Depeche Mode - The Sun & The Rainfall
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Leaving the main gates surrounding the grounds for those who lay, without ever looking behind, knowing that she'll be there awaiting, now walking through the path of cobblestone belonging to each street of Burmecia, Freya left the main entrance of the public cemetery, sharing of a plenty of intentions other than ending up on that same place.
…
The ground can be found everywhere, where anyone can step into, though the path leading to the mountains is taken only by a few people. That may have been one of the main reasons why our ancestors left the desert, in hopes of stepping on grounds less dry and far more fertile than the hot dunes belonging to the desert. Same could be said about the Cleyrans as well, although there are a few of them who 'decided' to return to their wet homeland.
Either way, whatever is the place you choose to be called by home, you'll be buried inside the earth, or have your remains be scattered across the lands, sharing of the same scent brought by the rain, or burnt like any being lost in the desert, frozen by the thick layers of snow falling upon the limbs suffering of frostbite... Everyone, everything, anything who can be touched isn't meant to last forever.
The rain, pleasant as it is for a few, is also responsible for the decay of many structures. Throughout centuries after its date of foundation, the Burmecians had to figure out a way to prevent leakages coming from the ceilings, and the walls as well with the use of a rather advanced masonry, or just primitive enough compared to the easy-made bricks from Lindblum, and other nations. When an only house is burnt, although the fire doesn't last that long, it takes a lot of time to build an only house according to the damage suffered on its inside.
This used to happen plenty in the early days of Burmecia, who suffered from the invasion of Grand Dragons, rarely they are seen flying around here, just like the butterflies. The least that can happen of a damage inside a house may be the infiltration of water through the layers of a painted wall, leaving those dirty stains or some eruptions that can be peeled off. Gray is the color that resides within the houses of Burmecia, so does the dust inside of a swollen wall. This may be the reason why the children often play outside... They don't have the time to keep looking at the skies, or themselves.
Instead of laying above the grass, they step over it, running away from each other before they are touched, and...
— Gotcha! – I heard a shout, and I felt it as if it was my own. Then I looked upon a tree above where the little Freya used to hide when playing those hide-and-seek games.
All they do is to seek for other kids, or a place to be hidden, but they all get bored or are found instead. Small layers of snow accumulate above the leaves, the grass, only to be dissipated by the cavities made by the pouring rain. It ain't fun to play with snow, because it burns the skin, and the amount of snow that falls at Burmecia seems to be only used to preserve meat, so does the salt from the sea.
A cherry tree... I stand beneath it, recognizing such a tree even when the same didn't go through any flourishment, yet. I stood above the same tree before, where many cherries to be eaten could be found, and to be put inside the cap she used to wear above her head. The same clothes of Jack, as well. At least, they were comfy.
I remained still for a while, looking at what used to be a cherry tree, dropping its blossoms, withering petals in the pavement, which others deem to be something beautiful, although other trees and their leaves and flowers also fall in the ground as well.
I never had been fond of cherry trees, despite their fruits. I prefer Handroanthus trees, know by their yellow or purple blossoms. Now they all stand as an only green, or nothing at all, seeing the many branches without any leaves, and many trees without any trunks, people without their heads... Why the need of chopping down a tree, if the thunder from the skies is enough to burn them naturally?
Of course, because we grow with less patience throughout the years. Also, the fire doesn't last for too long on a land whose rain is eternal to be found, to be used, and to be taken only as a sign, a feature of Burmecia, despite the violence of centuries. A taste of war, the other nations say, from times and centuries before I only had been enjoying the taste of those cherries, appreciating the food given by the tree instead of its organs.
"How do trees grow fruits?" I asked once to my father, who replied that only a few trees can grow fruits, and seeds as well.
"Why?" I reluctantly asked.
"Well, it was better for the trees to grow fruits that protect the seeds, who can resist for a long time before someone puts it in the ground."
"Why was it better?" The young and naive Freya asked again. Was that the meaning of being alive... To be better than the generation that came before? So why did the others come before? Were they not good enough to not be replaced? That was beginning to be interesting, like many other questions made by that silly child.
"How was I born?" I asked, but mom replied instead, since father was gone, not before leaving a seed to be grown and to raise from above the soil it had been planted. At least, it was better than telling me that a Chocobo put me in a chimney…
"When he was very little, Jack used to look for a Moogle, as if those creatures were the ones responsibles for the delivery of any brothers, but he got a sister instead. He didn't want a brother in a way that could overlook him, but a brother to establish a relation between himself and his mother, or so that's what he told or implied for Freya.
