The Long Path Home

By: Leota Posted on: June 29, 2008

Dawn creeps above the horizon,
filtering through vine-laden trees,
caressing my cheek with warm fingertips.
I drift awake,
smelling rain on the breeze,
the sweet scent lingering,
kissing a smile to my lips.
Half-open eyes,
I watch the last star fade,
the sun shining brightly,
overshadowing its might.
Slowly I rise in this glade,
this grove I call home,
illuminated by advancing light.

I bow with palms flat,
bidding fertility to the land,
plants unfurl in appreciation.
Arms high above my head,
sweeping in a great arc,
sealing with a wave of my hand,
leaves turn and twitch with elation.
A soft call to the heart of a tree,
its depths birthing a quarterstaff,
emerging and settling into my fingers;
with a great flail of my staff,
I draw up a defensive sphere around me.
Refreshment enters my lungs from the crisp air,
inhaling deeply of the Ithmia,
reveling in the way the scent lingers.

At my feet, Ithmian mists swirl,
pool as they fall and rise,
fighting against the light,
melting from the warming rays of day.
I peer farther into the forest,
where my path lies,
sighing a soft regret,
hesitant of continuing on my way.
On the edge of my grove I pause,
whisper soothing words,
my heart is filled completely,
comforted by the deep forestal embrace.
Stepping away, I am filled with longing,
enhanced by the sweet call of the birds,
so difficult to leave this place,
my grove filled with nature's grace.

Past proud oaks and thriving brush,
my spirits lift in happiness,
beauty in all my eyes can see.
I close my eyes in contemplation,
a smile gracing my face,
confident of nature to guide me.
Sweet, gurgling water caresses my ears,
drawing me to the southwest,
the Zaphar playing a soft, aquatic symphony.
Trenchant water roots snap and pop,
my bare feet gingerly treading through,
wading as I enjoy the scent of the riverside,
crisp and perfectly lovely.

Open eyes and rejuvenated from the dip,
my vision is blessed,
taking in soaring trees and lush flora,
reminiscent of my forestal home.
Scent and sounds of passing birds and deer,
fill my heart with joy,
giving away the abundance of fauna.
Muted by the damp earth,
my footsteps tread silently,
grass reaching up against my bare legs,
ticking with out-stretched fingers.
Maidens of the Western Ithmia hum happy tunes,
twirl and smile at my approach,
beaming broadly at their bounty of flowers.

Finches and swallows dip and dive,
alighting on branches overhead,
from their perches they chirp and warble,
chirping out the daily forest news.
Frantic reciting is but a sweet melody,
driving off any lasting hesitance,
any remaining speck of blues.
Chatter rises from the beyond the tree line,
both foreign and familiar,
cutting through the soft song of the forest,
the highway must be near.
Checking all my possessions carefully through,
I rub my hands together greedily;
ensured of my safety from thieves,
I step from the tree line and make my presence clear.

Passing me along the road,
a fellow forestal nods and waves politely,
a chuckle on his lips as he continues on his way;
leaves and twigs tangled in my hair,
the scent of humid rain hovering around me,
evidence of where I spend my day.
Grassland stretches before me,
beyond the busy highway,
goldenseal and lady's slipper sway in the breeze.
My journey is undaunted by the sprawling land,
goal firmly entrenched in my mind;
I set off, harvesting along the way,
admiring the butterflies,
musing over how they flutter with ease.

Rift becoming heavy with herbs,
I start suddenly out of fear,
a soft growl prickles my senses.
Hastily I summon an animal spirit to bond,
the wyvern pulsing through my veins,
empowering my weaker form,
as my body heightens and tenses.
Silence falls all around,
my ears perk in alertness,
waiting to pick up any sign,
any hint of trouble.
Through squinted eyes I scan,
searching for any camouflaged fur,
any claw amongst the stubble.
Assured the danger has passed,
I let out held breath,
continuing on my wandering path.

The grassland around me patches and fades,
opening into glinting sand,
the sun beating down its wrath.
Sidewinders slither and hiss at my arrival,
seeming to understand my dastardly plan,
before I even begin.
Stabbing forward, my quarterstaff hits home,
snakes falling one by one,
their slithering ceasing with a gurgle,
bending down to harvest their skin.
Monitor lizards thunder and geckos scamper,
watching as I hop from stone to stone,
hyenas cackle as they slink into view,
sniffing at the ground for anything,
hoping for a bit of meat or maybe bone.

Over the southern horizon, my goal rises,
the Vashnars glittering,
peaks stark white against the sky,
holding my beloved destination.
A trail appears between the rock,
winding up until it fades from view,
stone worn smooth by wear,
polished by walking vibration.
Drakes assess me as I pass,
snapping at the air,
their heads turning in curiosity,
wondering if I have gold for them to treasure.

The City of Cyrene appears in the distance,
descending towards the gates,
my heart swells beyond measure.
Heart of the Vashnars,
take me into your arms,
as I walk through your gates,
further into my home.
Here I know you are waiting,
accepting and inviting,
reliable no matter where else I roam.