Leth

[Savis Maren]

23rd Autumn, 518. Just past the 3rd Bell.

Deep into the night, long after Konti and Nuit separated, the Animator found herself deep in thought as to the reason the people of Lhavit celebrated. The goings on of the evening were rife with excitement, with performance only one of the multitude of spectacle. Never before in the clutch of unlife had Savis Maren known such festivity. She found herself, multiple times throughout in conflict, with even the vestiges of laughter present upon her countenance. Could even the Nuit, disliked and openly distrusted as they were, let down their guard?

Could I? she mused again and again as the rhythm of time's passage moved Leth and the very stars across the skies of Mizahar. Savis Maren found her legs carrying her to the peak known as Shinyama. Her body did not tire, but her ascent was slow, her gait measured and posture straight as she passed the threshold of the aptly named Temple of the Moon. The undead was utterly thrilled by the sight of the place, large pillars suspending spectacular arches that caught her gaze straight away. The light that spilled through a single oculus was a shimmer of the divine, and while Savis didn't breathe she was nonetheless caught in admiration of the natural beauty that the Leth's light imbued upon the scene.

Next, her gaze followed that haunting, ethereal light to its visible end, the glimmer of water's reflection causing her to narrow her silver eyes before they adjusted of their own accord. The Nuit stepped closer still, not catching the eyes that followed her throughout. Several men dutifully tended to their post even in the late hour, and Savis Maren bore no ill intent as she continued her path until she sat several feet away from the pool.

The Nuit caught a sight she didn't expect to see: a flicker of the divine reflected in the pool of water. She stared, mesmerized until the fleeting facial structure dissipated, leaving Savis Maren staring at the pool with an unshakeable sensation of awe. So foreign these emotions were to her that she was utterly swept up in them. The Nuit did not speak aloud. Instead, she allowed her eyes to follow the haunting ray of moonlight. Her arms were limb at her sides, her knuckles set against the floor and hands flat against the surface of the ground.

Savis allowed her thoughts to dissipate, her lids falling over her eyes and cloaking the light from her sight but for a moment: perhaps a moment's respite from the pale light. When she faced it again, the silence of her thoughts replaced itself with a silent prayer, meant only for herself and the deity she found a burgeoning respect for.

O Leth, lord of night's sphere... would you hear me? I've come to your Temple to satisfy a healthy dose of curiosity, she began, quite disappointed in her flustered expression. Of course she'd done the most cliched thing imaginable and visited the Temple of the Moon after its festival. The Nuit's brow furrowed and she need physically compose herself before she continued her train of thought.

Tonight I've learned more of your nature. Often, I've thought of the Gods as irrefutable truths, but truths not relevant to my continued existence. Perhaps it was folly, or perhaps the foolishness is delving into a bit of faith, now, she continued. What a moment to be a prolific speaker. The Nuit, cleared of extraneous thoughts, found the notion of prayer only feeding her incessant need to speak. She shook her head, continuing on to the point she wanted to make.

I've found in you, Leth, a deity I can understand. Or, at the very least, try to. I'd ask you to watch over my pursuits and aid me in my efforts as they persevere through your passage in the sky.

The Nuit looked back to her treatment of Leth's fallen, of the Ethaefal under his visor and asked one final thing of the deity.

And grant me the patience to tolerate the infuriating beauty of your people.

WC: 683

[Lani Stranger]

60th of Fall, 518AV

When Lani reached the stables, irritation was burning through her. She could not comprehend why the Avora had hated her so much. She understood the distrust of foreigners, and the anger towards disrespect, but as far as Lani understood, she had only been disrespectful after the Avora had insulted her. In fact she had swallowed her pride for those insults, but it didn’t seem to be enough to stroke the woman’s ego. Frustrated, the Chiet stomped into the stables, alerting the horse that was in the stall closest to the entrance. It was then that Lani calmed, not meaning to spook the creature. Carefully she stepped over to the stall, resting on the closed gate. The horse seemed less concerned by her now, recognizing her as one of the bipedal creatures that walked through its domain, and turned away from her. It didn’t have any hay in his stall yet, and so she clicked her tongue to draw its attention. The beast seemed mildly irked by her, but was probably a working horse, made to carry heavy loads, and thus not very aggressive. Curiously the beast stepped forward, likely hoping for a treat or some other delicious form of apology.

Even though she gave none, the horse sniffed her hand, and she slipped it through the bars to allow him more access to her knowledge, as her thoughts grew more reflective. She had never really had a need to pray to the God of thoughts, and Syna was out so it was not his more well-known domain, but the recent eye-opening experience gave her much to reflect on. After assessing her scent, the horse allowed her to pet him just above the nose, and she gave him gentle caresses, keeping her hand where he could see it.