Though many decided to live in the countryside, either due of less job options, creed, or just boredom, they move on to the main Burmecia, where the market and other guilds resides between the taller buildings, aqueducts and other structures meant to denote strength, sustain, surplus, anything for the life spent on structures that were once part of same borough, and the castle above where the seigneur rules; now, centuries late, they just changed the name with the time, just like myself.
Same meaning, other name... The Dragoon Knights, despite their title, are seen as slaves of the Kingdom, and who else isn't? Even the children, slaves of being freed from their homes, enjoying a life of pleasure instead of a life with a duty. Young is the night, so do the barrels full of tar extracted from the woods.
There is a huge amount of time, or 'gap' as it is meant to be by some, before midday, which means lunch, arrives. For a land whose sun is almost nonexistent, it means nothing to be looking at the skies to know which time it is. The water clock used to be there, but now it became just another relic from past times, since Lindblum invented the geared clocks. They created their own time, as much as Alexandria created their own Gaian calendar, which means this ain't the same 1794 they enjoy.
Anything which meant innovation came from outside, and the duty of a Dragoon Knight being a tradition of centuries... It is part of many dreams to become a Knight with the same title someday, but for me, that's only a goal, and what comes next? What if I failed to become a Dragoon Knight? Of course I wouldn't! Speaking in regards to those times I had been trained by the best Dragoon Knight I knew about, my very dear mom. May she rest in Peace.
As for father... He was taller enough to climb up a tree, courageous as well to do it with lightning being struck at the sky. Never that he would be interested in a fixed job, like mother's. For my father, it was better to choose a job 'B' or 'C' instead of an only 'A' than to feel in despair because of an only choice.
If life gives you a lemon, an orange, two tomatoes, three peppers, pineapples, cherries, acorns, then you should make a salad, or eat one at once. So healthy he was, and to think he would be gone weeks later. I had a father, I had a mother, now I have both where I need them most...
Through the seemingly endless street, because of the few steps taken, it was beginning to hurt. Not only the pain could be felt in the feet, but the same had been felt before by me. Now, I am recalling a faint memory...
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— ...I don't believe that dragons should have any pinky scales. – Said Jack, replying to his sister.
With his father resting after an entire life spent, the max as he could, and with mother on duty, Jack once again had the task of taking care of Freya, his sister. That's what any older brother would do, even if he didn't want to. But seeing how much their mother had been working for them, and everyone else, Jack had to do it; at least, it was one of the few things he was able to.
— Why not? – Freya asked, as much as she could answer questions as well, besides being able to walk with her both feet.
Good for her, and Jack as well, since that such half-dependency meant that he would never be hanging on a weight with his both limbs. How could she be that heavy with such a small height? He thought once.
Gladly, daddy spent most of his time holding his daughter instead of giving it to Jack to do it in his place. Only when he was tired, very tired, he would leave Freya to be crawling around, instead of letting her secluded within the crib, and often within Jack's sight, like now.
— Well... I mean, they are supposed to be menacing, and pinkish ain't the certain tone to be considered fearful. – Jack answered, trying to find some logic to counter his sister's supposition, a rather small talk they had been sharing while wandering through the neighborhood, with their hands attached, just like the pair of ribbons belonging to their tails.
That was one of the main reasons why Jack didn't like to be taking care of Freya on his own... because it wasn't fun. It was rather boring, dull, unless Freya came up with something interesting to be done, like these silly questions, but nothing is silly for someone who doesn't know that much of the world, or in regards to the dragons and their skins.
What makes a dragon menacing anyway? Is it the teeth? Their size? Their scales? She is only five years-old, isn't she? Jack doesn't recall ever making such questions, or having an idea of answering them.
— Daddy once told me that the colorful baits are the ones with the biggest chances of catching a fish. – Said Freya, remembering the day she had gone fishing with 'Bat', one of the names she used to call her father by. Within time, she learnt that many people used to call him 'Bart', but daddy was enough. – The intent of their colors is to make the fish lower their guards to something attractive, ain't I right?
— Of course! – Jack said. She had a point... Though father only had gone fishing while in daylight, if there is a single one at Burmecia.
Watching the clouds belonging to this morning, they shared a tone of gray blended with white, which reminded him of Freya's hair; ma's hair, pa's eyes, Jack thought again, a sort of thought that always seems to come into his mind each time he glimpses to his sister.
