Silence prevailed between them. They hadn’t talked maybe in years. Who they were, even they themselves didn’t know anymore. Both had sat there together so long that everything had been forgotten. But none of that did matter anymore. Why would it matter? They had left all behind a long, long time ago, and old cares bothered them no more.

They hadn’t talked about past since it all had ended. There was no need for talk, for everything was past, forgotten.

Almost everything…

-

Do you remember that night?

The night years ago?

Yes, that one. I almost forgot it, but now it all came back to my mind.

Yes, I do remember it well. Maybe I can never forget.

So you remember me as well?

Yes. I saw you at the glade, you were playing harp. You smiled at me.

So I did. I knew then already you would someday follow my path…

True. Without you it probably had never happened. If you hadn’t played your harp and told that story of yours…

That’s right. Listen to the old ones, my girl, always listen! You can never know what you’ll hear. Do you still remember my story?

I remember it better than well. I’ve known it word from word since I heard it.

Already made a song of it?

Almost. I have words for the beginning only.

Could old man hear it?

Why not?

-

For a moment, there was silence. Then clear sound of a harp broke the silence, and woman’s voice started to sing:

-

“At the seaside’s open land

Where the cold winds blow

Near the mountain’s freezing hand

A story once was told

The story I will tell to you

A tale of youngest one

Whose destiny was never true

Was part of plan once done

Listener of first of songs

The child was called back then

But carrier of lizard wings

They hoped she would become

The youngest of her family

The black mark shared her hand

Doomed to grow with agony

Of hearing through her land

Respected she was doomed to be

Of her the gift was part

But some day she would surely see

How gift did weigh her heart

No light was heart to weighed then

For feather more was light

Memories bore she through again

Through past to mountains high”

-

Both song and music ended there.

-

It’s a good start for the song. Now you must write the ending as well.

The ending? Yeah, I have only the beginning. Perhaps I really have to write the end, too.

You know what? I think I might know how to put the very last lines for your song.

What do you have in mind?

What would you think about something like this?

-

The music started again, but the singer was someone else this time.

-

“And at the shining seaside’s land

Where the cold winds blow

The one with black mark on her hand

Paid herself free to go”

Would you like it?

Why not? It has the same tone my parts had.

So you liked it?

Yes, it makes a good ending for the song. And for the story. But now I need the middle part.

I gave you the story and the last stanza. Make up the rest on your own.

I will. And at least I do have time for it.

Yeah, you indeed have time. So do I. We both have.

‘Till the world ends, if that was how people say it.

True. I’d say we have time exactly until the world ends.

-

If someone was to see them then, that someone would have seen them both smiling.

---

(By: Wyrd)