Unquiet Dreams (August 2997) {Runa}
Oct 13, 2018 15:15:17 GMT -5
Post by Ceolmund on Oct 13, 2018 15:15:17 GMT -5
The pure water of the silver stream rippled, flowed down the hill to where it would meet the greater Snowbourne. The small boy squatted near the streams edge as he plucked a stem of grass and placed it in the icy cold water, holding it there first as he watched the water wind and flow around it, and let it ripple against his fingertips.
Then plucked a leaf from a shrub, and the boy held it between his fingertips. Smooth between the veins, and the stem slightly curled a rudder. The child gasped softly, his blue eyes wide. “A fawie boat,” he whispered Carefully edging to the waters of the stream, the toes of his shoes were wetted on the mud as he tried to reach the center of the rippling waters where the boat could be taken without washing back onto the pebbles on the edge.
A tiny brown mouse was sticking his nose out watching from the grasses, and Ceolmund’s eye spotted him as he skittered for fallen grains. The late summer sun was parching hot the grasses and seeds were beginning to blossom forth and sprawl. “Have you seen them?” he asked the beady eyed mouse.
So far down the hill that Ceolmund was not able to travel there by himself. He had been caught slipping from the gates of the city the week before. Sunni had told Mother, and she had come rushing for him, and the little boy had scraped his knees upon the earth as he made effort to run; to escape. The rolling green hills where the grass waved lay just beyond the Snowbourne. Beneath them, the grottos of the faeries, the Hollow Hills. If he could have only reached the crossing of the river, the faeries could take him home.
Nobody had seen him slip from the house tonight, however. Ceolmund gripped Hakon in arm, looking down at the soft creature as night fell on the land. “We’w find it, Hakon. Then we’w go back fow Wuna, and Hewdwed.” His little feet launched forward through the grasses as moonlight glossed over the horizon, Ceolmund’s steps were quick and light, his small form taking him further down the stream, following the path where the fairy boat had gone. They would be waiting for him there. Where the small waters of the silver stream met the wild waters of the Snowbourne. He was certain they had seen his boat, and were waiting to take him; and Hakon.
As his footsteps trod a night heron flew into the air, great wings flapping as the bird’s long neck and legs were silhouetted against the sky. The boy nearly fell backwards though kept his ground in awe, watching the bird until far from sight it too went toward the great river to meet the faeries. Perhaps the fish had been caught for their supper while they danced and wove on the summer night. And Ceolmund would go there too. It was a shame Runa would miss the dances; but she was not old enough yet to dance. She could not even stand yet; just a small bouncing baby in Hildred’s arms. Ceolmund’s legs were strong, however, and they carried him steadily down the great hill, the sound of the rolling water growing as he neared, and he thought of all the fairies on their boats with their tiny oars made of twigs and leaves waiting for him there.
The brambles and shrubs thickened and he knew he was near, for Grandmother had told him the plants here liked to drink deep of the river water and drew stronger. She had brought him to the river before; it was how he knew the way, and he was good at remembering the path to take. Grandmother called him a good boy, and so did Hildred. Hildred! He missed her, but Runa was sleeping and she had to take care of her baby. Ceolmund wanted his baby to be safe. He scratched his hands on a shrub as he pressed it aside, but when he did, he saw where the sound of the waters had come from, rolling back in the night as they swept from the high mountains toward the Entwash, a place on Grandmother’s map. He wondered if the fairies lived as far as the entwash, or if he need only cross the stream to meet them on the other side. It seemed he saw blinking lights in the grasses across the black waters and he gasped. They were waiting. The little boy squinted to see if he might see the fairie boats floating, but they did not have their light’s lit.
“Ceolmund!” the voice far reaching though near his ears. The small boy turned and lifted his head, and far off he saw the blowing ashy blonde hair of Mother standing near the city gate, though swiftly the surroundings seemed to blur closer and closer, coarser and coarser the screech came and she was suddenly in front of him. The small boy looked up, his heart filled with fear and he took a step backward.
Foundation lost, the boy’s foot landed in the river and he flailed, arms reaching for anything; even for his Mother, but the river swept him away, and he gagged and coughed, falling below the surface, screaming, and then drowning. Dead to the world, his blue eyes looked up through the waters rushing overhead, until he gasped.
Instead of pulling rushing waters in through mouth and nose, Ceolmund’s silent gasp drew only air, and his eyes opened. He stared up at the golden thatched roof flickering in the firelight. Not flames on the thatching but flames from the center of the room where the fire was kept; though low for the it was late summer and the air was warm by itself.
His side was aching yet, somewhat, though he’d grown used to the pain and it seemed to be receding, the young man was not a child; but eighteen, nearly nineteen, and his eyes looked toward the fire where he saw crouched nearby the form which he knew from behind. Her golden hair was flickering. “Runa,” he spoke, and he tried to hold back his coughing which his chest had been riddled with, but as he sat there he realized he had not the urge to cough. He simply pulled in another deep breath as he watched her turn to him. Her golden hair was weaving a snare in his mind, and he sat up slowly on the bed, pulling his feet over the edge until he felt the solid floor beneath him, and sighed. His hand on his bare chest, the young man drew in another breath, steady, as the strange dream slipped from his mind.
