Myfanwy, may you spend your lifetime
“”
Beneath the midday sunshine's glow,
“”
Beneath the midday sunshine's glow,
Myfanwy's eyes lit up as the star-marked stallion painted pictures of the festival in broad, colorful strokes across the canvas of her imagination. Fairy lights drifted like fireflies through a moon-silvered forest as the air came alive with songs sweeter than she had ever heard serenading Tinea's hungry heart. Horses of all stripes, garbed in their finest, sharing sup over stories gathered from a hundred lifetimes of adventuring.
How had this shy boy bedecked himself for the occasion? Had he worn a net of diamond-studded velvet cords? Woven flowers of a king's own purple into the crest of his night-dark hair? Or had he gone as he'd come to her, russet as autumn leaves and streaked with the deep violet and glitter of a twilit sky?
Myfanwy felt both incredibly small and unspeakably vast in that moment, as though the infectious quality of his voice might sweep her away into a land where she needn't hunt or be hunted.
What kept you away?
The spell was broken somewhat. "Well, I..." She offered an embarrassed smile: how do you explain that you had gotten wind of a party and not gone, for fear of the specter of painted bodies and bone ornaments? For fear they might see through your disguise as others could not and hunt you all the way back to your watery bed to harvest your still-beating heart? Certainly he'd flee in an instant, and for once she found herself wanting to keep someone around for reasons other than her hunger.
"It felt weird," Myfanwy continued, more decisively this time. "I don't really know anyone, so...." She trailed off. After a beat of silence, she leaned in with the subtle bend of a willow blown by the breeze, prismatic eyes brightening with the mirth of an idea bubbling to the surface. "I'm Myfanwy."
How had this shy boy bedecked himself for the occasion? Had he worn a net of diamond-studded velvet cords? Woven flowers of a king's own purple into the crest of his night-dark hair? Or had he gone as he'd come to her, russet as autumn leaves and streaked with the deep violet and glitter of a twilit sky?
Myfanwy felt both incredibly small and unspeakably vast in that moment, as though the infectious quality of his voice might sweep her away into a land where she needn't hunt or be hunted.
What kept you away?
The spell was broken somewhat. "Well, I..." She offered an embarrassed smile: how do you explain that you had gotten wind of a party and not gone, for fear of the specter of painted bodies and bone ornaments? For fear they might see through your disguise as others could not and hunt you all the way back to your watery bed to harvest your still-beating heart? Certainly he'd flee in an instant, and for once she found herself wanting to keep someone around for reasons other than her hunger.
"It felt weird," Myfanwy continued, more decisively this time. "I don't really know anyone, so...." She trailed off. After a beat of silence, she leaned in with the subtle bend of a willow blown by the breeze, prismatic eyes brightening with the mirth of an idea bubbling to the surface. "I'm Myfanwy."
And on your cheeks O may the roses
“”
Dance for a hundred years or so.
“”
Dance for a hundred years or so.
@Asterion
