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littlemanpoet · 12-30-2004, 06:17 PM

Marigold watched the boy. The light had come back into his eyes, if dim. He was more hale than he had seemed, then. Good.

"'Tis time to speak of the memory of the young maiden Gwyllion. I shall be last to speak."

The snow fell silently around and on them all. For a long time, no one spoke. Marigold watched as the snowflakes rested on the hair, faces and shoulders of the humans, melting slowly; on the Elves's faces it melted quickly, such was the fire of their hearts. On the maiden who lay before them, the lid not yet closed over her, the snow did not melt, but became a white crown upon her hair, a shine like tiny stars on her face.

Marigold saw a faint outline that was not seen by the others, of a young maiden with black hair, standing by the coffin, bending over it, peering at the form within. The maiden turned to her and she smiled. The falling snow before and behind the maiden hid the returned smile, but not the purpose in that faint face.

They will be letting you go. The boy is ready, Marigold said in her thought.

I must stay with them, watch over him. None other can guard him as can I.

They will do their best.

None shall see as true as I, and therefore none shall see as true as my brother. He will pierce all the illusions of evil.

So let it be.

The image faded as, at last, one of them spoke.

12-30-2004, 06:17 PM	#616
littlemanpoet Itinerant Songster Join Date: Jan 2002 Location: The Edge of Faerie Posts: 7,066	Burial Marigold watched the boy. The light had come back into his eyes, if dim. He was more hale than he had seemed, then. Good. "'Tis time to speak of the memory of the young maiden Gwyllion. I shall be last to speak." The snow fell silently around and on them all. For a long time, no one spoke. Marigold watched as the snowflakes rested on the hair, faces and shoulders of the humans, melting slowly; on the Elves's faces it melted quickly, such was the fire of their hearts. On the maiden who lay before them, the lid not yet closed over her, the snow did not melt, but became a white crown upon her hair, a shine like tiny stars on her face. Marigold saw a faint outline that was not seen by the others, of a young maiden with black hair, standing by the coffin, bending over it, peering at the form within. The maiden turned to her and she smiled. The falling snow before and behind the maiden hid the returned smile, but not the purpose in that faint face. They will be letting you go. The boy is ready, Marigold said in her thought. I must stay with them, watch over him. None other can guard him as can I. They will do their best. None shall see as true as I, and therefore none shall see as true as my brother. He will pierce all the illusions of evil. So let it be. The image faded as, at last, one of them spoke.