Eyes of twilight

The light of the fire illuminates all within its grasp, except my foe. His darkness nearly absorbs the light itself. He is blacker than anyone I have seen in all my days. He steps forward, a wicked smile upon his dark face. Again his words rake across my ears, their sounds, gutteral.

"You should not be here."

His words spit at me from across the distance, yet I hold firm my ground. I take my eyes not from him as stumbling sounds assault me from behind. I am surrounded. I fight the urge to look, to turn, but I cringe at the thought of turning away from what is before me. My blade though sharp, feels no more than a toy within my grasp. His blade is one that is true.

"My travels are my business." I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly as parched as a desert flower. My skin floods with perspiration, raining, as if I were standing before a hundred such fires, yet I muster the courage to respond. "I will go where I will."I straighten, that I would stand as tall as I am able.


A sudden snap, the sound of cracking brambles makes its presence known above the snapping of the flames, and I am forced to turn. My circle is dwindling, the light failing in the gathering darkness. I raise my blade to challenge the new, but twilight stills my eyes as I fall to a blow upon my neck and I am thrust, into nothingness.

A dark blade

The snarling voice I hear behind me is almost unrecognizable as words. I spin quickly, bringing my dagger up. I hear a boisterous laugh as my fingers tighten about my blade's hilt. Would that I now have taken a proper sword on this adventure. What now stands before me, I have never seen the like.

"Leave this place," I challenge. I feel the heat from the embers upon my leg as I stand firm beside the flames. My senses are exploding at the visceral emotions welling up within. Again a guttural laugh replies to my words.

"You are alone in this darkness."

I struggle to understand the words spat at me. It is a voice that sounds like rocks tumbling down a hill during a thunderstorm. Never before has my skin crawled with fear as it does now. I feel the sweat boiling from my pores, soaking my clothing from beneath. My hand is so tight around my blade, I feel my fingertips may rupture.

I step back again as he raises his blade. His form nearly doubles my height, though he is slender, nearly wraith-like, yet I do not doubt his manner. He is dark and foreboding, the dancing light giving subtle definitions to his shape. I step back yet again as he steps forward, the blade he wields dark, even by the fire's glow.

"You should not be here," the voice crackles. "This is my place."

"I shall go where I go." I am surprised by my sudden surge of vigor in the face of the unknown, before darkness that tests my nerve. My feet step forward without my consent, refuting the intimidation that crawls upon me.

Another laugh from the darkness presses my ear. We are not alone, yet perhaps, I am.

Boredom

It is with heart, a lustful look forward that any adventure we wish to undertake begins. I remember that first day that I decided to ultimately pursue this adventure, this quest into the unknown. I was giddy with anticipation. In that moment, that instant of time, the world outside my walls filled with all that I could imagine, all that I could dream. My plans then began in earnest to walk from these valleys into a world I could only imagine.

Unfortunately, I have come to find that most of my adventure is cloaked in boredom. I had dreams of vistas unseen that stretched to horizons untrod for years. What I do now after weeks of this journey is walk in the shadows of the same mountains that kept me prisoner. My eyes endlessly search for new frontiers, but I am alone with my thoughts. Come the rising of the sun, I my heart soars with the endless possibilities that may unfold with the new day. Yet, come the failing of the light behind the distant mountains, I am once again disappointed. The night acts as a cover that stills my dreams and snuffs them out as a candle beneath a wet, wool blanket.

The flames of the fire begin to die before me as night takes hold of the surrounding world. Though the sounds of light no longer linger in my ears, those that inhabit the night begin to make their presence known. I prod the embers with my stick, the warmth bathing me as my back begins to tense. I feel a presence, a presence that should not be here. I swallow hard as my throat becomes parched. I feel the lump therein as my skin begins to crawl, the hair standing on end. As my hand falls to my weapon, I know this shall not be a quiet night.

A sense of renewal

The morning passes quickly as my walk has taken me across rolling fields of nature's bounty along the foothills of my prison. But, to look upon these bars from the outside is a different feeling altogether. In the days gone by of my youth they were no more than an adventure to one-day explore. But to the life that I had come to live, these mountains became my prison, a barrier to what was beyond.

It is the sneaky passage of time that has hemmed in my world. The glorious days of youth are carefree and playful. As time marches on and childhood fades to ages of companionship, the work of a day begins to take hold. The times spent running through potato patches are replaced by the struggles of chores that need doin'. Dreams of adventure fade to those moments that are held in the twilight of the day and then all at once, are gone. Only ones dreams then hold the promise of a far-away land. And then, even those thoughts buried within our nightly conscious are stolen away.

