Wide Open Ocean: A Dream
The wondrous lights of midwinter dotted the night like close stars and moons. They flashed green and red and orange and blue, filtering the darkness with a rainbow of colors. It was surreal looking, giving the smiling facings around the village strange skin and hair colors. When the lights became more clear, it would be easier to tell that everyone who stood in front of the altars had long, braided platinum-blonde hair, most falling past their shoulders and settling like white waves down the people's backs. They're bodies were completely covered in the homemade leathers and clothes made of the skin and cloudy fur of the ben'narri. She danced, but without the strong, carefree nature of her siblings, her tribe. There was something...
Long wood and stone buildings rose up like hills, the houses coated in moss, kissed over the tops with hearty winter-blooms. The Midwinter bonfires burned brightly, filling the immediate skies with thick gray smoke. Children danced and sang under the watchful, gleeful eyes of their parents, as spur of the moment duels between adults sprang up along the grass. Fighting, defending, guarding, and watching over the tough ben'narri, were the foundation of this culture, and had been for generations beyond recall, and the good natured sparring displayed the village's cohesive nature. Fights were clean, the loser bowing to the winner with good grace and injuries quickly forgiven. The entirety of the hill was in good spirits, and she felt out of place, her stomach knotted with some unknown tension; what could possibly bother her so completely?
A howling scream tore through an impromptu song, followed by scampering feet and another, louder yell, cut off suddenly. The villagers began to scatter like frightened ben'narri, in the face of the giant lizard. The Mil'var stood in the middle of the field, his scales flashing like purple fire in the sparks of the bonfire. The wind tore through its unfurled wings, giving them a life of their own. She faced the Dragon, watching as it lifted its foot, carrying with it a body. She could feel a scream struggling to free itself from her throat, could feel tears welling in her eyes as the body, his body, the body of her lover was lifted and shred to pieces, his wide, sightless eyes fixated on her…
The Mil'vardea sat up, drenched in sweat and breathing as though she'd been running. The night was cool, the breeze heavy, carrying her wild platinum braids around her face like tiny snakes. The Dragon touched just below her right breast; she could feel the scar across her skin even through the ben'narri wool cloth over her body.
Tears welled in her eyes without warning, blurring the sight of stars and the blanket of midnight around her. The boat deck swayed beneath her, as if to comfort, rolling her body in the cocoon of sheets on the wooden planks; the deck was comfortable, far more so than the cramped, rot-ridden room she had been given.
Wiping tears away with impatient fingers (it would not do for the night watch to see her cry like a weakling!), she pulled herself to her feet, the long blankets wrapped closely around her body against the cool evening. 'Years and years and years ago. Why do I dream of that now?' She looked down at the exposed skin of her hand, her wrist; tiny scratch lines ran along the pale skin, more permanent reminders of her battle with the Mil'var. 'That day I earned my name. My name and several weeks bedridden; those things they do not speak of when they tell heroic tales of Dragon battles and wars.'
The night wrapped its long arms around her, stilling her mind and cooling her dreams. The ocean rolled peacefully, the air growing steadily warmer as they sailed further south; they'd been several weeks already on this course. It would be another whole week before they reached land. A land that the boatman called "The Desert Midlands." They whispered tales of huge cities, decked in wild colors and an array of different colored peoples. They said this "Methron" was the center of the world of trade, the center of power.
Mil'vardea could not even begin to imagine some of the sites the sailors tried to explain. From the long seas of sand to the buildings of white stucco that reached toward the sky like white teeth… Her mind could not fathom that kind of civilization. The very idea eluded her mind, having never seen any village but her own tiny town.
The stars shone on until the beginnings of dawn, the thick navy-blue darkness was pierced and killed by the coming of the sun. The very sight of the sun's rays warmed the heaviness in Mil'vardea's heart, banishing the lingering sadness of her dreams and lulling her back into the soft embrace of her blankets and sleep.
Poor Mil'vardea. She is my favorite of the characters, which is why I started with her. She's quite the woman, really.
Forgive me if I get into the writing of this and some of the information is contradictory or lack cohesiveness. I'm trying to keep the facts all straight, but it's hard dammit!1
Sorry, Inky, I know you wanted Mil'v to meet somebody this chapter. Perhaps next chapter? This was more of an "interruption" than a whole chapter. Sorry about the shortness. I'm trying to keep everything going this weekend. :sniffle: This cold isn't helping much. Yuck. Phlem.
Watched Sense and Sensibilty. Highly recommended. Love Alan Rickman in any movie, but he was so fun in this one, yay.
Have a wonderful weekend, and thank you for reading!
:mina: