The response he received made Wilhelm snort. The action left him wheezing. A moment later, he was gasping in breaths between coughs and then laughing. There was little amusing about the conversation, but it still struck him as funny, that that was the point raised. “She does. She always has.” The words rasped low against the gurgle in his chest. “She gives life, but you do not keep her in your shelter. She calls fire in then. Mother likes not the walls, so she burns them down.”
A heavy hand reached out, shaking, to scratch a nail along the wall. Bending, grating, catching grit beneath it. “Maybe the stone keeps you safe from that, but he will not stop her anger if you hold her too long.” Too much effort to pull his hand back, he let it drop onto the furs.
The troll shook his head and sighed, shutting his eyes again, they were of little use when he had no need to move or further study his surroundings. And he was tired. He could remember moments when he was younger, considering this very fact. But he knew all too well that any attempt to trap light, should it succeed, had dangerous consequences. Of course, the fact that trolls lived inside giant trees, many of them dried out and dead, and that the easiest method to capture light including tying her to a stick through fire… There were bound to be accidents, and trolls had long since learned that lesson. There were some who lived in caves and were aware of the benefits of fire, but the light still hurt their eyes, so they were careful never to take the fire so far into their homes that the light couldn’t already reach of her own accord. For his own part, Wilhelm had only met one such troll, a female who had been courteous enough to keep to his ways while she’d lived with him. Unlike this little one standing over him, whose tail was strangely energetic, she had not questioned the wisdom of letting light go where she would, and stay where she wanted.
“Have you never wondered at the heat of her?”
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Poor puppies, yes, our dog actually went in the water voluntarily today, it was so hot. She ordinarily does not like water at all. Being part poodle, this is strange, but being little and not one for swimming, this is understandable also, because she normally surprises herself with falling in... heh
Being the prairies, we get extremes. I find myself complaining more about heat than cold, but the hot brings thunderstorms, so I can survive it...
Also, sadly, not quite as Secret Gardenish, but still fairly pretty. Dad's managed to get the flowers blooming on a fairly continuous cycle for the ones that only bloom once. And for the perenials, he just has to keep adding fertiliser if he wants more flowers. heh The only problem is it looks like one of our trees has died. Which is sad, because it was an awesome tree.
Being the prairies, we get extremes. I find myself complaining more about heat than cold, but the hot brings thunderstorms, so I can survive it...
Also, sadly, not quite as Secret Gardenish, but still fairly pretty. Dad's managed to get the flowers blooming on a fairly continuous cycle for the ones that only bloom once. And for the perenials, he just has to keep adding fertiliser if he wants more flowers. heh The only problem is it looks like one of our trees has died. Which is sad, because it was an awesome tree.
The garden is going wild.... Because I'm not weeding. And the briars have overgrown the trellis and decided to block the path, but other than that, it is doing marvelously! :) It's too hot.
Lol, yeah, I can understand why, though I did just read trolly as troll-y... >.>
Sounds like you had fun!
Sounds like you had fun!
There's yer troll lore, darling. You can ask questions now. I might have answers... Or I might make them up on the spot. Herr...
The sun... the only thing shining is the sun, thing here, the only thing... Wilhelm's eyelids slipped closed as Hap's confusion made itself as clear as his own had felt. His mind wanted to rest along with his body, and even when he opened his mouth to shape something, nothing emerged. It was a battle just to end the blink so he could once more see his surroundings. "No..." The rumble beneath the word eased away quietly on his breath, elongating it into a smooth denial awaiting explanation rather than a blunt negative. Yet it took the troll another long blink to work his way around to it. In truth, he may have dozed a little between each opening of his eyelids. Thankfully, trolls were a patient people, well able to carry on a conversation for several days in fits and starts when time allowed. The longest conversation Wilhelm had ever had lasted three years, between himself and a traveller often walking through his land. He was well accustomed to remembering where he'd left off without needing to consciously scramble for the words.
"The sun is her home." The place or thing or person where and with whom she felt most at ease. "He likes her temper. She dances with fire and plays on the water. She is our Mother, the light and lifesource. Ahhhhh..." He sighed as the words slipped their way past his lips, each accompanied by its own low note. It had been a long time since he'd told his children any of this, and since they had, in turn, told theirs. But he had not forgotten the words. It felt good to speak them aloud again, and he lost a little of his fatigue as he settled into the role of teacher. "She brought us into the world from the warmth and the wet, and she let us grow. We know she is our Mother, because we can see her so well, and when she suffers us within our eyes are so darkened to remind us that we are her children."
No troll could see well in the daytime, even when the sky was cloudy and completely overcast. Some could make out a small amount of colour and shape. Most were completely blinded. And if they tried for too long to see anything, they would stay that way. But it made sense to them that they should be sensitive to a Mother's presence. And she was much gentler at night. "Mother is not always kind, little one. She is not easy to live with sometimes." But then, no troll was either. Nature was not a gentle, guiding hand. She was the rest of a body too, and that meant imperfections. "But that is no reason to keep her inside these walls."