I look skyward as the sun falls upon my face and washes these thoughts away. I bask in the warmth of light, and thoughts of a new world now open; a world filled with all the adventures my youthful self could imagine. The line of the Sirris marches on. To what end shall they take me? I have only to place one foot in front of the other to find my way.

Direction

My morning awakens as the sun again begins its journey above the horizon. My night was wrapped in solitude as I quickly realized how alone I have been on this short journey. Only a few weeks out and I now understand the value of companionship. Though I have always lived alone, there was naught for lack of conversation, always a neighbor or friend at the ready. A casual conversation by the fire was a pleasant reminder of my life. It is, however, the reason I began this journey in the first place, as that was the substance of my life.

 I look above as the light of day is humbled by the mists that snake their way through the high passes of the Sirris. I feel the warmth of the coming day upon my shoulders and know I shall bathe in warmer nights as I move south and near the end of the Dream Valley. But for now, the mornings are alive still with a gentle embrace of cold, all the more necessary that I awake with a warm breakfast. The fire ebbs low as the small amount of fat that remains crackles in the pan above the dieing flames. My luck was with me this morning as I trained my weapon upon a hare, feeling the recoil as my arrow takes flight. As I have practiced little; luck was my aim this day.

I slide my cooking pan back into my pack and take stock of my belongings, thankful for the handful of eggs from Clarisa. They have made my breakfast complete and renewed my legs for the journey ahead. Three now have I crossed paths with, and I am the better for all. It is now that I begin to wonder not only what I shall come across in this journey, but who.

As I hike my pack upon my shoulders, my eyes follow the line of the Sirris as the mountains march toward the south. That is my direction, toward the end of their line.

Far Wilderness

My day of excitement draws to a close, a rather mundane experience as it turns out. The world of night settles in against the Sirris, my back up against the mountains as my view extends yet again across the fields and plains of the Far Wilderness. An interesting name, my people have given this. It is said long ago when Sheimas came to these lands, these three valleys they now call home, they could have chosen a different path. The valleys of the Chrystum were nurturing and protective, their spires sentinels against the outside world. The view from atop the tallest of the tall, Mount Khourne was an expanse eastward into the unknown; a far wilderness.

I reflect back on the one word, Khourne. It is nearly magical to my people. I rest my back against the dirt of the mountain that juts skyward above me. It is tall yet pales in comparison to that mountain that calls to nearly all who are Sheima. Its spire towers above all else, dwarfing those who shall challenge its summit. Someday I would like to challenge its heights, but that will come at a time of my choosing. I am but a babe in the woods.

The sky above blackens as the sun falls below the Western Sea on the other side of my world. The rains I braced for scampered to the east along with the high clouds that held them, blown by the uppermost winds that trail from the nostrils of the gods. The dampness I feel from them however sends shivers deep into my bones. Would that Clarisa would stoke the small fire before me with the warmth of her hearth. That thought alone brings a smile to my lips. The rock against me feels not like the sturdy chair beneath me a day ago.

Night settles in and a new day will be on the horizon.

High Song Pass

The morning sun has long since passed, its light swallowed by the blackening sky. I feel the chill breeze as it snakes through the mountain passes to my right. The gathering clouds signal a storm chasing its way across the upper reaches of the Dream Valley.

Such a sight I recall from years ago, my first visit upon the heights of High Song Pass. The memory still stirs my soul as for the first time, I put behind me the mundane farmer's fields of the Middle Valley of the Chrystum. Before me lay the valley that truly holds the beauty of my lands; the Dream Valley. I stood that day on the precipice that began my journey of self-discovery. The endless lands of summer that day took hold of my heart and pierced my soul. Had I not discovered the scenic beauty that day, I would likely not walk the paths before me now.

The wilderness to my left, though scenic holds not the untouched timelessness of the Dream Valley, a land held near sacred in the lore of my peoples. It is the last vestige of what we were, of what it means to be Sheima. My first night, my own dreams touched the lore of that landscape as its world unfolded to me in my sleep; truly a dreamland.

I take in the peaks before me and may only imagine their views into that valley. Though beauty is fleeting, none could hold the mesmerizing quality of the lands below High Song Pass. It shall ever be emblazoned in my memories.

The wind whips down upon me through a cleft between the mountains and I pull my cloak up tight about me. I feel the first drops of the coming rains. I now wish for one more day in my friend's cottage. It is not to be. I must look ahead; only ahead.