TairNean (tairneanach) wrote,

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This Will Fall Away..

The crescent moon slashes its way through the rolling cloud-cover. The chill breeze sends the dry leaves in a skittering dance across the ground. The Traveler drops an armload of logs near the crackling fire. He stoops and begins carefully stacking them. A few moments later, he is rewarded for his efforts by a square 'chimney' stack of logs. Holding one log in each hand, he leans toward the fire, and jams one into the coalbed, and sets off a shower of sparks and firebrands in the process. A deft twist of his arm billows his cloak out and up with a just enough wind to catch the firebrands and guide them back from whence they came, back into the coalbed where they can cause no harm. When his cloak settles, the Traveler leans back, and where the log was once in his hand, the long-stemmed tavern pipe appears. With a fluid motion he raises the pipe to his lips and takes a long pull. With a deep sigh, he exhales a plume of bluish-grey smoke at the sky, smiling sadly at the crescent moon.

"A lovlier lass, I'll ne'er see...If there's anythin' about the cooler weather I like, tis how bright the Moon gets in the night sky. She brings me comfort in the cold hours. Sometimes, on long nights...she'll show me faces. Faces of those who've left this world and moved to the next. Some young, some old. Often, it seems they've left this place too soon. I must believe there is a reason, but it saddens me nonetheless. Aye..Samhuinn draws near..'Tis the same every Turn. Every Turn the Dead grow louder. I canna help but wonder.....Do they grow more restless? Or do I simply move closer to the Veil, and that Journey Beyond.."
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