f l o r e n t i n e
The sandstone walls are rough against Florentine’s soft, pleated feathers. A cascade of dust falls in a plume from where her wings trail like fingertips along the rock-face.
Onwards the dusk girl walks, drowning in the sunset orange of the towering maze. Florentine had heard word of another maze. A thing of wild green, a vibrant hedgerow maze that grew up overnight, and harboured wild beasts. But this canyon, she thinks, surely surpasses it, with its labrynthine passages so high, so wild...
All about her the canyon whispers. It follows her with giggling echoes of loose rocks and clicking-clacking feet. It is alive this canyon, from the idle streams that chatter their winding way through the steep, steep valleys to the cry of birds that fly so high up in the sky.
The Dusk Court Emissary does not know how long she has been walking but she refuses to let her wings fly. For this land is a maze of treasures. It hides its secrets within rock folds, darkened caves and glittering at the bottom of babbling brooks. The flower girl relishes each discovery she makes. Small, determined flowers, content with their parched spot, thrust themselves out from rock outcrops to bask in the heat of the sun. They shiver as she passes, leaning out as if to touch the petals that tumble from the girl’s rock dusted and wind tangled hair.
Too soon the stonewalls lean in upon her, and maybe Flora’s heart should flutter with fear. But do not fear, for she is the seasoned explorer and if not, with her wings it would take but a moment to be so high up as to see the canyon stretch below like red, red veins leading her in to Solterra’s heart.
With each step she takes, Rannveig’s commissioning words nip at her golden heels. Satisfy the urges of your heart. Go, and show them all you are of Dusk. Tell them that we are a Court once again.
And Florentine has. Into Solterra she brings the hazy gold and bruised purples of dusklight. She sets the light to set beneath the brilliant glow of the hot day’s light. Yet, even as she walks, placing one slender limb before the other, Flora is not sure which the greater urge is… To explore: to satisfy the wild desire to be free. Or the other, to fulfill a request from a woman that was fast becoming more than a queen… Rannveig was, quite simply, becoming more akin to a friend. Her words were sisterly, knowing. Flora’s heart ached with them, for they both lifted her and tied great chains about her. The dead dagger about her throat bore a power no more, but if she could regain it – what then? Would she leave Novus and her Dusk Court behind in little more than a blink of an eye? Her soul cried yes, but her heart could only bleat for the pain as it began to rend in two.
Oh the girl of flowers dashes each thought from her mind, casting them away like ashes in the wind. Maybe someone would hear her now? Maybe they would see the trail of lavender petals that fell like dusk-lit stars in her wake, plucked from the wild flowers laced into the snarls of her mane and thrown back by the wind.
As she turns a corner, a great wall rears up to block her path. From above, high, high up in the cerulean sky, a bird cries and calls her up. Through her honeyed mane she peers at the soaring creature and laughs, the song echoing off the canyon walls. She turns to let her feet find another route.
this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
Onwards the dusk girl walks, drowning in the sunset orange of the towering maze. Florentine had heard word of another maze. A thing of wild green, a vibrant hedgerow maze that grew up overnight, and harboured wild beasts. But this canyon, she thinks, surely surpasses it, with its labrynthine passages so high, so wild...
All about her the canyon whispers. It follows her with giggling echoes of loose rocks and clicking-clacking feet. It is alive this canyon, from the idle streams that chatter their winding way through the steep, steep valleys to the cry of birds that fly so high up in the sky.
The Dusk Court Emissary does not know how long she has been walking but she refuses to let her wings fly. For this land is a maze of treasures. It hides its secrets within rock folds, darkened caves and glittering at the bottom of babbling brooks. The flower girl relishes each discovery she makes. Small, determined flowers, content with their parched spot, thrust themselves out from rock outcrops to bask in the heat of the sun. They shiver as she passes, leaning out as if to touch the petals that tumble from the girl’s rock dusted and wind tangled hair.
Too soon the stonewalls lean in upon her, and maybe Flora’s heart should flutter with fear. But do not fear, for she is the seasoned explorer and if not, with her wings it would take but a moment to be so high up as to see the canyon stretch below like red, red veins leading her in to Solterra’s heart.
With each step she takes, Rannveig’s commissioning words nip at her golden heels. Satisfy the urges of your heart. Go, and show them all you are of Dusk. Tell them that we are a Court once again.
And Florentine has. Into Solterra she brings the hazy gold and bruised purples of dusklight. She sets the light to set beneath the brilliant glow of the hot day’s light. Yet, even as she walks, placing one slender limb before the other, Flora is not sure which the greater urge is… To explore: to satisfy the wild desire to be free. Or the other, to fulfill a request from a woman that was fast becoming more than a queen… Rannveig was, quite simply, becoming more akin to a friend. Her words were sisterly, knowing. Flora’s heart ached with them, for they both lifted her and tied great chains about her. The dead dagger about her throat bore a power no more, but if she could regain it – what then? Would she leave Novus and her Dusk Court behind in little more than a blink of an eye? Her soul cried yes, but her heart could only bleat for the pain as it began to rend in two.
Oh the girl of flowers dashes each thought from her mind, casting them away like ashes in the wind. Maybe someone would hear her now? Maybe they would see the trail of lavender petals that fell like dusk-lit stars in her wake, plucked from the wild flowers laced into the snarls of her mane and thrown back by the wind.
As she turns a corner, a great wall rears up to block her path. From above, high, high up in the cerulean sky, a bird cries and calls her up. Through her honeyed mane she peers at the soaring creature and laughs, the song echoing off the canyon walls. She turns to let her feet find another route.
★ She is clothed with strength and dignity,
and she laughs without fear of the future ★