"The sun is her home." The place or thing or person where and with whom she felt most at ease. "He likes her temper. She dances with fire and plays on the water. She is our Mother, the light and lifesource. Ahhhhh..." He sighed as the words slipped their way past his lips, each accompanied by its own low note. It had been a long time since he'd told his children any of this, and since they had, in turn, told theirs. But he had not forgotten the words. It felt good to speak them aloud again, and he lost a little of his fatigue as he settled into the role of teacher. "She brought us into the world from the warmth and the wet, and she let us grow. We know she is our Mother, because we can see her so well, and when she suffers us within our eyes are so darkened to remind us that we are her children."
No troll could see well in the daytime, even when the sky was cloudy and completely overcast. Some could make out a small amount of colour and shape. Most were completely blinded. And if they tried for too long to see anything, they would stay that way. But it made sense to them that they should be sensitive to a Mother's presence. And she was much gentler at night. "Mother is not always kind, little one. She is not easy to live with sometimes." But then, no troll was either. Nature was not a gentle, guiding hand. She was the rest of a body too, and that meant imperfections. "But that is no reason to keep her inside these walls."
The young girl’s thoughts faded into his awareness more gradually as she calmed down and he found the threshold at which he could hold the illusion and his thoughts together without barring himself from the perspective spreading out into the surrounding elements gave him. It was not perfect, nothing was, but as she could see him, and he could not see her, Aylen allowed that he looked good enough for the moment. Even if he could not make it look like he was talking. He would continue to try. Though her thought that he might be speaking a different language left his thoughts ruffled. Were they so far apart in time and place as that? It would be decidedly harder to avoid a fuss if that was the case, and he did not really know how to rectify that.
The only reason he was wielding the magic he’d been given so well now was the simple fact that it was a part of him as much as the earth, and the new aspect of it that funnelled a little girl’s thoughts into his was somewhat similar to delving through stone for its old memories. A nod, at least, was surely universal. He tried it, sending the thought of the action across the space between them and wondering what she would see. He wanted knowledge, and did, in fact, need it. If he was to manage at all in this world he’d awoken in.
At least this fact did not dismay her. Quite the opposite, and his thoughts softened with layered amusement as she fancied herself a teacher. The pleasure she felt at the opportunity he was giving her made it a little better that it was necessary, but only a little. Still, it was better than remaining in the statue. Her explanation, perhaps because it came alongside what she knew and did not have to rely on her spoken words, made him realise that she was a better teacher than he had thought she would be, and that he’d have need of that fact a great deal.
Ahhhh. I did know. Understanding dawned in his thoughts, along with some faint regret. The world had moved on without him. He knew about pictures on a wall, and stencils in wax. Paper had been far rarer. And he had never encountered the sort of binding she saw in her mind. That seems far more convenient than stone.
He followed her movement through the pressure of her feet hitting the floor rather than trying to decipher the action of thoughts and movement in her eyes. The book she found and the painting inside was fascinating. Not least of which was that there was movement inferred on the page. He could not, unfortunately, make it out very clearly, as she was looking at him rather than the book. But she knew what she was showing him. And he rather thought the fox was a cheeky sprite of a fellow. Her attempt to understand his meaning, however, left him with far less desire to enjoy this new artform she’d revealed. His heart sank as his ire rose again, but he only denied the fleeting hope as wishful thinking.
Knowledge will help me find it. But it cannot recreate it. For all he knew, his body might be lying at the bottom of the ocean, in pieces. It would explain why the prayers had gone silent. Even if he could still reach it, he did not even know where to begin searching. The last he had known of it, their world was rather well covered by water. His thoughts were quickly turning sour when she interrupted them.
Hmmm? See? No. They are not real. It is no matter, yours are.
He had never been very well suited to using tact.
The only reason he was wielding the magic he’d been given so well now was the simple fact that it was a part of him as much as the earth, and the new aspect of it that funnelled a little girl’s thoughts into his was somewhat similar to delving through stone for its old memories. A nod, at least, was surely universal. He tried it, sending the thought of the action across the space between them and wondering what she would see. He wanted knowledge, and did, in fact, need it. If he was to manage at all in this world he’d awoken in.
At least this fact did not dismay her. Quite the opposite, and his thoughts softened with layered amusement as she fancied herself a teacher. The pleasure she felt at the opportunity he was giving her made it a little better that it was necessary, but only a little. Still, it was better than remaining in the statue. Her explanation, perhaps because it came alongside what she knew and did not have to rely on her spoken words, made him realise that she was a better teacher than he had thought she would be, and that he’d have need of that fact a great deal.
Ahhhh. I did know. Understanding dawned in his thoughts, along with some faint regret. The world had moved on without him. He knew about pictures on a wall, and stencils in wax. Paper had been far rarer. And he had never encountered the sort of binding she saw in her mind. That seems far more convenient than stone.
