Cities, stained glass, landscapes I once thought unimaginable. There had been the party, of course, in Solterra, and that was nearly too glamorous for me to bear; but it was a party, and not a festival, and I’m still not entirely sure how I’d managed to creep into it. Festivals are different. They’re bigger, more open, and, perhaps more importantly, outdoors.
I think that’s half of what excites me so much. I’ve never seen a spring before, and, only a few months prior, I’d never seen a night – and now, as I make my way through the crowds, marveling at the colorful, sweet smoke (caught halfway between cedar and something else entirely) from the bonfires and the sparks that match my coat much as the men and woman who claim to cleanse your soul with eggs. It isn’t anything that I believe in – the priestesses would say that souls don’t work that way, that there is no such thing as one that is clean or dirty -, but I find it delightful regardless. I don’t know if it’s the novelty of it, or if it’s that I’ve learned something of this land and its customs. At any rate, it makes me grin.
(What I think that I love even more than the festival itself is the trees. The ones in my homeland were trapped in perpetual autumn – their leaves were always golden, or red, or orange, or mottled brown, like fire among their branches. The trees aren’t properly green yet, not like I’ve been told that they’ll be in time, but the pale green kiss of newborn buds occupies most of their branches, and some leaves have already unfurled in the beginning of proper green. For now, to my good-as-newborn eyes, that is more than enough, and I watch them like I watch the grass beginning to sprout from the dark caress of the earth, with a wonder that is, I imagine, more than appropriately childlike for my face.)
I’ve strayed close to the bonfires when I catch sight of the boy, a wisp of white and rocky blue-grey among the bright and colorful mass of the crowd. “Caspian?” I call out, half-greeting and half-question, slipping and shoving through the crowds as best I can to approach him, wide, friendly smile starting to stretch across my lips.
I wondered if I’d see him again, after he showed me so much of the sea – and I find myself more glad than I expected to see him here, a mottled sea-stone creature amidst the growth and the haze of smoke.
@Caspian || <3 || naomi shihab nye, "what's here"
Speech
☙❧
I missed the brunt of the festival in Terrastella, when I arrived in Novus. I only saw the tail end of it – a collection of bright, hazy lights, visible even from the shoreline. Still, that was enough to make me wonder, and my wonder had only grown with all of the things I’d seen that had followed. Cities, stained glass, landscapes I once thought unimaginable. There had been the party, of course, in Solterra, and that was nearly too glamorous for me to bear; but it was a party, and not a festival, and I’m still not entirely sure how I’d managed to creep into it. Festivals are different. They’re bigger, more open, and, perhaps more importantly, outdoors.
I think that’s half of what excites me so much. I’ve never seen a spring before, and, only a few months prior, I’d never seen a night – and now, as I make my way through the crowds, marveling at the colorful, sweet smoke (caught halfway between cedar and something else entirely) from the bonfires and the sparks that match my coat much as the men and woman who claim to cleanse your soul with eggs. It isn’t anything that I believe in – the priestesses would say that souls don’t work that way, that there is no such thing as one that is clean or dirty -, but I find it delightful regardless. I don’t know if it’s the novelty of it, or if it’s that I’ve learned something of this land and its customs. At any rate, it makes me grin.
(What I think that I love even more than the festival itself is the trees. The ones in my homeland were trapped in perpetual autumn – their leaves were always golden, or red, or orange, or mottled brown, like fire among their branches. The trees aren’t properly green yet, not like I’ve been told that they’ll be in time, but the pale green kiss of newborn buds occupies most of their branches, and some leaves have already unfurled in the beginning of proper green. For now, to my good-as-newborn eyes, that is more than enough, and I watch them like I watch the grass beginning to sprout from the dark caress of the earth, with a wonder that is, I imagine, more than appropriately childlike for my face.)
I’ve strayed close to the bonfires when I catch sight of the boy, a wisp of white and rocky blue-grey among the bright and colorful mass of the crowd. “Caspian?” I call out, half-greeting and half-question, slipping and shoving through the crowds as best I can to approach him, wide, friendly smile starting to stretch across my lips.
I wondered if I’d see him again, after he showed me so much of the sea – and I find myself more glad than I expected to see him here, a mottled sea-stone creature amidst the growth and the haze of smoke.
@Caspian || <3 || naomi shihab nye, "what's here"
Speech
EVERYTHING IS RISK, SHE WHISPERED.if you doubt, it becomes sand trickling through skeletal fingers.☙❧please tag Nic! contact is encouraged, short of violence
