Clavus and the Phoenix
Jan 6, 2016 14:50:42 GMT -7
Post by Clavus on Jan 6, 2016 14:50:42 GMT -7
It was a long day of work out in the fields the day after the kiss.
Clavus reached down to pull a pale weed from beside a stalk of wheat. Seeing drops of dew on one of the wheat's heads, he sucked them off to keep his thirst at bay.
Horatia, he thought. Even her name was pretty. Why hadn't he ever noticed her before? He had seen her at the harvest festival, and passing in the street, and she had to have been there when the weekly caravan came, carrying a basket of her father's wheat with those delicate arms...
But never had he noticed her bright amber eyes, her shiny brown hair, curling ever so slightly at its tips, or her alluring physique. She wore the same linen tunic that all workers wore, but somehow it seemed to fit her so well.
When had she bloomed so? Just recently? She was no older than 14, and yet to Clavus she seemed like a woman and no longer one of the annoying little girls that ran around the village.
And that kiss...
How had he been so lucky to catch Horatia's eye, and she his, at the well last night? It seemed innocent enough. A word of greeting, and a second or two's lingering, looking into each other's eyes, and that was enough. No one was around, the sun was setting, and something about the amber-colored sunset reflected in her equally amber, glittering eyes gave him the courage to take her in his arms.
She returned the kiss. Clavus could not tell how long it had lasted. And then they had parted, each giggled a bit, and then she had run back home, looking back once, a lock of her silky hair wagging back at the turn of her head.
It had been hard for Clavus to sleep that night, and when he did drift into slumber, there was Horatia again before his face.
But now Clavus was worried, as he filled his wicker basket with dirty weeds, his hands dusty, his fingernails soiled: What would happen tonight? Certainly he would return to the same spot at the same time. He knew that lions could not stop him from meeting at the well at sundown. But would she be there? Or what if she had been frightened by the meaning of the kiss, or frightened with what it entailed, or what might come of it? What if she was satisfied with just the one kiss?
Clavus furrowed his brow with determination. He was seventeen years old. He would need to find a wife in a year anyway. Horatia had to be the one. He felt more than just his heart sing when he had kissed her. He had seen a future together with her. If she did not come, then he would simply have to pursue her. But how could he afford a dowry? Well, in any case, that was—
Screams from the fields to the west slowly shook Clavus from his thoughts. He looked up and saw an enormous, brilliant rainbow arcing across the horizon. He smiled, intrigued, but then noticed the peasants running and shrieking with terror toward his direction, making lines in their fields of wheat that spread in every direction.
"Run! It's coming!" he could make out. And then he noticed something odd about the rainbow.
It was shrinking.
Despite his fearful neighbors sprinting toward the village, Clavus watched the rainbow intently. What were they running from? Was this some sort of witchcraft? And if so, how could a witch create an illusion of such beauty?
The rainbow contracted toward its center, and then suddenly it was no longer an arc, but a circle, a corona of every color hovering in the air above the horizon and collapsing on its center. Clavus could vaguely hear someone shouting "Clavus! run, you fool! Back to the village!" when the corona suddenly winked away, and despite the noonday sun, Clavus squinted as something like a bright arrow of fire appeared where the rainbow's center had been.
And then he saw its wings. Something about the way the bird—giant, by the looks of how visible it was from this distance—was flapping its wings snapped Clavus out of it, and his wonder was replaced by horror. He dropped his basket and ran for his life to the village in the east.
Clavus reached down to pull a pale weed from beside a stalk of wheat. Seeing drops of dew on one of the wheat's heads, he sucked them off to keep his thirst at bay.
Horatia, he thought. Even her name was pretty. Why hadn't he ever noticed her before? He had seen her at the harvest festival, and passing in the street, and she had to have been there when the weekly caravan came, carrying a basket of her father's wheat with those delicate arms...
But never had he noticed her bright amber eyes, her shiny brown hair, curling ever so slightly at its tips, or her alluring physique. She wore the same linen tunic that all workers wore, but somehow it seemed to fit her so well.
When had she bloomed so? Just recently? She was no older than 14, and yet to Clavus she seemed like a woman and no longer one of the annoying little girls that ran around the village.
And that kiss...
How had he been so lucky to catch Horatia's eye, and she his, at the well last night? It seemed innocent enough. A word of greeting, and a second or two's lingering, looking into each other's eyes, and that was enough. No one was around, the sun was setting, and something about the amber-colored sunset reflected in her equally amber, glittering eyes gave him the courage to take her in his arms.
She returned the kiss. Clavus could not tell how long it had lasted. And then they had parted, each giggled a bit, and then she had run back home, looking back once, a lock of her silky hair wagging back at the turn of her head.
It had been hard for Clavus to sleep that night, and when he did drift into slumber, there was Horatia again before his face.
But now Clavus was worried, as he filled his wicker basket with dirty weeds, his hands dusty, his fingernails soiled: What would happen tonight? Certainly he would return to the same spot at the same time. He knew that lions could not stop him from meeting at the well at sundown. But would she be there? Or what if she had been frightened by the meaning of the kiss, or frightened with what it entailed, or what might come of it? What if she was satisfied with just the one kiss?
Clavus furrowed his brow with determination. He was seventeen years old. He would need to find a wife in a year anyway. Horatia had to be the one. He felt more than just his heart sing when he had kissed her. He had seen a future together with her. If she did not come, then he would simply have to pursue her. But how could he afford a dowry? Well, in any case, that was—
Screams from the fields to the west slowly shook Clavus from his thoughts. He looked up and saw an enormous, brilliant rainbow arcing across the horizon. He smiled, intrigued, but then noticed the peasants running and shrieking with terror toward his direction, making lines in their fields of wheat that spread in every direction.
"Run! It's coming!" he could make out. And then he noticed something odd about the rainbow.
It was shrinking.
Despite his fearful neighbors sprinting toward the village, Clavus watched the rainbow intently. What were they running from? Was this some sort of witchcraft? And if so, how could a witch create an illusion of such beauty?
The rainbow contracted toward its center, and then suddenly it was no longer an arc, but a circle, a corona of every color hovering in the air above the horizon and collapsing on its center. Clavus could vaguely hear someone shouting "Clavus! run, you fool! Back to the village!" when the corona suddenly winked away, and despite the noonday sun, Clavus squinted as something like a bright arrow of fire appeared where the rainbow's center had been.
And then he saw its wings. Something about the way the bird—giant, by the looks of how visible it was from this distance—was flapping its wings snapped Clavus out of it, and his wonder was replaced by horror. He dropped his basket and ran for his life to the village in the east.