Even though she had now been here nearly two whole moons, assuming she was unwelcome the whole time, this was the first time she had truly been alienated. Her pride-swallowing tactic hadn’t worked, her respectful helpfulness hadn’t worked, Thistle seemed to have wanted her to grovel on the ground and flagellate herself for that Avora’s Pride. It had taken the nomad some time to get used to and understand the caste system, but she had not anticipated this level of complete degradation. She had been told she had some stance as a Chiet, that she was a commoner. Avora were meant to be skilled, but not regarded with the reverence of an Endal. Still, the Endal’s reaction to her abuse was satisfying.

“Is this what it is like walking among the Inarta? Will I face this forever?” She asked out loud, appearing to be speaking to the horse, but in reality she intended her words for Leth. “With the star falling, with Narth’s odd expectations of love, or lust, or whatever this is… With the absurd ego of that Avora… Am I to change completely during my time here? Will I be able to adapt? I have always done so before. Alvadas, Zeltiva, and Lhavit have always been so different, and required different versions of myself to survive. But I’ve never had to erase parts of myself. Is that what I face?”

She let the common words ring off. The horse seemed to respond positively to her words, although it obviously did not understand the meaning of them. Perhaps it sensed an emotion of worry radiating from her, and was attempting comfort. But this was no cat, perhaps the horse simply enjoyed a good head scratch, and as long as she was willing to provide it, he would remain. It seemed more likely.

“I can feel it coming, Leth. I know that change is important, I live by change. This is just the greatest change I’ve had to endure. I know it is not night, but I’m asking for your wisdom as I go through this. I’m going to need it if I am to fit in with this strange mountain of strange people.” She muttered the last of her prayer, giving the horse one last scratch. She needed to report to Hansi, she was already late because of the scene Thistle had caused at the Processing Center. Surely he would understand that she was on direction of an Endal to be here, but she didn’t need to be extra late, she knew she would already be eating into her market day time.

Word Count: 730

[Sentalia]

TIMESTAMP: 3 Summer 524 AV


Shining moon, you are far yet near
I'm away from you but you hold me dear
When my mind is fraught with fear
May you whisper condolences to my ear
For consolation is rather cheap
For those who take the faithful leap
They may make it whole or under rock's heap
The seeds that they plant, their fruit they do reap

Sentalia's mind began to grope for rhyming words as she struggled to come to her senses, to some knowledge as to who she might be, from whence she came, and to where she could be destined. She stayed still and helpless upon the shores of the Sykan beaches, clinging to them like a frightened little bird in a safe-for-now nook during a violent storm. Her mind was a storm... Her whole experience of this life had been but a storm and its calm, never experiencing its absence but only getting a bit of respite from it here and there. She was afraid of the greatness of existence, but curious as to her immediate surroundings. Curiosity and fear have a strange, mutually de-potentializing effect, thought Sentalia, whose mind was ablaze, whereby curiosity, if it is strong enough, wins over fear every time. Well, there was no one else immediately present to share in these declarative thoughts - but can you blame her for being so conclusive in her thinking? Sentalia, landing on the beaches cold and naked, had had no previous experience in communicating the subtle feelings of her experience. Perhaps that is why I am here, she thought, to make sense of things; to put words to feelings. I am afraid, but it does me no good; I am curious, and that curiosity will not permit me to stay in one place for too long. Curiosity does not stagnate, then it is no longer curiosity...

As she sat there on the beaches waiting for things to become more sensible to her, she began to understand that her feelings may take quite a lot of time to be expressed through words, and perhaps it wouldn't be altogether unintelligent of her to try and find something edible to sustain her body. It is all well and good to be a philosopher from birth, but that philosopher needs to eat. The body talks, you know, through mumbles and grumbles for more of something to chew on. Just contemplating the act of eating gave Sentalia strange sensations. Those pigs could've eaten me, she thought, remembering the forceful crunching of the tropical fruit in their eager, hungry mouths... She didn't know how to proceed from there, only that if she were to have to find a fruit to eat, that hopefully she would be to it as the light of the moon had been to her: cool, graceful, distant yet immediately there... kind. So be it, she thought. As this body needs to be fed, may it be fed in a way that pleases the beauty of the moon, the most beautiful sight my eyes have ever seen. And so, having gratefully emoted something to forces grander than herself, she struggled up into a seated position and waited for a sign, clue, or some type of encouragement as to how to continue from there. Falling stark naked onto strange beaches late at night can be quite disorienting, you know.


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[Sentalia]

Sentalia looks at the stars on a new moon night and longs to see Leth in the sky

O countless shining nighttime ones
Like twinkling gems or tiny suns
How far and wide do your eyes gaze
While I'm trapped beneath in my own mind's maze?
I wish you could tell me what you see
I'm stuck in the mud with mine and me
How long have you all lived in the sky
To watch the ground-dwellers breathe and die?
Are our lives to you but a mere few minutes?
Thinking of you brings my thought to its limits.
Know I am grateful for your light
To help my mind think through the night.
You are here, and hopefully soon
I will get to see my love the moon.

