And So the Wheel Turns
Dec. 16th, 2018 09:04 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
turningcolorsNever has an Autumn been so carefully tended to. Logs stacked against the cabin make a second wall. The pantry is filled with enough food to last two Seasons. There is wine, of course, carefully collected and hidden for the Spring. Every knife has been sharpened, every leather has been treated, and every throw aired. Of everything, explaining to Tina was the hardest. Not because she was difficult to explain to, but because it was always hard to tell if she truly understood the instructions being given to her. Only time would tell.
It reaches a point in the year where Reynard can no longer bear to look at calendars and clocks. Instead he wakes up one day and Knows. Today is the day. Leaving behind all earthly possessions, he sets his hat on his head and walks out the door. It is always the most beautiful of days, regardless of the weather.
This time, however, something is different. The expanse of the world doesn’t fill his heart as it usually does. His wanderings aren’t aimless. This time he starts to walk and his feet carry him with purpose towards a place he never decided on. They take him further into the wilderness until he strays off the path and makes his own. Reynard sings as he walks. Old songs. Forgotten songs. Some cheerful, some somber. Competing with the wind.
Trees break up the rugged landscape and it’s in a clearing in this forest that he stops. He goes quiet, letting the rustling of the branches fill his ears and the wind whip at his cheeks. He closes his eyes, breathes deeply, and just enjoys it.
Every second of every day in this Season has been planned for, allocated accordingly, doled out the necessary actions. There has been so much More to do this year because Hazel has the whole of the Nexus to tend to as well as her duties on Earth and yet nothing is left ill prepared for the coming of Winter. Hazel would argue it's because she's a professional and has been at this for a long, long time.
In truth, she has an Audience this year like none other. Someone to impress, a face to put on that next leg of the cycle like she has never had before.
She is down to minutes, now. There is no last second scrambling as that would be unseemly. Hazel has retreated to the heart of the forest Reynard claims his home on the edges of to take in one last Moment of the world in all of her glory. Catching the last of the brightly colored leaves that haven't quite yet turned into a soggy brown mush on the forest floor and breathing deep. All around her a breeze dances between the trees, twining hither and yon and circling round a single orange leaf yet clinging to its branch and deftly plucking it from it's home to play with. Tumbling it and lifting it, turning it round in a dizzying dance before it finally hits the ground....at Reynard's foot.
And now even the wind quiets down to the barest rustle as Autumn turns to regard the approaching spirit. For the first time since the Equinox, she looks like she's beginning to tire.
"Winter. You've come."
Hazel speaks and Reynard smiles, air filling his lungs as he opens his eyes and turns to see her. Perhaps it’s all the singing, but his voice rumbles as he speaks. Words filled with a warm fondness. “Autumn… I always come.”
With open arms he gestures around them. “Look at all you’ve done! How keen the air!” He bends down, picking up the leaf by his foot and watching it disintegrate in his tightening clutch. “How crisp the leaves that remain.”
There’s a part of him, a small part, that wishes he could feel the earth beneath his feet. Now when life is sleeping soundly within it, and death blankets the surface. Not yet. While he’s still human his boots remain. Soon it won’t matter. Soon he’ll be able to hear and see the world in all its glory. Knowing how close it is, he smiles at Hazel. “It’s beautiful. You should be proud.”
There is no blood yet in her veins for Hazel to flush at his praise despite the pride that swells within her chest. Later when she looks back on this memory Reynard's charm will then hit its mark when she recalls just how impressed he is with everything she's accomplished here. She fees the seconds passing by and then, just once, for the first time in her life....
Hazel stops counting.
"I am proud. I told you when I arrived that I'd see to matters." Autumn stands tall and has no trouble yet facing Reynard at eye level as her boots dance inches above the ground on a swirling breeze. "I've kept my end of the bargain. What of yours?"
