a sprite speeds through the stirring forest as if he were not running, but flying. the river dances along his side, burbling a song of rushing voices and sweeping passion. the trees rise to greet the fleeting sprite, a blur among their dancing shadows. and the wind whispers, welcome Songbearer.
the sprite leaps high, as if he hears the greeting in the wind's voices. and he moves faster now, weaving among the trees, caressing their trunks, and leaping from branch to branch as he moves further into the forest. hello friends, the sprite seems to say. the trees are whispering now too, with the throaty voices of the earth and wood. well met, Songbearer.
and the sprite slows now, for he is at the center of the forest. before him stands an ancient oak tree of majestic size and strength. its branches are proud, and it holds itself tall. But the oak tree's leaves are fallen, though it is the height of summer, and its branches are weak. a lightning scar marks the oak's bark. saddened, the sprite steps forward to greet this king of the forest.
the sprite bows first, kneeling, and remains bent as the wind carries the news of his arrival through the branches of the old oak. and the ancient presence awakens. Songbearer. i am ready.
it shall be my honor, Ancient One.
the sprite rises and begins to dance widdershins. first slowly, then ever faster. until suddenly, the sprite's feet leave the ground, and the sprite is flying around the oak. and he begins to sing.
the song is full of the wonders of life and the mystery of living. the sprite sings of the rushing waters in their constant movement and flight. he sings of the eagle flying high above the clouds. he sings of the fish in the streams, chattering with each other, the water, and the frogs. he sings of the wolves and their mournful cries in the night. he sings of the trees and their songs of growth and strength. he sings of the rabbit's death cry and the chirping of baby birds. he sings of the badger's steadfastness and the fox's mercurial temperament. he sings of joy and sorrow, of peace and torment, of creation and destruction, of life and death.
and as he sings of Creation, the sprite dances ever closer to the oak's branches. and suddenly, a leaf is to be seen on one of the oak's gnarly branches. the smallest of leafs, but a verdant and green one all the same. and as the sprite begins to dance among the branches themselves, leaves begin to grow where the sprite has touched the oak.
and the life begins to spread from the leaves to the branches to the trunk. as the sprite climbs higher and higher, the oak regains its color and strength. the bark is once again the rich brown of the earth, and the branches stand strong and mighty. the leaves are plentiful and new, and the roots run deep once more.
and the oak begins to join the sprite in song. with a deep vibrato, the oak interweaves his harmony into the sprite's soaring Song. and suddenly, the oak is more real, more alive than any other tree in the forest. the leaves are no longer just green but a penetrating green of shimmering emerald. the bark is no longer just brown but the essence of earthiness. the oak is no longer just an oak; it shines with an internal light of great brightness and strength. and the other trees seem immaterial in the presence of the great oak.
and the Song becomes tangible, like ribbons of pale white light shimmering over the oak. even the sun dims in the presence of this Glory, until all is night except these streams of light. suddenly, the ribbons race outward, into the forest, outshining all else in its path. and the ribbons whirl through the forest with dizzying speed and power until the forest itself is a web of light with the great oak at its center, pulsating with joy and overwhelming power.
and now the whole forest sings with the sprite, the river with its thunderous chorus, the trees with their deep vibratos, the wind with its fiery harmony, and the oak with its counterpoint. and the song rises toward the heavens, and cries out with all the joy it hath.
and too soon, the song comes to an end. the ribbons of light fade to nothing, as the sun returns to its normal routine in the sky. the forest returns to its quiet whispers and chatter, reminiscing of the joy of the Song. and the oak, the great oak, returns to itself. though no longer shining like the sun, the oak is no longer dying. with its king restored, the forest has been set aright.
and of the Songbearer? he is gone without a word or a goodbye. but i'm sure he is off somewhere else where he is needed.