Sentalia sits in Syka watching the stars, wondering how intelligent they might be, and if they can tell the "absent" moon about her yearning to see him and be in his presence. She tries to put words to the aching in her heart but feels that they always fall short.

[Sentalia]

In Ethaefal form

I am deep in the jungle. I am by a small pool of water. It glows from within as though a million tiny stars reside inside it, as though the moon is smiling from within the soil. There is a palpable clarity in the air, a kind of silent song of gratitude that accompanies the mysteries of the rainforest. I feel the gentle hum of the forest mind. It know me, it sees me, it sees every cell in my body, it knows what my body is composed of, it knows my organs the way shipmakers know planks and ropes. It blows the breath of life through me, the clouds part and the moonlight meets the pool. Insects are strumming their desire and serenity. A million tiny white blossoms on creeping vines all around open up gently, chastely, politely, quietly, royally, and they bleed out their intoxicating fragrance with pure passion for life, for living, for living beings, for the mystery of being alive.

The forest blows its benevelonce through me and I am flung to far lands of imagination and wonder like upon the sails of the sea-masters. My heart is set alive with fire, the urge and the quest to know, to heap up knowing of all things within me and then to burn through them with the flame of awareness, of enquiry, of courageous curiosity. I do not know if I am the forest or if the forest is me, or if we are just remembering being together with each other before... before only comes after thinking about it. I am nowhere but where I am right now, in love with the living little quatrefoil blossoms that embrace me so sweetly with their perfume. I am a lover to them, I belong to the flowers in this moment, the flowers are all I know. I love being alive. I feel that the forest is thinking about me, contemplating me like a resource, like a tool, like a possibility. I want the forest to know that I want to see it, to know it, to embrace it through mental passion, to write poetry about being in the forest that also feels like looking at the moonlit sky, or the moon at dawn, or the moon as he only shows a sliver of his light... the moon possesses me, entrances me, mesmerizes me, seduces me. If I am to die today, I would want the birds to come peck off all my flesh just so that my skeleton could feel the light of the moon. If I am to live, may the moon be my confidant and companion, may he never leave my side.

I know that the jungle has secrets to be discovered, it has tomes untold that are whispered through its leaves. There are the bones of others, some that have never known light of day or night, which have alwas been cloaked in shadows; these skeletons become velvety, pungent, decadent with the unforgiving embrace of shadows. I am grateful for the moon as my refuge, but the shadows do not scare me. They do not scare me because they do not rule me. I am meant for the moon and it is alive within me as I live and breathe.

[Sentalia]

If I can just talk to the moon for some time as the thoughts tramp and stamp across the well-worn paths in my head; there are so many thoughts walking there that I wouldn't be able to count them all even if I tried. The moon is growing and I saw for the first time in its light how I am different. I thought it might be an illusion, a hallucination but then I began to feel, and the sense of touch won me over to feeling that it really was real. I believed touch when I didn't believe sight. I feel like it may be like that going forward. Maybe each thought is carrying a flower to Shade's bouquet... I will have to feel each and every one of them myself if I am to know them more intimately, if I am to go with my intuition that in touch there can be both connexion and understanding. I feel a deep and ancient understanding when the moonlight touches my body. I take off my clothes to be further embraced by the moonlight as it grows each night in the sky. What the moon knows, I know to be true, though as of yet I cannot put words to it, I can only marvel at it.

The moon is real, is there, and is vibrating with the power of its own intent. I think that the moonlight might be the moon's way of feeling what is happening on the ground. I think the moon has its own force which enables it to "paint in ripples upon the waters". The moon, though it changes, is also there each night. I will need this same constancy of presence within the realms of my own awareness. I have so many thoughts to encounter, a sea of them to swim in, and I pray to the moon that its embrace may cool my mind to better accept them, to greet them in bliss rather than horror.

The moon knows how I think; the moon governs my thought as it changes phases in the sky. It is not that my mind needs a better ruler, it's that I need to be a better subject to the ruler of the mind... The mind is not mine and is not me... I feel that I am like an instrument which is played upon by the mind. I pray that the mind be benevolent towards me and others, that it generates joy and insight and beauty everywhere. There is so much to learn that thinking about it all makes me want to faint... may I be as cool and calm as the moonlight, may the moon forever shine full in my mind as I go forward on my quest to make sense of things...

The moon is the only thing that makes sense, everything else is a song sung in a language that no one knows anymore... everything is a painting that slowly dances across the field of vision... everything is part of the stage upon which dances the Breath of Life. Under the moonlight, there is also the Breath of Ecstasy....