"Is it morning already?" he whispered, so as not to rouse the others sleeping in the beds. It seemed the grey light of dawn was beginning to creep in through the windows, which meant soon the other healers would arrive for the day shifts, but for now it seemed just Runa keeping watch.
Then plucked a leaf from a shrub, and the boy held it between his fingertips. Smooth between the veins, and the stem slightly curled a rudder. The child gasped softly, his blue eyes wide. “A fawie boat,” he whispered Carefully edging to the waters of the stream, the toes of his shoes were wetted on the mud as he tried to reach the center of the rippling waters where the boat could be taken without washing back onto the pebbles on the edge.
A tiny brown mouse was sticking his nose out watching from the grasses, and Ceolmund’s eye spotted him as he skittered for fallen grains. The late summer sun was parching hot the grasses and seeds were beginning to blossom forth and sprawl. “Have you seen them?” he asked the beady eyed mouse.
So far down the hill that Ceolmund was not able to travel there by himself. He had been caught slipping from the gates of the city the week before. Sunni had told Mother, and she had come rushing for him, and the little boy had scraped his knees upon the earth as he made effort to run; to escape. The rolling green hills where the grass waved lay just beyond the Snowbourne. Beneath them, the grottos of the faeries, the Hollow Hills. If he could have only reached the crossing of the river, the faeries could take him home.
Nobody had seen him slip from the house tonight, however. Ceolmund gripped Hakon in arm, looking down at the soft creature as night fell on the land. “We’w find it, Hakon. Then we’w go back fow Wuna, and Hewdwed.” His little feet launched forward through the grasses as moonlight glossed over the horizon, Ceolmund’s steps were quick and light, his small form taking him further down the stream, following the path where the fairy boat had gone. They would be waiting for him there. Where the small waters of the silver stream met the wild waters of the Snowbourne. He was certain they had seen his boat, and were waiting to take him; and Hakon.
As his footsteps trod a night heron flew into the air, great wings flapping as the bird’s long neck and legs were silhouetted against the sky. The boy nearly fell backwards though kept his ground in awe, watching the bird until far from sight it too went toward the great river to meet the faeries. Perhaps the fish had been caught for their supper while they danced and wove on the summer night. And Ceolmund would go there too. It was a shame Runa would miss the dances; but she was not old enough yet to dance. She could not even stand yet; just a small bouncing baby in Hildred’s arms. Ceolmund’s legs were strong, however, and they carried him steadily down the great hill, the sound of the rolling water growing as he neared, and he thought of all the fairies on their boats with their tiny oars made of twigs and leaves waiting for him there.
The brambles and shrubs thickened and he knew he was near, for Grandmother had told him the plants here liked to drink deep of the river water and drew stronger. She had brought him to the river before; it was how he knew the way, and he was good at remembering the path to take. Grandmother called him a good boy, and so did Hildred. Hildred! He missed her, but Runa was sleeping and she had to take care of her baby. Ceolmund wanted his baby to be safe. He scratched his hands on a shrub as he pressed it aside, but when he did, he saw where the sound of the waters had come from, rolling back in the night as they swept from the high mountains toward the Entwash, a place on Grandmother’s map. He wondered if the fairies lived as far as the entwash, or if he need only cross the stream to meet them on the other side. It seemed he saw blinking lights in the grasses across the black waters and he gasped. They were waiting. The little boy squinted to see if he might see the fairie boats floating, but they did not have their light’s lit.
“Ceolmund!” the voice far reaching though near his ears. The small boy turned and lifted his head, and far off he saw the blowing ashy blonde hair of Mother standing near the city gate, though swiftly the surroundings seemed to blur closer and closer, coarser and coarser the screech came and she was suddenly in front of him. The small boy looked up, his heart filled with fear and he took a step backward.
Foundation lost, the boy’s foot landed in the river and he flailed, arms reaching for anything; even for his Mother, but the river swept him away, and he gagged and coughed, falling below the surface, screaming, and then drowning. Dead to the world, his blue eyes looked up through the waters rushing overhead, until he gasped.
Instead of pulling rushing waters in through mouth and nose, Ceolmund’s silent gasp drew only air, and his eyes opened. He stared up at the golden thatched roof flickering in the firelight. Not flames on the thatching but flames from the center of the room where the fire was kept; though low for the it was late summer and the air was warm by itself.
His side was aching yet, somewhat, though he’d grown used to the pain and it seemed to be receding, the young man was not a child; but eighteen, nearly nineteen, and his eyes looked toward the fire where he saw crouched nearby the form which he knew from behind. Her golden hair was flickering. “Runa,” he spoke, and he tried to hold back his coughing which his chest had been riddled with, but as he sat there he realized he had not the urge to cough. He simply pulled in another deep breath as he watched her turn to him. Her golden hair was weaving a snare in his mind, and he sat up slowly on the bed, pulling his feet over the edge until he felt the solid floor beneath him, and sighed. His hand on his bare chest, the young man drew in another breath, steady, as the strange dream slipped from his mind.
"Is it morning already?" he whispered, so as not to rouse the others sleeping in the beds. It seemed the grey light of dawn was beginning to creep in through the windows, which meant soon the other healers would arrive for the day shifts, but for now it seemed just Runa keeping watch.