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Suddenly, she could no longer hear the song amidst the cacophony of the battle. She wondered if something had happened, if one of the Threaders had been it, if all was lost.
Of course. The Weaver has been hit. Go on and sing. You've heard the song, you know the melody, you've felt it. Sing it.
She hesitated. It was not her place to...
Sing it.
She stood, slowly, and tried to catch the strands of song, to see where she could sing and start tying the threads together again.
You're hopeless. On three. One, two...
She started singing, first almost in a whisper, then, pulling the threads tighter together, more surely, as she stepped forward to join the threaders. They looked at her curiously, but didn't question her. Any Weaver was a welcome Weaver in such a battle.
A tangle of song shot towards her group. She pulled it up short
stop
and examined it, almost distastefully. Discarded two threads and spread the rest
defend
as a web to protect everybody on her side of the battlefield. Then she knotted the two remaining threads together
heal.
and laid them gently on the Weaver - such a young girl, she could see now, collapsed close to where she was standing. The song swelled up around her, taking her with its flow as she threaded it together.
The Weaver opened her eyes and stood, looking at her in wonder, picking up a few strands of songs that had escaped her. She gestured, quickly. 'Who are you?'
She shrugged. 'Later.'
The enemies could do little as the song advanced on them. "Two Weavers!" one of them shouted as he ran away, panic overtaking him.
No.
No?
No.
She absentmindedly picked up a few discarded strands of song and threaded them into a veil, which she tossed over the escaping enemies.
No. A Weaver and a Shaper.
[ 7/7/2003 01:09:53 AM | ]
[ 4/15/2003 09:45:43 AM |
]
So I was thinking about characters and names...
And well, I got an idea for a couple really dumb character names.
Two identical twins, one good, one evil. The good one is named Malcom, Mal for short; the evil one is named Benjamin, Ben for short.
A centaur, turned human (whether by choice or because of a curse, you pick). He loves motorcycles and goes by the name of Ken.
(Find all the horrific puns? Good for you. Didn't find them? You didn't miss much. If you want to know, comment or email... or research. Hint: there's two per line, and knowledge of certain languages helps.)
[ 3/23/2003 05:19:11 PM |
]
Not a fragment, per se... but the site is finally back up, with a new layout (done with my own handwriting, too), as is Words. Thanks to the fact that Blogger keeps the posts on its server, and thanks to Google cache, I was able to recover everything I had on these two sites before the server died. Phew.
Archives are still dead, though, because Blogger isn't letting me republish them right now... oh well.
New fragments (hopefully) coming soon.
[ 2/21/2003 03:52:50 PM |
]
She steps forward, her sword a twisting and vibrating song of steel in her hands.
"No..."
Singing steel raised high, then brought down fast, mercilessly. Singing steel ending in blood. "Yes."
[ 2/18/2003 05:31:58 PM |
]
The moon is hanging low in the sky, shining like a golden medal, and a whisper comes. Tell her.
"But I can't... what would I say? How would I say it? Would she listen? I can't..."
Tell her.
[ 9/23/2002 07:30:58 AM |
]
I have to finish this (completing it in the point of view of the other person present) and polish it, checking for coherency of thoughts and such. I think I'll also have to do a little worldbuilding for this reality, I was more or less winging it throughout. But it's not bad, I think, for my first attempt at this sort of thing.
Opinions, comments and criticism very welcome.
--
As soon as you step through the doors, I recognize you, and for once I am glad of the veil that hides my face. You wouldn't like what I have become, that I know for sure.
Hs it really been only five years since we last saw each other? You hated me at that last moment, I know, when I chose to leave with the Starielas.
And who would have expected it to get to this point? Who would have thought that my inner power, my Source, could be so strong that after two years I would be already head teacher, and after five head of the order? I had only wanted to learn about my Source, learn to use it, and then go back to the village, go back to you...
The spiral tattoos coiled around my wrists feel like manacles. Would you believe me if I told you?
You are kneeling in front of me, respectfully, as is expected of you. You are speaking of a girl who was born in your village, our village, who is now seven and has expressed the wish to be Source trained, could we train her?
I can only nod mutely, and you stand, your eyes still respectfully lowered, fixed on some point in front of my feet. You have another favor to ask, you say. A personal favor, and you'll understand if it can't be done. There was a girl, in your village, who left to be Source trained five years ago, and you never heard from her again. And you speak my name, and ask if you can see her - see me - and if that is impossible, there is one thing you want to know...
"I only want to know if she is happy."
I feel my hands trembling, and the sudden impulse to lift my veil and call your name. No, I'm not happy, not without you, I miss you immensely... Would you look up if I called you? Would you look up, smile at me, and hug me like in the old times? Or would you be angry, angry at me for hiding this from you, and would you hate me for not coming back? What would you do if I called your name?
[ 5/19/2002 02:34:14 PM |
]
And yet another "foul mood" piece of poetry. I can put all sorts of emotions into prose, it seems, but poetry only works for me when I'm sad...
--
A long time since I felt truly happy
Took three steps then I found myself falling
Nothing left but a memory of happiness
All who care can do nothing to help me
Those who can do not care how I feel
And I wish all of this would just end here
I just wish it'd stop raining on me...