Hands resting on his hips, Reynard turns his approving gaze from their surroundings to Hazel herself. It’s a curious thing to see another spirit like this, her power running through her, tired though she may be. Somewhere in the back of his thoughts his mortal mind screams run, but it’s a spirit who smiles at her. “I’ve never had a house so fully stocked, knives so sharp, walls so sealed. You wouldn’t have to leave my cabin all Winter if you didn’t want to.”
“I’ve even done my best to try and teach others Autumn lessons. Tina, especially, but… Well.” He shrugs, a small laugh escaping him. “You would probably be a better teacher.”
Reynard's done Autumn's will.
Proud stubborn Winter has bowed to her whims (and Tina, this was about Tina her mortal mind feebly reminds her it's becoming louder in her head as it tries to resurface but not yet, not yet) and done as Autumn bid him to. And so she grins with teeth as white as her skin and drinks in the accomplishment she feels . Lets the winds howl in triumph all around them.
It strains her to do so. It is Time.
"The wheel...must continue to turn." As it has always done. How could she deny Reynard his rights after he's done such a good job here? She does not want to. To request extra time would be to say she had not done her job properly. Reynard had been singing before. This time it is Hazel who begins a tune, hummed and carrying all around them on the breeze. She makes to twirl skirts she does not have and in its place a cascade of leaves lifts off the ground in a wave following the arcs of her hand gestures. "Will you grant me one last dance?"
It is Time.
Reynard takes a step back to bow low. “Only if you will grant me the honour of my first.”
After so many millennia alone, embracing this moment alone, without anyone who could Understand. Now, finally, Autumn is here, with him. This is new and old, familiar and strange. He doesn’t know what he should do, but he knows it is still Autumn’s time, just about. When she hums, when the wind sings, he understands.
To move through time the world must follow the cycles. The planet must turn, the currents must shift, the universe must spin in this majestic dance. Here, in this small grove, two spirits know this. Reynard knows he must step away, to start a respectful distance. It is not Winter yet. He must follow the twirling winds as they twist, fast, then slow, then fast again. With a straight back, he follows where he’s led, striding confidently, spinning, rising and falling, smiling all the way. He must dance the path Autumn has laid out, for that is the path Winter treads, and it is wonderful.
Above Reynard Hazel twists and turns in the air, gesturing here and there with her hands to throw up more trails of leaves to guide Reynard through the steps of their dance. One that is as twisty and unpredictable as the breeze itself when it was twirling the leaf she laid at Reynard's feet earlier. The wind blows and weaves round the still earth because that is the way of the world but it also works and shapes the earth both building the mightiest dunes and eroding the most majestic of mountains.
Her voice carries on every twig and twirling leaf, singing out in triumph over the swiftly chilling forest.
And then she drops down a few feet and raises her hand between them and Reynard's next step is on the air itself as Hazel reaches out to take his hands finally, drawing herself into step with him. Every step they take, every dip and twirl and lift as light as a feather. Her fingers curl into Reynard's shoulders, into the leather of his coat. The song slows as they turn in a circle.
The whole of the forest laid out underneath them. To step into the air without being fully spirit is a surreal delight which brings forth a laugh from Reynard. How strange to be able to trust in another so easily, so naturally. The tune shifts to one more familiar to Reynard as they slowly begin to inch toward the ground. Hazel's grip and steps no longer nudging Reynard's steps. She's singing his tune now. It fills him with renewed vigour that has him keeping pace with Hazel until he is the one leading and they are on the ground once more. The movement of one Season to another is so smooth it’s hard to distinguish. A far cry from the sudden, energizing shock he usually gets. This is new. But for once, this is a change he likes.
At some point as their dance slowed, Reynard had begun to hum a tune, a variation of Hazel’s own song. Her hands feel solid on his shoulders whereas he vibrates, light with energy and cold as ice. Everything about him is sharper, as if he himself is somehow more in focus now, and his features are alert.
