It was just another day, I was walking through the forest on my way to some assignation on the other side of the river. Nothing unusual, the forest was dark as ever, the clearings were far between, and around each one a few songbirds were doing their morning routines. My staff helped when I had to step over the fallen logs, and kept me from slipping on the moss, and the sack over my shoulder was light... after all, how much does a poet need to travel with? When the people are gathered in the mead hall, waiting to listen, there's not much beyond just one's presence and voice: no props, no instruments, just the ancient stories I learned long ago. It's an easy way to make a living these days. Life has been peaceful for years.
It does get a little quiet in the forest sometimes, walking for miles alone, and it's slow going. I was listening to the sounds of the woods: the birds, the squirrels chattering, here and there in the distance a dog barking near a cottage. There's never anything new. But then, I thought I heard a voice, a melody. I moved more slowly, I could actually make out a few words of sweet singing. A woman's voice, and a song I never heard before. I thought I knew them all, but this was something different, something ancient, I could only catch enough to tell it wasn't in any modern tongue. I stopped. I tried to listen, to hear where the voice was coming from. It echoed through the woods, but if I turned west I could hear it better. I walked slowly towards it.
Since the ground was covered with ferns, I knew I must be getting close to a clearing. Yes: ahead, a few rays of sunlight came down through the branches. The singing was clearer now, the voice louder. Strange: the birdsong had stopped. It was like the sparrows and warblers were listening to her sing. I slowed down, and looked around me. The clearing was just ahead. I crept closer, and bent low when I got to the tree line. Peeking around an old oak trunk, I surveyed the scene.
She was standing in the middle of a small circular meadow, with the sunlight falling all around her. It was so bright, my eyes seemed to deceive me, and I thought of moving back a little into the woods. But I was drawn to that voice, I almost couldn't resist leaning closer. But I didn't want her to see me, she might have stopped, or even run away.
And I didn't want her to run: she was lovely: dark hair down past her shoulders, her skin white in the sunlight, her lips as red as the blood of a raven. She was wearing a dark cloak, with a clasp in a style I'd only seen a few times, the kind old wise women wore when they were curing their patients with the herbs they grew. Such things aren't made these days, they're passed down from mother to daughter, this one must have been generations old. Is it true that they carry the magic of the women who've worn them, building through time? I don't know, all I could tell was that it showed two falcons wrestling, as if they'd clasped talons in flight. But I was much more interested in her song.
I nearly couldn't resist it. It drew me towards her, almost against my wishes. For the first time, I knew what the people gathered in the mead hall felt when I recited. Sometimes it seems as if my incantations overcome them, and there's nothing else they desire. There was certainly nothing I desired at that moment but to be closer to that voice. I walked, slowly, softly, closer. She didn't need to turn to see me. She just kept singing. It was like she expected me to be there, and coming from this direction. It seemed that was the point of her song, to bring me to her. And now that I was nearly there, it grew softer, but more intense, as if she were whispering to something deep within me. Her black dress was no more than a wrap, cinched with a wicca belt. Her boots were wrought deerskin, laced with leather. Above her knees to her thighs, nothing but white skin, and white skin where the wrap barely covered her breasts. I stood before her for a moment, her voice grew even softer. I sat down.
She never said a word. She never stopped singing, but now her voice was so low only I could hear it. Well, me, and the birds, and maybe the goddess, who knows? She first touched me on my shoulder, and that only to signal gently that I should lie down. I did: there she was, standing before me, her hair blocking the sun, making a near halo around her. That's when I noticed her eyes had changed color, now they were nearly as dark as her cloak.
The cloak came off then, and fell on the grass and flowers all around us. She unlaced her boots, and they fell next to the cloak. I lay there, watching and listening. She looked straight into my eyes as she unhooked her belt. The wrap opened slowly, the breeze pushed it open, almost as if the wind were undressing her. Her breasts were white in the sunlight, her nipples as red as her lips. Her waist: well, it was so small I felt I could wrap my hands around it, and have my fingers touch. And then, as the wrap fell, her hips were exposed, her thighs, the triangle of hair. But she didn't let her belt fall. She hooked it back around her waist. Then it was done: there she was, standing naked before me, blocking the sun as the light fell all around her, looking down at me, singing.
