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piosenniel · 06-18-2003, 05:52 PM

Qirfah

The breeze was hot, and from the east. The sort that drove the tiniest of sparks from a ill tended campfire into a raging blaze through the tall dry grass if left unheeded.

Despite the labors of the day, Qirfah was restless. Her children slept soundly, the innocent dreams of the very young playing behind their eyes. She could hear them murmuring softly to some unseen playmate, calling out to them to come and finish up a game. In the warmth of the tent, they had thrown off their light covers, and lay stretched out in their innocence on their mats.

She smiled toward them in the darkness, rising up from her own mat. Husam’s hand came up to hers and she knelt down, tucking it back across his chest. ‘Go back to sleep, Husam,’ she whispered to him. ‘I am only going out to check that our fire has gone out completely. The east wind has risen.’ Half asleep, he sighed and turning on his side fell quickly back to his own dreamings.

Qirfah drew her long silken robe over her night clothes and stepped quietly out into the fresh night air. The ashes in the fire pit were dead and cold, no need for her to worry over them. The moon was bright overhead, the previous scattering of clouds blown away as she lay on her mat. Above her shown the Drinking Gourd, that big gathering of stars that pointed always to the north. It was turned upright from where she stood, holding in the promise of water – there would be no rain soon for the thirsty grasses, or so the storytellers said when they wove their tales about the fire.

The glass of her little wind chime caught the breeze, and tinkled softly in the darkness. Fully awake now, she walked quietly to the old baobab tree that spread its great limbs into the camp a short distance from her tent. She leaned back against its trunk, in the shadow of its crown, looking out at the silvered expanse of grassland in the moonlight - the gulf that lay between her and the little spring. The wind passed over the tips of the grass bending them in great, undulating waves moving toward her again and again.

Lost in thought, her world narrowed in around her, the sounds of the night fading away to a distant murmur . . .

[ June 19, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

06-18-2003, 05:52 PM	#40
piosenniel Desultory Dwimmerlaik Join Date: Mar 2002 Location: Pickin' flowers with Bill the Cat..... Posts: 7,779	Qirfah The breeze was hot, and from the east. The sort that drove the tiniest of sparks from a ill tended campfire into a raging blaze through the tall dry grass if left unheeded. Despite the labors of the day, Qirfah was restless. Her children slept soundly, the innocent dreams of the very young playing behind their eyes. She could hear them murmuring softly to some unseen playmate, calling out to them to come and finish up a game. In the warmth of the tent, they had thrown off their light covers, and lay stretched out in their innocence on their mats. She smiled toward them in the darkness, rising up from her own mat. Husam’s hand came up to hers and she knelt down, tucking it back across his chest. ‘Go back to sleep, Husam,’ she whispered to him. ‘I am only going out to check that our fire has gone out completely. The east wind has risen.’ Half asleep, he sighed and turning on his side fell quickly back to his own dreamings. Qirfah drew her long silken robe over her night clothes and stepped quietly out into the fresh night air. The ashes in the fire pit were dead and cold, no need for her to worry over them. The moon was bright overhead, the previous scattering of clouds blown away as she lay on her mat. Above her shown the Drinking Gourd, that big gathering of stars that pointed always to the north. It was turned upright from where she stood, holding in the promise of water – there would be no rain soon for the thirsty grasses, or so the storytellers said when they wove their tales about the fire. The glass of her little wind chime caught the breeze, and tinkled softly in the darkness. Fully awake now, she walked quietly to the old baobab tree that spread its great limbs into the camp a short distance from her tent. She leaned back against its trunk, in the shadow of its crown, looking out at the silvered expanse of grassland in the moonlight - the gulf that lay between her and the little spring. The wind passed over the tips of the grass bending them in great, undulating waves moving toward her again and again. Lost in thought, her world narrowed in around her, the sounds of the night fading away to a distant murmur . . . [ June 19, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ] __________________ Eldest, that’s what I am . . . I knew the dark under the stars when it was fearless - before the Dark Lord came from Outside.