Friday, January 21, 2011

The calling of my calling

Llesehir says that he found me first, making my way in mutters through the Eleiutierc. He says he glimpsed me in the tumbling fog on the roof of the world, that I walked past the ruined towers and barren streets of time-lost Llelain and made my home in his heart. He says that my eyes were broken glass, my hands twisted wire, my skin but the stories of a seventh of the stricken libraries. I had the smell of a thing forgotten, he says, like a legend lonely and hungry for remembrance. He tells me that I refused to let go, that I roosted on his tongue so he could speak of nothing else. He tells me that after ten days in the wilderness he returned home, his steps heavier only by the weight of a word.

That is how, clinging like a secret to the silence between his teeth, I came to the Es'mensis.