She had appeared out of nowhere, like a wraith out of the morning mist. Her hair, as red as the flames licking at the wood that fueled Allistor's fire, glinted gold in the sun's early rays. As he watched, she stepped slowly, elegantly, out from the fog, her eyes fixated on a point in front of her. He watched her through hooded eyes from his vantage point on a ledge above the moor. She walked like a dancer, extending one long leg, her arms and hands held gracefully out behind her. Her flowing, emerald gown seemed to float around her in an unseen breeze.
The ethereal woman stopped at a point directly in front of his line of sight. Allistor took a long drag on his pipe, his green eyes fixated on her as she stopped and slowly looked around, her arms still extended behind her. Slowly, as if she was moving through water, she reached into the folds of her gown and withdrew a long, wooden flute. Lifting to her lips and closing her eyes, she started playing a mysterious, eerie melody. She played alone, the song echoing around the empty landscape and filling every corner and crevice. The notes raised the hair on the back of his neck-the tune was unearthly, but appealing.
Just like the beauty who played it.
As if in answer to her music, the Scot saw more figures creeping from the mists-women in the same flowing dresses and jewel-tone colors of the first woman's outfit. They stepped just as gracefully as she did, as if they were dancers walking on to a gigantic stage. Men slowly followed, and though they didn't walk as gracefully they still had an elegance and power about them. They slowly formed a circle around her, and he saw some of the men had instruments. One carried a drum, which he slowly began to beat in a quick, rhythmic pulse. Another carried a fiddle, and he started to play not too long after.
And suddenly, they began to dance. Their feet pounded into the ground, making muted "thumps" against the dirt. The woman with the flute had stopped playing, and was slowly walking out into the ring around her. She was dancing with the rest of them, her bare feet seeming to barely touch the ground. Her red hair swirled like fire around her face as she spun and leapt with her comrades. Allistor found himself slowly making his way down from his ledge to get closer to the spinning group, his eyes locked on the red-headed dancer. Hiding behind a clump of bushes, he could see her eyes were still closed.
The rhythm changed-the drums sounded more tense, and the fiddle stopped playing completely. The woman raised the flute to her mouth again, and she blew an eerie, high-pitched note that sent the dancers spinning wildly out of the circle. Suddenly her eyes flew open, and Allistor found himself staring into a pair of shimmering, silver-blue eyes. She played another series of whistle-like notes that slowly drew him out of his hiding spot, still holding his green eyes with her mysterious, otherworldly ones. Before long he had been drawn out into the circle, and the other two instrumentalists came back.
He found his feet moving in a complicated series of steps and stomps that reverberated against the ground just like the mysterious dancers' had. The man with the fiddle played a jaunty, quick-step rhythm that had his feet stepping so rapidly he could barely believe he was the one doing the dance steps. The woman watched him carefully, no expression on her pale face. As the fiddle grew wilder and wilder, so did his movements. He realized that he wasn't the one controlling his steps-the music was doing all the work.
The woman with the flute started to dance toward him, her feet mimicking the movements that his were making. They circled closer together, the distance between them growing smaller and smaller. When they were inches apart, she suddenly smiled at him, and he smiled right back at her-what else was he to do? They put a hand around the other's waist, keeping their circling steps tight and close. Before long, she let go and spun away from him, the other dancers following her. Wanting to call out, but having no voice to speak with, he tried to go after her, but the fiddler and drummer blocked his path.
The fiddler played as he walked backwards, eyes as steely-blue as the woman he'd danced with. The mist closed around them, though the music didn't grow any fainter. The fast-paced fiddle suddenly cut off, and Allistor collapsed to the ground. As he slowly got to his feet, he heard the flute again, as slow and mournful as a dirge. It was almost like a goodbye, but as he listened he thought he could hear a second, subtle message in the depressive tune. A promise, he supposed, as good a promise as he could ever hope for from fleeting images. We will come back.
A/N: Hi guys! Sorry I haven't uploaded anything for my other two stories-I'm on SERIOUS writer's block for "Mystique of the Island" and can't find what I did to the written copy of "Change of Plans." But I decided to upload this just for fun-I wrote it while listening to "Reel Around the Sun" from Riverdance. I'm sorry if it doesn't seem Hetalia related, but Scotland is in there, I promise! I know I had an unnamed OC in there, and it was kind of random, but I still had a lot of fun writing it and that's all that should matter, right? :3 Anyway, I'll be thinking of more ideas for "MotI" and I'm still looking for the written "CoP," I promise. Thanks!