Landscape Song

"Would it help if we had music?" I ask - she laughs - I begin to sing. No questions are asked. We simply move under the moon. Blades tracing the landscape. My breath tracing the sky with song. We are far enough apart that no stray slash might decapitate, but close enough to hear. The rustle of her clothing, the swoosh of her sword. Only moonlight glinting off her blade. I can see little more.

"What language were you singing in?" she asks later "Hothingtongue" She takes this in. No questions. I give no answers. I have none. This language that bubbles from my chest has had many explanations. It is my language of magic, invoked in invocations of the gods. It is the language of sorcerers, the shadows that run beneath reality summoned to my lips. I sing when I sing when I can, once begun I have to force endings. I could go on forever.

We spin, move, dance with the moon. My sword smooth and practiced, hers hesitant, jerky at times. Both trace the silhouettes of evergreens through heavy mist. The field is wet. I find it hard to chant and dance at once. I move to english. I don't know what to sing.

"The earth - the air - the fire - the water - Return - return - return - return" The sword is a line between heaven and earth, a cross between the four elements. Earth is our stance. Air is our breath. Fire is the attack. Water receives and gives back. Together they make up our practice. Wielder of blades between so many things. The secret to swords is balance.

"What were you singing?" She asks on our way back. "Libana - old songs" She takes it in. No questions. I tire quickly of english and return to my own song. It too has meaning for any who will listen. We dance in the darkness. Moonlight glimmers off her blade.

Saikhar rhas kheli khar - tarress rumiss eike are - tolim teinei, tolem tahk, tareih seilahs arrei rhak.

Is it I who sing?
theologian theologian
18-21, M
Dec 15, 2012