the birdsong might be pretty,
but it's not for you they sing
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but it's not for you they sing
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There is not enough distance to suit her between the sleeping vines and the vineyard castle. Their hooves eat up the distance too quickly, or maybe it's only the way she's trying to keep her heartbeat from stuttering just to echo the drum of his hooves. But there is hardly any distance left when he finally breaks the silence she was more than happy to fill with nothing more than the inhale, exhale of briny air into her lungs. “It is never lonely enough” Her words fluctuate in that place between rusted barb and bloody heartbreak. For a moment she debates on expanding, or filling that silence with words enough to drown him, but when the door opens and a bird with a bandaged wing shrills a welcome she settles into the silence.
Red wears it uneasily as their hooves echo on the old oak floor. And for a moment when she turns to him, the echo of her hooves, seems louder than two stones caught in the same tide. “And if there are Kelpies in the sea, they have not come to my beach when it's time to feed.” The green of her eyes blazes, briefly, as if to suggest that's it is something more the sea monsters look for. Something with more flesh on its bone, something like the stallion filling up her doorway.
Even the sparrow perched on the table seems to cock his head and listen to the words Red does not say. And maybe it's the way rabbits and birds talk to each other in the silence as the wolf roams the forest floor.
She lets the silence linger as the moves towards the bottle and the glasses (always two, always empty) waiting on the table. When she lifts the bottle the firelight at her back halos both her and the wine. This wine is the last of its kind, dark as ancient blood and almost just a thick. Once she had thought it tasted like the ichor of the gods, like ambrosia. Now she knows the magic lays not in the wine, but in the clink of two glasses before it's savored.
But there is nothing romantic in the way she pours a glass for him and holds it just out of reach. Maybe though, there is something prophetic in way her voice sounds like the sea when she says, “A name for wine, if you're brave enough for a trade.” Red smiles and the firelight halo around her form fades in the soft starlight brightness of it.
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@Sarkan
