[center]A Confusing Post[/center]


The morning heliopolis cast its gold over the red fields of Tendlepog and a stirring wind leapt the grass into a waving dance. The sky was still painted pink from the dawn, and the clouds were saturated with that morning golden glow only the early and very late can enjoy -- and on the horizon peeks of a child’s blue began to bleed into the sky. 

This scene hung openly above a flat rock amid the fields. It was an old stone, and on it sat a dreamer, one black panted leg over the other. A draping coat blossomed behind him, his eyes a striking silver, cornered by experienced wrinkles. His lips were a line, serious, and his alabaster hair was combed and long. 

His fingers slid down the neck of a stringed instrument, causing a tiny squeak of friction. The hollow of the instrument, a wooden dome, sat in his lap, the neck sticking up past his left shoulder. Slowly the dreamers eyes closed and he sucked in a long silent breath through his lips -- exhaling it just as quietly through his nostrils. As the last puff of air escaped him, his finger plucked the first string over the hollow, announcing the music to come.

One string, two string, a quick strum, a new sound. He raised a single eyebrow as he strummed, eyes closed. The wind seemed to play alongside him, rustling the grass in such a way as to compliment the slow thoughtful plucks and suddenly bursts of sound. The vibrations resounded over the field, caressing the dreamer’s body in the melody. His fingers moved as if independent of each other, lifting and plucking in perfect rhythm. The clouds seemed to part, heliopolis itself attempting to listen.

Across the field, two dreamers stood -- one man and one son. Golden speckles adorned the face of the man as he watched on, his ears melting into the music. The musician seemed to pay them no mind, his hands as graceful as the song and just as the song hit its zenith -- an angelic voice called out but the musician’s lips remained sealed. 

It swirled between the trio, dancing along with the sweetgrass as it sang -- “A wistful-simple thought...” The voice trailed with the sorrowful music, fingers strumming.

“...Crest o’ morning dew ‘mid a nest...”

“...Since birth it has been in your chest...”

“...Sorrow on the wind...”

“... a whisper from within...’

The voice called out, holding its notes in tandem with the increasing volume of the music. Slowly the music began to fade, only to suddenly belt -- the voice yelling out as a crystal chime raveled in the notes of the instrument. 

“...Your wind is howling...”

“...The land is fouling...” 

“...Thoughts of old...”

“...For the new, sold...”

The musician shook his head slowly with the rhyme of the strings, the voice pleading with the ears of all the dreamers.

“...A simple-wistful thought...”

“...Close your eyes as taught...”

“...Cancer of time flies...”

“...Old feelings will again rise...”

The strum of the instrument picked up and the voice howled with it, foregoing the chime of heaven and taking on the voice of the wind--

“...A simple fruit, a tiny seed -- in your chest since birth...”

“...A scary thought, a sad idea -- it waits for you...”

“...It blooms, a weeping flower -- it knows the truth...”

“...It knows that you don’t remember...”

“...Yet you still feel it...”

“...You were there before...”

“...And now you are here-after...”

“...Was your birth a death, is your death to be a birth...”

“...Who is to say, save a flower...”
“...A wistful-simple thought, lost in the puddle of reality...”

The instrument jerked and the music faded away. The gold speckled stared in awe, his eyes a runny pink, a tear stain on his cheek. His son looked up at him and the two took a tentative step closer to the musician.

“Who are you?”

The musician slowly opened his eyes and stood up. The silver eyes of the man were sheened with unfallen tears. The sight caught the others by surprise and then swallowed their breath. With a voice, as if strained from singing, the musician simply said.

“...Close your eyes with me and pray...”

His voice fell to almost a whisper as the dreamers did so, “Hear what the seed has to say.” 

The wind blew.

The grass rustled.

The sun’s heat fell on their heads. 

Two hearts suddenly thumped.

[hider=Summary]

K’nell sings a song to Li and his son.

[/hider]