WELCOME TO THE EMERALD CITY . . .
THE FOREST IS ALIVE WITH BRACKEN GRISTLE AND GREEN CANYONS COLORED A DUSTY MALLARD LIKE MINI SHAPES OF HIM. LITTLE BITS OF GNOME PASTURE AND WILD PEONY-THINGS GROW ON HER FLANKS; A VERITABLE VINEYARD CARVED NATURAL, PROTECTED FROM STORM, AND FEELING, IN MEANDERING LITTLE, SUN-GUIDED SNAKE TAILS, ACROSS THE WOODLAND FLOOR . . .
AND SOMEWHERE, THE SENSE OF ENTS WATCHING.
The scars run wild on him, in patchwork pieces clung dry to his muscle- he's a gogoltexture with ten years of history, the richest of his prime visibly mapped out as starry-web-shapes that wink out, pale, on his skin in the nascent dew light. The morning is all sweet and sylvan and made of soft rose, searching busy the thorned tips of things to catch on, and blink white from, settling temporarily on some smooth stone or patch of cotton grass growing thick along the copse with mountain grouse, chicks, and bounding seas of hare.
He has on him no notes or parchment papers to prove that he's here to teach, just an invisible memory bank alive with medical melody. If anything, his student's first task would be finding him, he (partially) jokes to himself, waiting beside a creekbed.
He has on him no notes or parchment papers to prove that he's here to teach, just an invisible memory bank alive with medical melody. If anything, his student's first task would be finding him, he (partially) jokes to himself, waiting beside a creekbed.
THE MOST FORGIVING TUTOR WAS WHERE NATURE RAN THICKEST, AND WILD, THERE, IN RICH AND RAW FLAVORS OF PUPPYGRASS AND FLOWERBEDS COMPOSED OF COLOR-CODED MEDICINE.
HE KNEW VERY LITTLE OF THE YOUTH NETWORKED INTO HIS CIRCLES, HOW EXPANSIVE (OR LACKING) HER EXPERIENCE WAS, BUT HE WAS UNDER THE IMPRESSION THAT HER MIND WAS ABLE, AND WILLING, AND FOR THAT- THAT WAS ENOUGH FOR HIM, REALLY, TO GET HIM TRAVELING FROM HIS HOMELAND TO THE SOFTER FREELANDS.
WE HAVE DREAMS, YOU AND I. AND THEY'RE NOT LEAVING, NO, NOT UNTIL THE DAYS ARE GONEBY. WHERE'RE YOU RUNNING TO? WE'RE HEADED THIS WAY, FAR FROM PLACES WARM AND COMFORTING. THERE'S TOO MUCH TO KNOW, TOO MUCH TO FEAR, HOPING FOR BETTER DAYS, SOFTER WAYS. I'M LAMPLIGHT FADING, AND YOU'RE TWISTING CANDLEFLAME: WE'RE BURNING BRIGHT, AND GUTTERING FAR TOO QUICKLY- BUT NEVER PUT OUT BY RAIN. IF YOU'RE HOPING TO MAKE A DIFFERENCE, NEVER FORGET THAT WE START TODAY.
OZ
@Noxia
