A figure stands beside the rapids, Listening to the night songs; a ritual as old as the river unfolds around her. Aged pines sway, spectral mists roll across the rocky peaks of Monadhiliath. Their silhouettes crawl velvet-lined passes while fairy cattle, hooves softly muffled by the carpeted forest, complete their trek toward the circled stones and she follows. The Melody of her ancestors descends, douses her gown, seeps through her skin, and liberates her memories. Her spirit escapes its corporal confines, free to wander, a nomad trailing the herd. At the grove, a highland messenger waits, an embodiment of this land. In a chrysalis cradled by his lullaby, the maiden soon gives birth. Transformed into the shape of Hart, he will finally sing her home.
© Jolen Whitworth 2022