As they come to a stop, Reynard pulls away to step back and take Hazel’s hand to press a frozen kiss onto the back of it. She, of all people, will recognize the subtle sensation of a small blessing passing over her. “Autumn has Winter’s gratitude, my lady.”
Their breath comes in little puffs of clouds.
Not theirs.
Only Hazel's. Reynard seems right as rain in this chill but Hazel's cheeks are beginning to turn pink from the chill wind as are the tips of her ears. There's color once more on her face and neither her hair nor her eyes seem so strikingly bright anymore. She's smaller now than she was before, though nothing about her body has changed. The wind no longer howls and carries their tune. It is a quieter one, felt deep within every tremor of the earth. It is their steps that carry sound now. Crunching apart frozen plant matter stiff from the morning's frost. Where Autumn ends Winter begins.
Whatever words Hazel could think to give are coming short. As short as her breath seems to be. Normally Hazel is prepared for Winter's onset. Already somewhere safe when the transition occurs. This moment felt too important to miss even if she's dizzy now. Weak with fatigue and hunger. Thirst she hasn't felt in three months' time. She finds the strength to hold her head high and meet Reynard's gaze as he offers her Winter's blessings. The smile that flits across her face is less sure of itself now. She is but a mortal in the presence of a spirit after all.
"Winter is very welcome." Every bit of her is cold but still Hazel feels warmth in her chest to give those words. "I-I..." She tries to take a step and falters. "This bit is n-never easy."
Hazel falters and Reynard catches her, scoops her up in his arms and lifts her off the ground. Come Spring he will know that same weakness running through her, that he is all too familiar with. The insurmountable fatigue that she helped him through at the start of this year. Let him pay his dues. Let his first act of Winter be to bring Autumn home.
His voice is a deep, steady rumble. “Rest now, Autumn. Your work is done. Your home is made.”
Stepping into the wind surrounds them with an icy cold. The leather Reynard wears protects Hazel somewhat from the freezing cold emanating from him, but only her own resistances can protect her from the air. In a few moment they are at Reynard’s cabin once more. The door swings open for him as he brings her to the bed, the frost left behind by his footprints battle against the warmth of the low fire he’d left going. Laying Hazel gently on the bed, he pulls over a throw, watches her for a second and then leaves, closing the door behind him.
He has work to do.
It reaches a point in the year where Reynard can no longer bear to look at calendars and clocks. Instead he wakes up one day and Knows. Today is the day. Leaving behind all earthly possessions, he sets his hat on his head and walks out the door. It is always the most beautiful of days, regardless of the weather.
This time, however, something is different. The expanse of the world doesn’t fill his heart as it usually does. His wanderings aren’t aimless. This time he starts to walk and his feet carry him with purpose towards a place he never decided on. They take him further into the wilderness until he strays off the path and makes his own. Reynard sings as he walks. Old songs. Forgotten songs. Some cheerful, some somber. Competing with the wind.
Trees break up the rugged landscape and it’s in a clearing in this forest that he stops. He goes quiet, letting the rustling of the branches fill his ears and the wind whip at his cheeks. He closes his eyes, breathes deeply, and just enjoys it.
Every second of every day in this Season has been planned for, allocated accordingly, doled out the necessary actions. There has been so much More to do this year because Hazel has the whole of the Nexus to tend to as well as her duties on Earth and yet nothing is left ill prepared for the coming of Winter. Hazel would argue it's because she's a professional and has been at this for a long, long time.
In truth, she has an Audience this year like none other. Someone to impress, a face to put on that next leg of the cycle like she has never had before.
She is down to minutes, now. There is no last second scrambling as that would be unseemly. Hazel has retreated to the heart of the forest Reynard claims his home on the edges of to take in one last Moment of the world in all of her glory. Catching the last of the brightly colored leaves that haven't quite yet turned into a soggy brown mush on the forest floor and breathing deep. All around her a breeze dances between the trees, twining hither and yon and circling round a single orange leaf yet clinging to its branch and deftly plucking it from it's home to play with. Tumbling it and lifting it, turning it round in a dizzying dance before it finally hits the ground....at Reynard's foot.
