duskrecluse:
There’s a deep peace in the snow-covered forest at early dawn. The sun is trying to show its face, fighting through the clouds to sparkle where it strikes the crisp coating of snow and ice.
The first notes hang in the air, shivery and cold just like everything else. They are tentative, unsure. The sound fades, the artist pausing to adjust the tension of the strings to account for the chill before he draws out another piece of the melody.
Even in the stillness and cold of the early morning, he knows the vulnerability presented by this one act. But it’s more than a desire – it’s almost a calling, a need pressed on him by an outside force stronger than himself. He’s purposely far from home, deep in the trees of the Twelveswood where no one in their right mind would be at an hour such as this. Even so, his bow is strung and ready beside him where he can reach it in an instant.
Basteaux draws a bow of another kind over the strings of his violin, his fingers moving with deceptive ease to coax notes from the instrument. It sings under his touch, a soaring tribute to the brilliance of the shining world around him.
As the final strains ring through the stillness, he opens his eyes. She’s the first thing he sees, and he immediately drops one bow in order to reach for the other. But there’s recognition after that initial jolt, and he bends to retrieve the abandoned object from the crust of the snow at his feet.
There was a certain peacefulness to the woods at this early hour. Something very soothing. It was also good for thought. Just even for being alone sometime.
The only sound at first was the crunch of her boots in the snow. Slowly that sound was joined by another. The new sound was beautiful. It drew her towards it like a moth to flame. She drew to a pause at a distant, not wishing to interrupt such a melody. Yet she recognized the man who made the instrument sing beneath his fingers. She reached up to remove her half-mask, tucking it away into her pocket.
She hadn’t meant to startle him as she noticed him reach for his weapon. Yet she remained still as the snow around them. Once he recognized her she finally moved. He was busy picking up the bow he had dropped as she closed the distance between them.
“I’m sorry if I startled you. It… Was very beautiful. Please don’t stop on my account.” She kept her voice soft, as if speaking louder would ruin the peaceful feeling of the snowy forest around them. Hands clasped together behind her back loosely. Her smile was warm enough though there was a hint of longing in those blue eyes. “I almost wish I had his harp with me. I could have joined you. If you wouldn’t mind such a novice. Then again I might have ruined such a lovely piece anyways.”
Spirit of the Warlock 