He followed her movement through the pressure of her feet hitting the floor rather than trying to decipher the action of thoughts and movement in her eyes. The book she found and the painting inside was fascinating. Not least of which was that there was movement inferred on the page. He could not, unfortunately, make it out very clearly, as she was looking at him rather than the book. But she knew what she was showing him. And he rather thought the fox was a cheeky sprite of a fellow. Her attempt to understand his meaning, however, left him with far less desire to enjoy this new artform she’d revealed. His heart sank as his ire rose again, but he only denied the fleeting hope as wishful thinking.
Knowledge will help me find it. But it cannot recreate it. For all he knew, his body might be lying at the bottom of the ocean, in pieces. It would explain why the prayers had gone silent. Even if he could still reach it, he did not even know where to begin searching. The last he had known of it, their world was rather well covered by water. His thoughts were quickly turning sour when she interrupted them.
Hmmm? See? No. They are not real. It is no matter, yours are.
He had never been very well suited to using tact.
Yissyissyiss, troll lore. I'm not telling you nothing! Ha!
Maaagic! :P
Also, Nyah! troll lore, it is fun. Eeheeeheeheeheehehehehehehehehehe
Also, Nyah! troll lore, it is fun. Eeheeeheeheeheehehehehehehehehehe
He had never heard of any of this. The Reaches he knew was the sky, and even then, no one he'd ever encountered called it that. It was simply what the word made him think of. The Great Break seemed like a place trolls would avoid, which might explain his lack of knowledge of it. But not to have heard the name even once seemed strange. Trolls wandered by nature, not forever, of course, but when you were as large as they were, living communally was not easy. Most spent several years finding a territory to call their own and slowly gathered a family around them. It left very little of their world unexplored, insofar as he knew, anyway. If trolls made maps, which they admittedly didn't do, most would have been able to place, approximately, the forests and rivers and large lakes and mountains and edges that marked their world. All the landmarks were there in the stories they'd shared when they crossed paths and the steps they'd taken themselves.
WIlhelm's brow furrowed further as his thoughts mired themselves about this notion of new land. He was old enough now to have learned a great deal about where he lived, and he knew he had not walked nearly far enough to find anywhere that no troll had found. Still, he did not interrupt the full answer to his question. He understood that there was a pattern to the way a conversation began. When trolls argued, legends said the earth shook, though Wilhelm understood only that too many deep voices at once made everything unintelligible. Hap had no such problem, but the troll afforded him the respect he should have for offering knowledge. Besides which, awake enough to listen did not promise he was awake enough to be coherent, and he found himself struggling to make sense of everything he was told.
Light did not live in a house, she was too bright and sharp to be limited to any particular space. And he did not like the idea of his Mother being held within walls as though she had some definite shape. In truth, the only part of the answer he understood was the practicality of catching food that would otherwise go to waste. But he had to answer the question put to him before he could continue his own rickety learning. He was not even sure he was aware enough to remember this later. "I was walking until I could walk no more." A low note rattled in his throat as though death was trying to escape as he spoke traditional words in a tense they were not meant for. You did not tell someone you had been walking until you could not, because there would be no breath in your lungs to speak, no flesh on your bones and no spirit to recognise the question in the first place. You'd be dead, and the dead had no use for words. You told them that you would be, or you were. "I should not be here, but I think Mother called me."
The words slurred heavily, each background grumble of emphasis or added meaning mixing them further, and he said more than he'd originally thought to. "Why do you keep her there like that? She does not like it, she shines too brightly for living with. She has forgotten the kindness she tried so hard to learn."
WIlhelm's brow furrowed further as his thoughts mired themselves about this notion of new land. He was old enough now to have learned a great deal about where he lived, and he knew he had not walked nearly far enough to find anywhere that no troll had found. Still, he did not interrupt the full answer to his question. He understood that there was a pattern to the way a conversation began. When trolls argued, legends said the earth shook, though Wilhelm understood only that too many deep voices at once made everything unintelligible. Hap had no such problem, but the troll afforded him the respect he should have for offering knowledge. Besides which, awake enough to listen did not promise he was awake enough to be coherent, and he found himself struggling to make sense of everything he was told.
Light did not live in a house, she was too bright and sharp to be limited to any particular space. And he did not like the idea of his Mother being held within walls as though she had some definite shape. In truth, the only part of the answer he understood was the practicality of catching food that would otherwise go to waste. But he had to answer the question put to him before he could continue his own rickety learning. He was not even sure he was aware enough to remember this later. "I was walking until I could walk no more." A low note rattled in his throat as though death was trying to escape as he spoke traditional words in a tense they were not meant for. You did not tell someone you had been walking until you could not, because there would be no breath in your lungs to speak, no flesh on your bones and no spirit to recognise the question in the first place. You'd be dead, and the dead had no use for words. You told them that you would be, or you were. "I should not be here, but I think Mother called me."
The words slurred heavily, each background grumble of emphasis or added meaning mixing them further, and he said more than he'd originally thought to. "Why do you keep her there like that? She does not like it, she shines too brightly for living with. She has forgotten the kindness she tried so hard to learn."
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