Like a curtain of silk, it's hard to look at her eyes when hidden by those strands, and I have no time to guess what would happen if he stared at them for too long. She won't bite... When Freya used to be afflicted by an irritation coming from her only eye, without anybody nearby to notice it, she used to close the same eye, while keeping the healthy one open as usual, until the itching ceased.
Like a cyclops... If because of a piece of her hair stuck inside the pupils, or any other kind of mote, and if closing the same only eye worked, only Freya knew for sure. Reluctantly, she had been trying to deny Jack's presence, but in the end, she agreed to be stuck with him, because of mother.
Lenneth always knew when her daughter felt ill, as much as she saw her lying and trembling with her legs, but it was cold back on that day, so Freya justified. That was a white lie after all, harmless as a bath, although some pretend to be drowning on those wooden tubs.
And, to think the same water from the bath is also the same water falling down, in the ground, and into these children's stomachs.
"it's rather silly that a meat is far watery than a puddle of muddy mud, don't you think?" That was one of the first absurds Freya came with throughout her life. Unlike jokes, she never laughed when knowing them.
And so it began another pointless talk, now concerning if the stamps attached on those letters sent by moogles are made or not of toad mucus. Jack didn't knew for sure which way found he should answer that question, but he couldn't let Freya on her own
Sound formed in a vacuum seemed a waste of time, unlike their hands glued onto another, and they didn't need any mucus to make them together for sure, this if the same could be said about Dan's one when holding Learie's own... Although Jack had a ton of friends other than his own cousin, he somehow felt that it wasn't right to leave him on his own, even though all that Dan's gestures and pulls told him were the same 'leave me alone', except with Learie, only because she is a girl.
I am only taking care of Freya like this, even holding her hand because of that same reason, Jack thought, and yet, he didn't come up with an answer, only the rain and the steps above the thin surface of water could be heard.
This awful silence... It's strange, because the reason why Dan had gotten like that was because he didn't want to be on his own, and now he denies me, as if... as if I was better than him. But now that daddy's gone, no more that I am, never that I was any better than his, Jack said, but the words still remained inside his head, accumulating like the dirt beneath his feet, inside his as a whole.
— No, I don't think so. – Said Jack, coming up with an answer. It wasn't what Freya expected of her brother, seeing the gap between her question and that kind of answer, a rather shallow one.
At least, he was a good listener, not the same as daddy, but it was better than being on her own, with nobody except herself and the doubts. Same goes for Jack, who also needed someone else to be part of his company. They both missed Bart, as much as they didn't want to be alongside each other, so close with a tie of their hands, but if mother told it so for her children to be close to each, then so be it.
— Hiya, Jack! – And so the kids came up across another boy. It was Neal, one of Jack's friends, or so Freya deduced his brother to be a friend of his.
He had a funny accent, maybe just because he was a kid, or because he was someone other than Jack, who kept growing and developing a raspy voice, instead of the acute Freya is sharing on its plenty.
— Hi, Neal. How are ya doing?
— A'm braw, Jack! – Neal said. Besides having a funny accent, his words were strange too. Only for Freya, as it seemed to be, since Jack didn't bothered about them. In fact, it seemed that he understood his a bit clearly, far more than Freya could. –Mither is clammed oan kip, fayther is workin'... ay wha is this cheeld-vean? Pyth yw dha hanow?
Neal then looked to Freya, who didn't understand what he said. Nothing, except that the boy said those words, in a tone of question. Only the tones, not what those words meant, although they seemed harmless, so Freya had no reason to follow them as some kind of offense. How could she, if they didn't know each other before?
— Well, this is my little sister, Neal. – Jack said. He was the only one there who could understand Neal's words, besides the tone. – Her name is Freya, by the way.
— Dydh da, Freyja! – Neal said, raising a hand to greet Freya's own. At least, she understood that kind of gesture, done by everyone once seen with the eyes, including father, besides the hugs once given to mother.
Both hands were used by him, but Freya just needed to trust her left hand in these kinds of situations, and gestures. Neal's hand is cold... Or maybe it's just her own that is cold to his. Not that much to be considered 'often' that the Crescent heard her own name, spoken in an old pronoun.
All the words coming out of Neal's mouth shared the same effect. They all seemed to be words spoken by the Burmecians before the invention of a fixed alphabet. Sure, she could hear an 'A', a 'B', a 'C', who sounded like a 'X' or a 'Z'... That's the problem with the words, because each one sounds different for a person and another.