And now even the wind quiets down to the barest rustle as Autumn turns to regard the approaching spirit. For the first time since the Equinox, she looks like she's beginning to tire.
"Winter. You've come."
Hazel speaks and Reynard smiles, air filling his lungs as he opens his eyes and turns to see her. Perhaps it’s all the singing, but his voice rumbles as he speaks. Words filled with a warm fondness. “Autumn… I always come.”
With open arms he gestures around them. “Look at all you’ve done! How keen the air!” He bends down, picking up the leaf by his foot and watching it disintegrate in his tightening clutch. “How crisp the leaves that remain.”
There’s a part of him, a small part, that wishes he could feel the earth beneath his feet. Now when life is sleeping soundly within it, and death blankets the surface. Not yet. While he’s still human his boots remain. Soon it won’t matter. Soon he’ll be able to hear and see the world in all its glory. Knowing how close it is, he smiles at Hazel. “It’s beautiful. You should be proud.”
There is no blood yet in her veins for Hazel to flush at his praise despite the pride that swells within her chest. Later when she looks back on this memory Reynard's charm will then hit its mark when she recalls just how impressed he is with everything she's accomplished here. She fees the seconds passing by and then, just once, for the first time in her life....
Hazel stops counting.
"I am proud. I told you when I arrived that I'd see to matters." Autumn stands tall and has no trouble yet facing Reynard at eye level as her boots dance inches above the ground on a swirling breeze. "I've kept my end of the bargain. What of yours?"
Hands resting on his hips, Reynard turns his approving gaze from their surroundings to Hazel herself. It’s a curious thing to see another spirit like this, her power running through her, tired though she may be. Somewhere in the back of his thoughts his mortal mind screams run, but it’s a spirit who smiles at her. “I’ve never had a house so fully stocked, knives so sharp, walls so sealed. You wouldn’t have to leave my cabin all Winter if you didn’t want to.”
“I’ve even done my best to try and teach others Autumn lessons. Tina, especially, but… Well.” He shrugs, a small laugh escaping him. “You would probably be a better teacher.”
Reynard's done Autumn's will.
Proud stubborn Winter has bowed to her whims (and Tina, this was about Tina her mortal mind feebly reminds her it's becoming louder in her head as it tries to resurface but not yet, not yet) and done as Autumn bid him to. And so she grins with teeth as white as her skin and drinks in the accomplishment she feels . Lets the winds howl in triumph all around them.
It strains her to do so. It is Time.
"The wheel...must continue to turn." As it has always done. How could she deny Reynard his rights after he's done such a good job here? She does not want to. To request extra time would be to say she had not done her job properly. Reynard had been singing before. This time it is Hazel who begins a tune, hummed and carrying all around them on the breeze. She makes to twirl skirts she does not have and in its place a cascade of leaves lifts off the ground in a wave following the arcs of her hand gestures. "Will you grant me one last dance?"
It is Time.
Reynard takes a step back to bow low. “Only if you will grant me the honour of my first.”
After so many millennia alone, embracing this moment alone, without anyone who could Understand. Now, finally, Autumn is here, with him. This is new and old, familiar and strange. He doesn’t know what he should do, but he knows it is still Autumn’s time, just about. When she hums, when the wind sings, he understands.
To move through time the world must follow the cycles. The planet must turn, the currents must shift, the universe must spin in this majestic dance. Here, in this small grove, two spirits know this. Reynard knows he must step away, to start a respectful distance. It is not Winter yet. He must follow the twirling winds as they twist, fast, then slow, then fast again. With a straight back, he follows where he’s led, striding confidently, spinning, rising and falling, smiling all the way. He must dance the path Autumn has laid out, for that is the path Winter treads, and it is wonderful.
