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Beneath the Shade

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Beneath the Shade


In the thick woods, where light filtered through the virescent facade of the Mother’s great dark oaks and the cool air damply hung, stood a boy beneath the shade. His form blended with the Forest’s green and brown mosaic, assisted by the tranquil grasp of shade and darkness which blanketed the emerald domain. His light brown skin, perhaps out of place in the Forest of oaks whose dusky hue complimented the deepness of the shade their mighty  canopies offered, mimicked the grey-brown of figs and oaks and pines. His dull emerald gaze, a hue unspectacular and unsaturated in the presence of other glorious greens, reflected the newly fallen leaves and the trodden grass of the woodland. The whipping of the boy’s robed garment in the gentle breeze which held a light, cold sting, could not be distinguished from the rustle of the Forest’s tall grass and bountiful bushes, and the gentle tremble of the leafy roof above.


As Aelor Caerme’onn stood before a decidedly approachable dark oak, with room enough for the song and dance he so desired to hone, and tilted his wooden quarterstaff tipwise to his stationary opponent, the boy discovered alien intricacies of his form. The way his breath slowed to a subconscious, controlled pattern he could not quite distinguish, but knew was ever-present. How his bare feet spread across the emerald verdance as they sought comfortability and sturdiness in stance. His muscles, albeit weak and atrophied, tensed in preparation. His focus sharpened upon the dark bark facade which hid the inner wooden flesh like shielded skin.





It dawned upon the boy, old of age yet younger of growth, that these doings were not his own; as those in his spar previous, with his mentor, were not his own. He understood that the lower-bound swipe that offset the Taliame’onn was the impression set upon his memory by his brother. He realised that the strike, in the manner of Siss’siru, was guided by a force invisible. The guidance of his lethargic form and the blessing of some courage and push usually alien, were at the command of such guiding force. He understood, then, that in the moment where he inexplicably triumphed in the fight, that that guiding force was his father. The Caribou Druid imbued the boy with that foreign courage and drive; his father’s hand lifted his form, and guided his staff.


He understood, then, the Father,

the blessing of the Father.

the balance of the Father.


A wetness stained his dull emerald gaze, and his vision was hazy. Tears had formed. Maudlin weakness had worked itself in, again, yet such was banished swiftly as the boy steeled himself, and swept the tears from his eyes. His feet, held tilted on the frontal in agile-anticipation, spread apart. His breath fell in a light rhythm, his chest rising and falling to the tranquil hymn. His right hand gripped the upper-bound, as his left met the lower-bound. His left foot swiftly stomped forth as he rounded the bottom of the staff to collide with the thick, dark bark of oak. The heavy strike resounded with a thwack, and Aelor continued; again, rounding the bottom of the staff back so the front may forcefully come forth in a declining jab. It again collided audibly, and off-set the boy’s balance. Aelor lost his footing, and tumbled back. He said naught, and cried naught.

He stood, again,

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