The young alchemist schlepped along down the main road. The silhouette was only visible from afar; the body blurred as the seer would draw near, as if the body was like mist, it would slowly, but surely, disappear right before their very eyes. The alchemist, dressed in dark blue medieval clothing looked harmless; at the age of fourteen, who would consider Poca Posel to be a thread?
Her eyes were blue, contrasting with her clothing; and her hair was a dull white to light blue. Her face was expressionless as it looked to the left and then to the right. She stood on the outcropping of the Chrnos' Manor. She paid little heed to the guards, and they to her. And then she walked on by without a single glance at the building that was said to be a stronghold of alchemic knowledge.
The road in front of her forked, split into separate paths; one lead to the right and snaking around the Chrnos' Manor and then leading back to the main road through town; the other roadway went straight and, Poca Posel noticed by straining her eyes, then veered left, running away from the main bustle of the town. The roadway to the left was less traveled. As Poca Posel drew herself up to the fork she mulled over which trail to take and eventually decided on the one to the left after reaching the separation.
On the sides of the roadway were olden trees whose leaves were fallen on the ground in heaps and gathered into bundles. The leaves were weathered; they were losing their colors of red, orange, marigold, and yellow. The trees whose roots were upturned were covered in moss; branches hung low, withered to the core; even animals avoided the trees, preferring younger, more stable homes for their young. The roadway was littered with the ancient lay lines of alchemic knowledge that were secretly, securely hidden in the vast expanse of time.
Poca Posel walked the roadway knowing this innately; seldom she paused, listening to the sounds of birds chirping, or water rushing through a stream just out of sight. It was the simple things, the everyday pleasures that fascinated her the most.
Poca Posel thought no thoughts; her mind was empty and black and never a thought that was truly hers entered her crystallized as all thoughts are at first before their ideas gives them form.


LinkBack URL
About LinkBacks





Reply With Quote


Bookmarks