Season of Spring, Day 9, 511 AV
On the tree there were signals of yellow and a pair of reds, mingled with gesticulating greens that flickered in recurring periods; the wind would roll over the terrain, then cease, and then return seconds later, and the whole process was smooth to the ear, serene like the tide of the sea. And it was the sea in its own manner: the Sea of Grass washed all about, and the tree was an island, lonely and sharp in the dull-emerald waves.
For the time, the tree was partnered. Azurk explored the bloom with his outstretched arm, weaving his fingertips across and through the leaves and the beaming apples as if he were a tailor of harvest. The fruits were signals, indeed, like the sprouts of flame in a gradually combusting fire, growing yet into maturity with the ripening of Spring. And they were made ever more vivid by their birth from end of the harsh reign of Winter.
The two that glowed red were undoubtedly gifts. Azurk had only a vague concept of seasonal time, but he knew that the ruby color was difficult to come by so early in the year. The Season of Birth invoked many miracles, not the least of which being so secret as these apples, hidden from all those who would not venture out into the wild and take a moment to feel the blossoming world.
He was not out here of his own accord, though. Kalik had made the march out into the grasslands, hoping for a hunt. The sun was descending from its zenith, and the world was wide awake, but only the whispers of it could be heard out here. Kalik had attempted tracking for a while, to no avail, for he was primarily a warrior, not a hunter. When Kalik had grown bored, Azurk had taken hold and decided to walk. Now he would reap the rewards of his exploration. He repositioned himself, reached out, and twisted the first of the apples from the tree.
Snap. One. Snap. Two.
He unslung his pack from his shoulders and knelt down. The grass was regrowing in this area; the Winter had claimed some of it and Spring would conjure reinforcements. For now, his head poked above the blades, but in another time or place he would have been completely concealed by the grass.
Azurk shined the apples with a few dabs from his cloak and then brandished them for his own inspection. Flawless. He made no particular sound and revealed nothing through facial expression. He tucked one into his bag, stood back up, and slipped his arms through the straps, ready to move once more. The apple he had not put away he held, then took a generous, fulfilling bite. The crack of the skin and the flow of juice: he savored these sensations, delighting in the sweet flavor, if only to himself.
He was incredibly lonely.