But for Neal, everything who came out of his mouth sounded different, as if he didn't belong to these times. He lived in another neighborhood, as much as he had been living with another family, but Jack knew his, and with the time, he learnt to understand what those words meant, besides how odd they sounded alike.
— What did he say, Jack? – Freya said, whispering to her brother.
Certainly, he would be useful as a spokesman, a translator, whatever that counted to understand Neal, besides being a longtime friend of his. How much time did it took for Jack to understand Neal, only him to know... but that didn't matter for Freya.
— Well... Neal said 'hello' for you, Freya – Jack said.
— And before? I mean, he looked at me, and said something. I didn't understand, to be honest...
— Before? Oh, you mean when he called you by cheeld-vean? It's not a big deal, Freya. Neal said that you are a cute girl, and asked for your name, that's it. I strongly disagree, but you are one of the few who share of an arghansek blew, I mean, a silver hair, sort of, just like mamm, I mean, mom.
And so, Jack began to speak almost like Neal, whose language and speech are also blends, in a way. For Jack, speaking like that, it was his way to prove and show to Freya that he is smarter than her, or just someone that doesn't care to whom he befriends. At least, some of his friends are polite as Neal, too polite to be a friend of a Jack like his.
— Izz... zarrafact? Ya wee as a brit... ay of corse I dinnae... – The more Neal talked, the less Freya understood him, unlike her brother, who began to talk like that other boy.
There are some words spoken between Neal and Jack that the second doesn't bother if they need to be translated or not, as Freya just keeps hearing them talk, not understanding a single thing, besides when Jack decides that it's right to share their meaning to his little sister. That's his concept of being polite, as it seems
— ...Ay a-dro dhe ma chi, ah hud hansel. Th'day is dreich, dinnae ya think?
— Aye. Not a particularly nasty weather as drizzling is, but yeah, it's better than staying at home. Mom's not there to take care of us, but at least she prepared us a nice breakfast, right Freya? – Jack asked, and in an instant his sister nodded.
Freya's head began to hurt, not only due to the cold, or because the pain belonging to her feet was enough to be replaced, but that speech... It was like learning math without ever knowing how to count. It needed to be logical, it needed to make sense... it did, only for Jack. Without holding his brother's hands, Freya could have gone somewhere else, where people talk less strangely as they do, and what else?
— ...And that's enough. Farewell, Neal.
— Duw genowgh... Jack, Freya. – Neal said, before he waved his hand.
— Hah... can you believe it, Freya?
— Believe in what?
— Before I left, Neal said to me that his father saw a bucca.
— Bucca? – Freya asked. Like many of Neal's words, she didn't know what it was, or if it truly existed.
— A bucca, buccaboo. It means a ghost, a spirit, a hobgoblin... It's hard to tell exactly which one Neal's father saw, like many of his words.
— I wish that I could understand him as you do.
— You want to? It ain't going to be easy, Frida, but since you aren't a dummy, I am about to tell ya the basics. Now, for practice, say 'aye'. It means 'yes'. Come on, say it.
— Aye! – Freya said, as if she wanted someone other than her brother to listen to her words. An only word, but that was enough for her to feel a bit better.
— Great. See, you'll get it all with time, if you keep with this same spirit. Now, count with me. Onan... dew... tri... peswar... pymp... hwegh... seyth... eth... naw... deg...
And so, Freya learnt how to count on Neal's language. It was funny that others learned to count in the same way while playing hide-and-seek. Before, they were confused by those words, but since they recognized the same pattern, the game became the same thing as usual.
...
Until today, Freya hasn't learned all of Neal's words, or his own dialect, currently endemic to Burmecia, so does this rain only a few notice.
It just became so common, so homogeneous, unlike the many customs and traditions left by the ancestors. That's all they could do in life... To left something in this small world, for only a few people. Few of them became Dragoon Knights, recognized as such as well.
What could I do that could turn into something universal? She thought. Only a few things become part of everyone. Only the children learnt how to count from onan to deg, because their relatives had been instructed to count from one to ten.
The Crescent's of each generation became Dragoon Knights because of the blood, but Freya and those who came before her do share plenty of reasons to do so, but only those who are alive can tell exactly why.
'From smiles to frowns, cries to laughters; If faith is what driven us together in search of ourselves, then we must try to do it on a leap', these are the words who once belonged to Lenneth, now inscribed on Freya's mind, who will someday make their meaning available to someone other than herself, also leading its way to the trail of dawn.
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