Myfanwy, may you spend your lifetime
“”
Beneath the midday sunshine's glow,
“”
Beneath the midday sunshine's glow,
Myfanwy has never done any more or less than straddle the worlds of predator and prey. Predator, for few can deny the enigmating terror of flashing fangs and the clinking mail of scales behind the alluring gleam of glittering eyes or the enchanting echo of a lullaby. Prey, for any creature of great power and greater mystery attracts savage folk to conquer it, and the Ilati feared nothing but the disapproving eye of their goddess.
Once upon a time, the Seasur had hunted the Ilati, for it was the nature of kelpies to kill and the nature of landwalkers to die. But bad times come on horseback, and as the Ilati pressed deeper and more aggressively into the swamp, so too did they press more aggressively into the art of slaying the slayers and rendering them down into their constituent parts like whales in the South Seas.
When Myfanwy fled the swamp into the verdant expanses of Viride forest and the idyllic enclaves afforded by Amare creek, she was certain she had left the fear of a prey animal behind her.
She did not count on fire.
The lilac lady had been drowsing deep in the forest's heart, doelike in her silence and serenity, when the first drafts of smoke rolled over her resting place. She jumped immediately to attention: kelpies are not immune to the devouring destruction of flame, and all living creatures fear the bright and hungry tongues however brave they imagine themselves to be.
Eyes wide behind the veil and already stinging from the swift buildup of smoke, Myfanwy bolted west. The forest at her back glowed with what seemed like visible heat, marching inexorably toward her on a relentless wind. If she could just make it to the safety of the river...
By the time the Rapax came into view - a savior in smoke-hazed silver - embers danced at her back and sides and the heat of the encroaching flames threatened to singe the moon-white hairs of her tail. Her lungs burned, her eyes stung; she wondered if the landwalkers suffered this way, or if it was the kelpie's curse to bow so low to the withering effects of heat.
She leapt headlong into the river as a long-dead tree burst into flame and fell with a violent crack behind her. No sooner had she broken the water's rushing surface than scales erupted along the lengths of her willowy limbs and up her smooth sides, catching in the flowing strands of her mane until they whipped and tangled like seaweed in the current. Her mouth split wide, equine teeth seeming almost to shrivel as fangs erupted from her gums. She became as monstrous as the deep ones, as hungry as fire, and cast her prismatic eyes at the churning river's surface as the current fought for purchase against her scaly hide. To the eastern bank, all was aglow with raging firelight. To the west, the darkness of night.
Myfanwy drew in greedy breaths through the slitted gills fluttering behind her jaw, crouching like a catfish along the riverbed. Fear made her reactive, the water roaring in her ears made her hungry.
She hoped only that no one else decided to jump into the river.
Once upon a time, the Seasur had hunted the Ilati, for it was the nature of kelpies to kill and the nature of landwalkers to die. But bad times come on horseback, and as the Ilati pressed deeper and more aggressively into the swamp, so too did they press more aggressively into the art of slaying the slayers and rendering them down into their constituent parts like whales in the South Seas.
When Myfanwy fled the swamp into the verdant expanses of Viride forest and the idyllic enclaves afforded by Amare creek, she was certain she had left the fear of a prey animal behind her.
She did not count on fire.
The lilac lady had been drowsing deep in the forest's heart, doelike in her silence and serenity, when the first drafts of smoke rolled over her resting place. She jumped immediately to attention: kelpies are not immune to the devouring destruction of flame, and all living creatures fear the bright and hungry tongues however brave they imagine themselves to be.
Eyes wide behind the veil and already stinging from the swift buildup of smoke, Myfanwy bolted west. The forest at her back glowed with what seemed like visible heat, marching inexorably toward her on a relentless wind. If she could just make it to the safety of the river...
By the time the Rapax came into view - a savior in smoke-hazed silver - embers danced at her back and sides and the heat of the encroaching flames threatened to singe the moon-white hairs of her tail. Her lungs burned, her eyes stung; she wondered if the landwalkers suffered this way, or if it was the kelpie's curse to bow so low to the withering effects of heat.
She leapt headlong into the river as a long-dead tree burst into flame and fell with a violent crack behind her. No sooner had she broken the water's rushing surface than scales erupted along the lengths of her willowy limbs and up her smooth sides, catching in the flowing strands of her mane until they whipped and tangled like seaweed in the current. Her mouth split wide, equine teeth seeming almost to shrivel as fangs erupted from her gums. She became as monstrous as the deep ones, as hungry as fire, and cast her prismatic eyes at the churning river's surface as the current fought for purchase against her scaly hide. To the eastern bank, all was aglow with raging firelight. To the west, the darkness of night.
Myfanwy drew in greedy breaths through the slitted gills fluttering behind her jaw, crouching like a catfish along the riverbed. Fear made her reactive, the water roaring in her ears made her hungry.
She hoped only that no one else decided to jump into the river.
And on your cheeks O may the roses
“”
Dance for a hundred years or so.
“”
Dance for a hundred years or so.