Above Reynard Hazel twists and turns in the air, gesturing here and there with her hands to throw up more trails of leaves to guide Reynard through the steps of their dance. One that is as twisty and unpredictable as the breeze itself when it was twirling the leaf she laid at Reynard's feet earlier. The wind blows and weaves round the still earth because that is the way of the world but it also works and shapes the earth both building the mightiest dunes and eroding the most majestic of mountains.
Her voice carries on every twig and twirling leaf, singing out in triumph over the swiftly chilling forest.
And then she drops down a few feet and raises her hand between them and Reynard's next step is on the air itself as Hazel reaches out to take his hands finally, drawing herself into step with him. Every step they take, every dip and twirl and lift as light as a feather. Her fingers curl into Reynard's shoulders, into the leather of his coat. The song slows as they turn in a circle.
The whole of the forest laid out underneath them. To step into the air without being fully spirit is a surreal delight which brings forth a laugh from Reynard. How strange to be able to trust in another so easily, so naturally. The tune shifts to one more familiar to Reynard as they slowly begin to inch toward the ground. Hazel's grip and steps no longer nudging Reynard's steps. She's singing his tune now. It fills him with renewed vigour that has him keeping pace with Hazel until he is the one leading and they are on the ground once more. The movement of one Season to another is so smooth it’s hard to distinguish. A far cry from the sudden, energizing shock he usually gets. This is new. But for once, this is a change he likes.
At some point as their dance slowed, Reynard had begun to hum a tune, a variation of Hazel’s own song. Her hands feel solid on his shoulders whereas he vibrates, light with energy and cold as ice. Everything about him is sharper, as if he himself is somehow more in focus now, and his features are alert.
As they come to a stop, Reynard pulls away to step back and take Hazel’s hand to press a frozen kiss onto the back of it. She, of all people, will recognize the subtle sensation of a small blessing passing over her. “Autumn has Winter’s gratitude, my lady.”
Their breath comes in little puffs of clouds.
Not theirs.
Only Hazel's. Reynard seems right as rain in this chill but Hazel's cheeks are beginning to turn pink from the chill wind as are the tips of her ears. There's color once more on her face and neither her hair nor her eyes seem so strikingly bright anymore. She's smaller now than she was before, though nothing about her body has changed. The wind no longer howls and carries their tune. It is a quieter one, felt deep within every tremor of the earth. It is their steps that carry sound now. Crunching apart frozen plant matter stiff from the morning's frost. Where Autumn ends Winter begins.
Whatever words Hazel could think to give are coming short. As short as her breath seems to be. Normally Hazel is prepared for Winter's onset. Already somewhere safe when the transition occurs. This moment felt too important to miss even if she's dizzy now. Weak with fatigue and hunger. Thirst she hasn't felt in three months' time. She finds the strength to hold her head high and meet Reynard's gaze as he offers her Winter's blessings. The smile that flits across her face is less sure of itself now. She is but a mortal in the presence of a spirit after all.
"Winter is very welcome." Every bit of her is cold but still Hazel feels warmth in her chest to give those words. "I-I..." She tries to take a step and falters. "This bit is n-never easy."
Hazel falters and Reynard catches her, scoops her up in his arms and lifts her off the ground. Come Spring he will know that same weakness running through her, that he is all too familiar with. The insurmountable fatigue that she helped him through at the start of this year. Let him pay his dues. Let his first act of Winter be to bring Autumn home.
His voice is a deep, steady rumble. “Rest now, Autumn. Your work is done. Your home is made.”
Stepping into the wind surrounds them with an icy cold. The leather Reynard wears protects Hazel somewhat from the freezing cold emanating from him, but only her own resistances can protect her from the air. In a few moment they are at Reynard’s cabin once more. The door swings open for him as he brings her to the bed, the frost left behind by his footprints battle against the warmth of the low fire he’d left going. Laying Hazel gently on the bed, he pulls over a throw, watches her for a second and then leaves, closing the door behind him.
He has work to do.
