-1Chapter I

Sonaran Green

Small and blue.

A tint of green, and a splash of yellow.

Sweet vanilla mixed with the pure syrup scent right from the trees.

That's how I knew I was home, and how I knew I was safe. The crisp Sun illuminated rich fragments of warmth that would lightly lick your skin. Laughter and smiles echoed soundlessly all around us, and we knew we were home. That we were safe.

Sonarans. That was the name of my people. All of us were individually beautiful, and handcrafted by a special note. We were known by others as 'The Ones Who Sing'. We sing to the trees, to the mountains, to the animals, to our children…

Mother had a beautiful voice. Rich and full of life that cunningly wrapped around your heart, and would even make you shiver. Mother with her lavender lips and her delicate honey-rich lungs. "A true Sonaran. She was fully blessed by The Blossom." That's what they'd mutter, and that's what was told, and that was the truth.

The Blossom. It is what we you might call a 'law'. The Blossom stands for all. It stands for the beautiful change in the trees from winter to spring. It stands for the sweet metamorphosis of the butterflies. It stands for the streams, as they slow melt away their icy façade and become pure and clear. It stands for the moment in which our boys, become men. It stands for the moment in which our girls, become women.

"You're a bud." They'd call me, when I was younger, "Waiting to blossom." I didn't understand this at first, but I soon found out when my day came to Blossom. I am still unsure as to the reason they have such a fancy over it. "You may bear children if you wanted to." The elders would sweetly giggle, and I still didn't understand.

The Blossom is also a representative for our most joyous color: green. Green is everything. Green is the color of the trees, of the algae in our streams, of the grass beneath our feet, to the decorations of sweet delicate flowers, and splashes of green on the butterflies. Green is the color of my Mother's eyes. Green is the color of my eyes.

Every morning I'd sigh, and smile up at the sky as I gave thanks to The Blossom, Green, and the Sun. The Sun was our guardian, the trees our uncles and aunts, and the wildlife was our brothers and sisters. Our Mothers and Fathers were our ancestors, sometimes known to come back as an animal, and sometimes a tree.

My loving sister… She was too young to have been criminal to such a loss. She basked in the Sun's vibrant rays for four summers, after that, she was taken away by the Black Stallion. Our form of Death. Bright, red specks would explode from her if she ran too much, if she climbed too high, if she swam too quickly. It was as if The Blossom was trying to hold her back. Her name was Phaedra, and I knew from the moment she arrived, that she was as rambunctious as a mare. Long legged and full of life, always active, and always ready to play.

After she died, a beautiful white mare arrived a few mornings later. We believe Phaedra decided to come back to our world as a beautiful mare. A beautiful white mare. Long legged and full of life, always active, and always ready to run. She could run as fast as the wind would carry her, and she'd never feel any pain. The Blossom probably wanted her to live her life fully, without the crimson droplets.

Phaedra was my sister. She was my loving sister who was as beautiful as her mother. Bearing green eyes and sweet blonde hair. Her was like Father's. It was like lightning. Fierce and striking. The white mare was just as fierce, and because she was so fond of me, I named her Phaedra. The name of my sister. The sister who was taken by the Black Stallion.

Every morning Phaedra and I ride to the hill top where I brush her hair and sing to her, her favorite song. It was a simple story that was sung to all the Sonaran children, and Phaedra would beg to hear it before she went to sleep.

Day upon day, he gazed at me longly, inquiring my beauty.

He'd ask an old friend, "Who is she? Who is she?" and smile delicately.

Brushing my hair, he'd watch me fondly, stumped by reality.

He'd ask his strict father, "May I love her dearly?"

He'd become angry.

"Don't fall for such tricks." His father warned him, but he was stubborn indeed.

"No Father. No Father. I must have, you see? I'm begging on my knees."

Day upon day, he pondered longly, hoping "Does she love me?"

He ran for his Mother,

So tender and caring,

Praying continuously.

"Oh Mother. Oh Mother. I must love her dearly, I'm trapped in her beauty. I've gazed upon her, day and day, hoping that she, loves me."

His Mother smiled,

So warm and caring,

"Love her my son. Love her."

Mother always sings it so tenderly to me as I fall asleep each night. Even now, in my sixteenth summer, she continues to remind me of a love I'll find one day. "He'll be caring and sweet." She'd smiled.

"And gaze at me longly?" I'd giggle.

She always smiles and continues, "…inquiring your beauty…"

Then I'd fall into a deep sleep.

I'd dream.

I always dreamt.

Flowers. Trees. Laughter. Smiles.

The Blossom, Green, and the Sun as it licked at the small hairs on my arms.

I always dreamt.

I always dreamt of beauty.

Mother, Father, and Phaedra.

Those that'll always care for me.

That'll always, always be there for me.

The tune in the song is actually 'Angel of Music', from Phantom of the Opera, but the lyrics are of my own.