Little Thrush

Sing, like an evening thrush in the dawn

Slim and brown, with a voice that echoes mist

Hidden in the brush, the sound that isn’t seen

Sing, like an evening thrush in the dawn

            The young girl staggered from the trees, coming to a startled halt. A tower stood wearily in the clearing, an old temple of sorts, its walls decorated with fine carvings. She hesitated; no one would seek her here, would they? Treading forward, she stared at the building, stumbling on the broken, grass choked cobbles. A guardian statue still stood by one side of the massive stone doors, the tip of an elegant sword resting between his feet, his face fierce and gentle. Eyes wide, the girl slipped through the now crooked doors, wondering at this place.

            “Ah,” the sound slipped through the room with a sigh. “Welcome.”

            The girl twitched and turned. There, on the steps before the altar sat a figure, hunched. A shaft of light spilled through the crumbled roof, illuminating the hooded form of the stranger, while casting the face into deep shadow. “I beg…I beg your pardon,” the girl said timidly. The figure’s head tilted, as though smiling. The girl approached carefully, intrigued and afraid.

            “Courage, little guest, there is no harm in this place,” came the old, wrinkled voice.

            “Who are you?”

            “An old wanderer, who has not wandered in many years. Would you hear a story, little guest?” The young girl gazed at this small, cloaked figure, whose bright eyes watched her knowingly. She did not dare blink, and nodded, folding herself to the ground. “I tell you of Liue-Hala, the Heart of the Sky, the Daughter of the Moon. Paler than her father, she was a lithe beauty who danced and hunted with the wind. Her bow was carved from the core of a White Tree, by the Forest King himself, and her arrows were tipped with stars. Her aim, they said, was truer than any heart, and her bow could not be drawn by any but herself, so pure was its wood. She was light and mystery, divine guardian of destiny. But all this is known; I shall not speak any longer of the maiden or the goddess. Instead I shall tell you of the woman she was in between, with sad, desperate eyes, who hid her truest love in the shadow of her quiver, so that she herself could shine.”