Moon's Dance
Chapter I
The lone voice
A voice on the wind was how it started, the night was a cold one. The blizzard raged and whistled, and yet you could hear it. Carrying pure and beautiful over the storm. The words were that of old, the tongue lost to civilisation and yet the voice sang on, growing stronger and purer. Alongside the strange music sang something else, its tune matched that of the song but it was something different. It flowed with the voice, the voice unknowingly giving it purpose. As the voice grew louder so did this strange shadow of a voice. That shadow was magic, and it was old and as the voice sang the magic sung too. And many a sorcerer and sorceress ventured forward to find the owner of this voice, but always when they were close the song would end and the voice disappear. The magic nothing but a dream, uttered and forgotten. Soon after the song would end storms would subside and the sun would shine down on the folk that travelled and migrated across the ancient lands of the Gods. The owner of the voice that had sung could only be very young, the voice had started singing a couple of years before. They would never find the owner of the voice, or so they thought.
Shade was only about thirteen years old, his hair was snow-white and hacked of short, so it was only a hand's depth long. His eyes were golden, the pupils slits, like a cat's. He surveyed the seen, hundreds of people, on the plains below, all preparing for the long trip north. They killed bears and wolves to get their warm hides and slew many a creature to get food and supplies. He, too, would have to do this if he wanted to make the journey. He thought it strange how people seemed to feel safety in numbers, they were like deer he supposed. He was not with the large group of people below however. No, his feet had been planted on the wandering trail a long time ago, he was too old to change his ways. He turned and jumped down from his tree-branch lookout and land in a six feet snow-drift. He struggled out spitting snow and dirt, he shook his head to try and get read of all the snow in his hair and eyes. He sneezed suddenly, and the force pushed him off balance and back into the snow-drift. When he got out a small dark furred weasel was sitting on a log ad laughing at him. He shook his head at the creature, walked over to the log and offered his hand to the weasel. It jumped onto his hand, ran up his arm and curled itself around his shoulders. "Slink," he said to the weasel "what am I to do with you, eh?". The weasel made a sound between a growl and purr. Shade snorted and started off in a random direction. It was easier to wander than follow a direct path to somewhere. Less easy to get lost. He walked through the snow blanketed forest, casually humming to himself. The only things dark in the forest were the trees, they stood tall and fierce, many of them old and wise. Sometimes when everything was especially quiet shade thought he could hear voices sing together in harmony. Sometimes he joined in their song and sung out loud, even though he was sure he'd never heard the words before he seemed to know them. He kept up his trudging, the voices whispering in and out of his mind. Beside his ear, Slink chattered something, "thought so myself" he said in reply. Slink's tail briefly tickled his cheek and then he dosed off. So he walked on every now and then he fell in a deep snow- drift, he would wade through them and continue. Unlike some folk who would stop and complain for a while, Shade didn't have time for such boring pastimes. He thought only stupid and arrogant people would complain about such a thing, once something has happened it's happened and no amount of complaining and whimpering is ever going to change that! As he walked he began to sing a song that the trees liked to sing, each creature or plant had its own preference to song and there was one for them all. Soon voices began join his as the whole forest jumped joyously into song, the trees sang and whispered, and providing the melody where several Sparrows and Starlings, Shade even caught a Nightingale's voice on the wind. The Nightingale's voice matched his own and the sung the tune together even as day darkened to evening, and evening to night. The song finally stopped when Shade's eyelids drooped shut and he drifted into a dreamless sleep. Slink bounded softly over to the sleeping boy, he rubbed his face against the boy's then wriggled into his shirt to curl himself protectively around his neck.
As the boy slept the moon sang, his voice echoing over the still forest, the trees swaying in its presence and many a creature singing to its weary tune. Yet as day drew the moon sang on, singing for a boy and a weasel. And even as the sun began to rise, he sang. Even as the horizon began to grow light, he sang. As the skies around him turned to the reds and yellows of the morning, he sang. Even as the song drew to a close he made sure the last words were heard, "hope, fear and fire, they beat in his chest" and the moon was gone sinking below the horizon as the sun rose, his song sinking and diminishing with him, until all that could be heard was the sun clumsily trying to imitate the moon's grace. But all knew, the song was moon's and moon's to keep. Sun may be bright and shining but moon is graceful and can sing like no other and no other can sing like moon.
Chapter II
The grace of dance
The sun rose and shone, the skies changed their colours and the stars winked out. Yet Shade slept on, and Slink, like his name, slunk out of the cave where they had spent that stormy night. He bounded into the forest, using all his keen weasel senses so he could make sure the Shade woke up to a nice fresh winter's rabbit.
