Summer 53, 515 AV
The Stone Gardens
Syliras confounded Gwin. It took her a day of wandering to get used to the feeling of the giant fortress. Everything was walled in, shut off from wind and weather, and in some places even windows were hard to come by. Fluttering around stone corridors, listening to the echo of her wingbeats, claustrophobia caused her head to spin and squeezed her heart. One time she got lost and spent two agonizing hours in the bowels of the citadel before finding her way back to the sky.
The second day she moved with greater purpose. Flying above walls and rooftops, the Akvatari had gotten a glimpse of how the city was built. From above, she could see the overarching patterns: the majority of the city within the citadel, arranged in tiers like a majestic stone cake.
Still, she wandered. This time, she kept in mind landmarks and streets though, just enough not to lose her way. She could still explore. People were staring at her, of course, although they seemed to be more discreet about it. As a big city and trade center, Syliras certainly got its fair share of exotic visitors. Knights dotted the crowd like dandelions in a field of clover and Gwin observed them with mild curiosity. At the same time, she couldn’t help a lingering sense of pity for those people who lived in a cage they’d built with their own hands.
Wandering led her to a garden of stone. Settling on a bench, Gwin marveled at its purpose. She’d never seen anything like it in Riverfall, a city full of parks, greenery and flowing water. For Syliras, however, a garden of stone, unmoving and never growing, seemed strangely fitting. Gwin had taken her violin on her stroll, of course, and now she unpacked it. Plucked a string.
From her bench, she had a good view of the central area and its visitors. Most were walking slowly, heads bowed, hands clasped behind backs or buried in pockets. Conversations were whispered at best. The solemn atmosphere seemed to be part of the garden’s meaning, but as an outsider, Gwin couldn’t learn more from observation.
Instead she started playing, softly and carefully. The song was flowing over stone and through the air in long, sweet notes and she played clearly as if her music was made of glass. She wasn’t even offering it to the people passing her by, no, instead she sought to understand what the garden meant through translating the silence it communicated. Something could be heard in that silence. Gwin only had to play it out between her strings and bow.
The Stone Gardens
Syliras confounded Gwin. It took her a day of wandering to get used to the feeling of the giant fortress. Everything was walled in, shut off from wind and weather, and in some places even windows were hard to come by. Fluttering around stone corridors, listening to the echo of her wingbeats, claustrophobia caused her head to spin and squeezed her heart. One time she got lost and spent two agonizing hours in the bowels of the citadel before finding her way back to the sky.
The second day she moved with greater purpose. Flying above walls and rooftops, the Akvatari had gotten a glimpse of how the city was built. From above, she could see the overarching patterns: the majority of the city within the citadel, arranged in tiers like a majestic stone cake.
Still, she wandered. This time, she kept in mind landmarks and streets though, just enough not to lose her way. She could still explore. People were staring at her, of course, although they seemed to be more discreet about it. As a big city and trade center, Syliras certainly got its fair share of exotic visitors. Knights dotted the crowd like dandelions in a field of clover and Gwin observed them with mild curiosity. At the same time, she couldn’t help a lingering sense of pity for those people who lived in a cage they’d built with their own hands.
Wandering led her to a garden of stone. Settling on a bench, Gwin marveled at its purpose. She’d never seen anything like it in Riverfall, a city full of parks, greenery and flowing water. For Syliras, however, a garden of stone, unmoving and never growing, seemed strangely fitting. Gwin had taken her violin on her stroll, of course, and now she unpacked it. Plucked a string.
From her bench, she had a good view of the central area and its visitors. Most were walking slowly, heads bowed, hands clasped behind backs or buried in pockets. Conversations were whispered at best. The solemn atmosphere seemed to be part of the garden’s meaning, but as an outsider, Gwin couldn’t learn more from observation.
Instead she started playing, softly and carefully. The song was flowing over stone and through the air in long, sweet notes and she played clearly as if her music was made of glass. She wasn’t even offering it to the people passing her by, no, instead she sought to understand what the garden meant through translating the silence it communicated. Something could be heard in that silence. Gwin only had to play it out between her strings and bow.
Song :