[ Post a Response | Desreal ]
Posted by FEI on March 5, 2009, 2:21 pm
98.116.126.229
The birds are singing.
It's not that unusual, even in winter, but the cacophony which erupts now in the Glade is near fever pitch, every snow blanketed tree branch alive with chirping, singing, screeching birds. Sparrows, crows, hawks, owls, starlings, gulls, pipers, coming and going, fluttering and whistling, all of them centered around one tall, faded gray mare who moves slowly, ghostlike and silent through the forest. When she speaks, it is soft, but the wind catches her words, catches them and brings them to the single set of dark ears who needs to hear them most.
"Fantome, I am here and I am waiting for the you who isn't you. I will wait. I will be here."
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