Chapter I
The lone voice
A voice on the wind was how it started, the night was a cold one. The blizzard raged and whistled, and yet you could hear it. Carrying pure and beautiful over the storm. The words were that of old, the tongue lost to civilisation and yet the voice sang on, growing stronger and purer. Alongside the strange music sang something else, its tune matched that of the song but it was something different. It flowed with the voice, the voice unknowingly giving it purpose. As the voice grew louder so did this strange shadow of a voice. That shadow was magic, and it was old and as the voice sang the magic sung too. And many a sorcerer and sorceress ventured forward to find the owner of this voice, but always when they were close the song would end and the voice disappear. The magic nothing but a dream, uttered and forgotten. Soon after the song would end storms would subside and the sun would shine down on the folk that travelled and migrated across the ancient lands of the Gods. The owner of the voice that had sung could only be very young, the voice had started singing a couple of years before. They would never find the owner of the voice, or so they thought.
Shade was only about thirteen years old, his hair was snow-white and hacked of short, so it was only a hand's depth long. His eyes were golden, the pupils slits, like a cat's. He surveyed the seen, hundreds of people, on the plains below, all preparing for the long trip north. They killed bears and wolves to get their warm hides and slew many a creature to get food and supplies. He, too, would have to do this if he wanted to make the journey. He thought it strange how people seemed to feel safety in numbers, they were like deer he supposed. He was not with the large group of people below however. No, his feet had been planted on the wandering trail a long time ago, he was too old to change his ways. He turned and jumped down from his tree-branch lookout and land in a six feet snow-drift. He struggled out spitting snow and dirt, he shook his head to try and get read of all the snow in his hair and eyes. He sneezed suddenly, and the force pushed him off balance and back into the snow-drift. When he got out a small dark furred weasel was sitting on a log ad laughing at him. He shook his head at the creature, walked over to the log and offered his hand to the weasel. It jumped onto his hand, ran up his arm and curled itself around his shoulders. "Slink," he said to the weasel "what am I to do with you, eh?". The weasel made a sound between a growl and purr. Shade snorted and started off in a random direction. It was easier to wander than follow a direct path to somewhere. Less easy to get lost. He walked through the snow blanketed forest, casually humming to himself. The only things dark in the forest were the trees, they stood tall and fierce, many of them old and wise. Sometimes when everything was especially quiet shade thought he could hear voices sing together in harmony. Sometimes he joined in their song and sung out loud, even though he was sure he'd never heard the words before he seemed to know them. He kept up his trudging, the voices whispering in and out of his mind. Beside his ear, Slink chattered something, "thought so myself" he said in reply. Slink's tail briefly tickled his cheek and then he dosed off. So he walked on every now and then he fell in a deep snow- drift, he would wade through them and continue. Unlike some folk who would stop and complain for a while, Shade didn't have time for such boring pastimes. He thought only stupid and arrogant people would complain about such a thing, once something has happened it's happened and no amount of complaining and whimpering is ever going to change that! As he walked he began to sing a song that the trees liked to sing, each creature or plant had its own preference to song and there was one for them all. Soon voices began join his as the whole forest jumped joyously into song, the trees sang and whispered, and providing the melody where several Sparrows and Starlings, Shade even caught a Nightingale's voice on the wind. The Nightingale's voice matched his own and the sung the tune together even as day darkened to evening, and evening to night. The song finally stopped when Shade's eyelids drooped shut and he drifted into a dreamless sleep. Slink bounded softly over to the sleeping boy, he rubbed his face against the boy's then wriggled into his shirt to curl himself protectively around his neck.
As the boy slept the moon sang, his voice echoing over the still forest, the trees swaying in its presence and many a creature singing to its weary tune. Yet as day drew the moon sang on, singing for a boy and a weasel. And even as the sun began to rise, he sang. Even as the horizon began to grow light, he sang. As the skies around him turned to the reds and yellows of the morning, he sang. Even as the song drew to a close he made sure the last words were heard, "hope, fear and fire, they beat in his chest" and the moon was gone sinking below the horizon as the sun rose, his song sinking and diminishing with him, until all that could be heard was the sun clumsily trying to imitate the moon's grace. But all knew, the song was moon's and moon's to keep. Sun may be bright and shining but moon is graceful and can sing like no other and no other can sing like moon.
Chapter II
The grace of dance
The sun rose and shone, the skies changed their colours and the stars winked out. Yet Shade slept on, and Slink, like his name, slunk out of the cave where they had spent that stormy night. He bounded into the forest, using all his keen weasel senses so he could make sure the Shade woke up to a nice fresh winter's rabbit.