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 Posted: Thu Jan 05, 2012 5:04 pm
It's a bright, if gray morning that finds Starscarred wandering through a glade of willows, humming off key and munching random willows leaves. His black coat hides well in the shadows, the white streaks across his flanks the only sign that the shaded area is not uninhabited.
"Smile, small doe, he comes home tonight, to lay next to you in the warm moonlight," comes the rusty warble from the willow fronds, "just to see you smile, he'll bring you wild flowers from the meadows you treasure." Starscarred laughs at his horrible singing, then sighs. "So alone. Good or bad," he asks the willow frond in front of his nose.
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Posted: Fri Apr 27, 2012 7:39 pm
From higher in the willow boughs, a warmly mottled songbird sang the next verse of the Starscarred's tune with (perhaps dissonant) good cheer. It wasn't hard to spot the offender, looking down with a kindly, curiously bright, green eye. If he knows much lore, he'll know what that songbird is exactly; but even if he doesn't, he'll know that bird is not quite right.
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Posted: Fri Apr 27, 2012 8:06 pm
"Oh, hullo! You seem to be in a mood much better than mine!" There was something a bit odd about that songbird. It wasn't acting much like the songbirds he'd encountered before, constantly chirping and flitting about. This one was sitting there looking at him, and it knew the melody he'd sung. Odd.
"So what do you think? Good or bad, being alone again? I met this really pretty doe a while back, but we've gone our ways again."
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Posted: Fri Apr 27, 2012 9:10 pm
The bird sat and stared for a moment longer. It eventually took up song again, a slowish tune, a gentle sort of sadness. The song in question was not about love at all, rather about a rare and beautiful dusting of snowfall melting, leaving only a memory. But the mood was about right - wistful, because the memory was happy, and worth holding onto.
Of course, that all depended on context and interpretation, and that tune was sometimes used with different words to an entirely different effect that was a little more on target, but a kind of lewd. The bird had forgotten about that until it got through a verse or more.
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