Author's Note: I wrote this for a school classical league project a while back, so it could probably use some reworking. What do y'all think? There was a word limit of 500 I think, which is why it's so short.
The Beginning of the Lark
Calandra sat at her loom, weaving busily. Fair of skin, she had dark brown hair and deep brown eyes that seemed to know so much. She was slender of build, and her hands were nimble as they moved among the threads of the loom. She sang sweetly as she did so, her voice rising through the sultry afternoon air. Hearing a noise in the doorway, she looked up, startled, and her voice died in her throat. A tall figure stood in the doorway, shrouded in black, with a hood covering its face. As Calandra stared, the figure removed its hood, revealing the face of a woman, but like no woman Calandra had ever seen. Her face was almost ageless, without wrinkles, but seemingly hundreds of years old.
"My dear," the woman murmured. "What a lovely voice you have! Perhaps you would judge a simple contest one of my sisters and I are having." the woman murmured. "I am Calliope, the Muse of Epics, and the contest is with my sister Erato, Muse of Lyrics."
Calandra smiled, proud at being chosen for such an honor. "I would be delighted." she murmured. In a rush of wind, the muse caught her up and bore her to a sunny island, where eight other women were waiting. Calliope set her down carefully, and informed her sisters, "This is Calandra, and she shall be our judge."
One of the other muses, whom Calandra supposed to be Erato, stepped forward, and nodded solemnly. "I agree. Let us begin."
She opened her mouth, and outpoured a sweet song. It was a song of rivers and valleys, of trees and mountains, a song without words, but almost achingly sweet. Calandra's her brown eyes glistened. At last, when Erato completed her song, Calandra closed her eyes, letting the feeling that had come from listening to it seep through her body. It reminded her of home and the still courtyard, of all the things she loved.
When again she opened her eyes, Calliope began. She sang a song of war, of bloody battle and fierce glory. Calandra's heart beat swiftly within her as she listened to the tale, her mind glorying in the hero's brilliance.
But when the last echoes of Calliope's song died away, Calandra was faced with a choice. The glory of Calliope's song had thrilled her, but the lasting sweetness of Erato's song delighted her more. She stood, and murmured her decision.
Calliope's face twisted angrily, and she stamped her foot. In one instant, Calandra was changed into a small brown bird. "Let that show you not to meddle in the affairs of goddesses!" the muse cried. But Erato had pity on the girl, and as the bird flew, she bestowed upon her the gift of song. From the drab-backed bird's mouth issued an exquisite melody, a song echoing Erato's own song sung just moments before. And Erato named the tiny bird the lark, and ever since then, the lark has thrilled many with its beautiful song.
