A calm easterly breeze blew through the night, whistling casually over the expanse of wild reeds, wizened rocks and calm waters. These winds would not startle the unseen cicadas, who continued their well-practiced chorus. The moon cast a perfect spotlight upon their audience, the only ears that would ever hear their song.
“The stars are certainly out to play tonight”, commented Til, as she lay back on the generous decking of her bamboo-shoot abode, which rose humbly above the water meniscus, aided by sturdy grass stilts. Hers was, like so many of her exclamations, an aimless statement with no ulterior motive.
“But these stars are lazy. They come out only when it suits them” replied Bel. It was her wont to provide answers when no question was asked.
“It is because they take so many breaks that they live longer than us” came Til’s defense, “I wonder if we could learn something from them.”
“You will live, young Tilitha. Longer than me, if you’ve any luck, and having done everything you can think of, a thousand times over.” Bel’s reply came. She was older only by a hair’s lifespan than Til, but she would forever be the elder sister, and wore this role well.
“Though I envy the stars, could the wind be more privileged? It is equally timeless, and I wonder often which sees furthest.”
“There is no wind in space, just as there are no stars on Earth. They are not to be compared. That is how it has always been, and even us demigods have no place questioning this reality.”
Til agreed wholeheartedly with this statement. Change was the harbringer of chaos, which was never a good thing; her only real responsibility as a deity was to keep balance.
There was, at that moment, a change in the acoustics.
The cicada song stopped.
The wind gave its last breath.
The waters, already calm, stopped flowing completely.
But, far more dramatic than these, were those changes that teased the eye. Where previously there had been a familiar void, the sky was instead robed in a matte white, tapering off to an unlit, bottomless horizon. The world below was baked in an undefined white ambience, almost as though it were lit from below. And whilst one could see easily everything in front of oneself, this marble-white tinge did not give any semblance of comfort or brightness. Bamboo shoots, growing high out of the waist-high water, were now painted in a sterile whitescale, and shed pitiable, directionless shadows.
“It seems that the stars aren’t the only things above us that are out to play”, leveled Bel.
“So it seems”, breathed Til, “but we should not allow such things to happen.”
“It doesn’t do well to fight the will of gods at play. Let them have their fun, for they will tire soon enough. Our greatest asset is our patience.”
“Though it bends not to my whim, and listens rarely to my advice, it is still my sky as equal as it is theirs.” Til stood up, pulling wide her flowing raiment to avoid tripping over its low hem. The garment behaved itself, exhibiting neither flap nor fold, despite its wide, extensive ribbon-work.
“Then do what you must, but know that I will be sitting this one out. I do not carry the same responsibilities you do, and besides, I am getting too old for such things.”
Til laughed at this last remark, for she knew her sister had watched many strange things in this world over many centuries without putting on age. “I expected no help from you, sister. I only ask that you should keep the house tidy for my return.”
“The stars are certainly out to play tonight”, commented Til, as she lay back on the generous decking of her bamboo-shoot abode, which rose humbly above the water meniscus, aided by sturdy grass stilts. Hers was, like so many of her exclamations, an aimless statement with no ulterior motive.
“But these stars are lazy. They come out only when it suits them” replied Bel. It was her wont to provide answers when no question was asked.
“It is because they take so many breaks that they live longer than us” came Til’s defense, “I wonder if we could learn something from them.”
“You will live, young Tilitha. Longer than me, if you’ve any luck, and having done everything you can think of, a thousand times over.” Bel’s reply came. She was older only by a hair’s lifespan than Til, but she would forever be the elder sister, and wore this role well.
“Though I envy the stars, could the wind be more privileged? It is equally timeless, and I wonder often which sees furthest.”
“There is no wind in space, just as there are no stars on Earth. They are not to be compared. That is how it has always been, and even us demigods have no place questioning this reality.”
Til agreed wholeheartedly with this statement. Change was the harbringer of chaos, which was never a good thing; her only real responsibility as a deity was to keep balance.
There was, at that moment, a change in the acoustics.
The cicada song stopped.
The wind gave its last breath.
The waters, already calm, stopped flowing completely.
But, far more dramatic than these, were those changes that teased the eye. Where previously there had been a familiar void, the sky was instead robed in a matte white, tapering off to an unlit, bottomless horizon. The world below was baked in an undefined white ambience, almost as though it were lit from below. And whilst one could see easily everything in front of oneself, this marble-white tinge did not give any semblance of comfort or brightness. Bamboo shoots, growing high out of the waist-high water, were now painted in a sterile whitescale, and shed pitiable, directionless shadows.
“It seems that the stars aren’t the only things above us that are out to play”, leveled Bel.
“So it seems”, breathed Til, “but we should not allow such things to happen.”
“It doesn’t do well to fight the will of gods at play. Let them have their fun, for they will tire soon enough. Our greatest asset is our patience.”
“Though it bends not to my whim, and listens rarely to my advice, it is still my sky as equal as it is theirs.” Til stood up, pulling wide her flowing raiment to avoid tripping over its low hem. The garment behaved itself, exhibiting neither flap nor fold, despite its wide, extensive ribbon-work.
“Then do what you must, but know that I will be sitting this one out. I do not carry the same responsibilities you do, and besides, I am getting too old for such things.”
Til laughed at this last remark, for she knew her sister had watched many strange things in this world over many centuries without putting on age. “I expected no help from you, sister. I only ask that you should keep the house tidy for my return.”
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