The sharing of a tale

This one has been written for Kellie Elmore’s Free Write Friday.

This one and last weeks have been a bit of a flat experience on my part, writing like a drifter, dreamer who was feeling a little lost, but they’re up all the same, happy reading, and thanks for the prompts, Kellie…


The sharing of a tale

At the frayed fringes of these two watery societies, where the reach of mire pervades upon a translucent world of liquid clear. Don’t bother, do not fear, it is not what you think, for the forests below will find much benefit in the reach of the mire, over that of the pristine. There be stories of which legends came to thrive upon such gritty waters of the flowing waters born of mire. Let me share one with you, it is only a small one, but it comes from a time when few saw beyond their own worlds.

Many seasons have passed, and many seasons still yet to approach, a young Forester from a time long forgotten, kept lodgings in a tall, but strong old hollow tree that resided nearby the junction of the mire, and the pristine. Though the mire had not flowed in his life time, which is not that long, not really. On the other hand, the pristine has never stopped flowing, even when it had not rained in months, although its waters were a bitter sour to taste, and it reeked of a foul odour.

The elders of the Forester’s village, some whom have long since passed now, said that the mire once flowed stronger than the pristine, and that both ferried sweet water from the mountains far to the south. They even said that the two rivers be twins, due to the fact that their headwaters start together, back to back, high upon the same mountain, but that they travel entirely different routes. The mire through the green rock reefs of Rhone, while the pristine runs across the red rock reefs of Arve.

But that’s all history, what maters now, is the dilemma the young Forester is facing, for both his home and the forest are slowly dying. He believes it to be the cause of the mire to no longer flow and of the undrinkable waters of the pristine hold secret. But this is not the story I will share with you today, for the Forester has another tale, one that if time blinked, we would miss it.

Long after the Forester resolves the issues of the twin rivers, he was passing through a small rocky wood on the eastern fray of the forest, when he heard singing coming from below a rock outcrop. He walked to the edge and sat awhile, listening to the sweet colours in her voice (I did say it was a woman’s voice, didn’t I.) carry upon each small eddy as the woodland breeze swept upon the rock face, to lift each note unto his resting ears.

As her singing faded, the Forester got up to leave, as he did not want to disturb her place here in the woods of the Forgotten Wild, then came a mighty calamity as he stood on a roundish rock. Cart wheeling backwards and over end of the rock face to plummet numerous feet, before a resounding thud upon the ground below. At which point the previously voice of song went, Oh my, what a performance, and started applauding while saying, do you think you can do it again, such a dead drop performer you are, kind sir.

A little be fuddled by his predicament, the Forester struggles to get to his feet, as he sways almost as if drunk, as her voice interjects again. Have we had a little too much to drink also, now fine actor sir?  However, the reason the Forester is finding it difficult is… No the fall has not knocked him punch drunk, or even senseless for that mater. Clambering about, stumbling with his hands out and falling down again. Why poor actor sir, you be blind. The Forester laughs, as he turns the phrase, I wasn’t blind a moment ago, I was, I mean I am a forester of this land, and I still have no idea as to the owner of such voice of forest song here in the Forgotten Wild Wood.

Oh no, this is the Forgotten Wild Wood, I must of taken a wrong turn at that tree, you should know the one, seeing as you live here and all. Can I call you Jester, I don’t think you look like a forester too much, now that you’re covered in so much mud. What did you say, I think I may of lost my hearing too. The left side of the Forester’s head has a bad gash where it had collided with a rock, (which rock, I have no idea) during the now considered acrobatic fall.

Here allow me to help you. You know good sir, I think today is a fortunate one for you, most entrances like yours usually don’t come off too well, for I surely would of dispatched you and sent you about your business, what ever foresters’ business is about. Although Bachue, that is her name, knows all about forests, rivers, and much more.

A strange sound begins to bellow throughout the wood, Bachue guides the Forester to between a rock and a slight cavern, telling him to keep quiet no mater what happens, as the bellows draw closer and closer…

10 responses to “The sharing of a tale

    • Thanks, Annie! There will be, in a few days. The whole idea of leaving it hanging, is that of having something to leap back into from the get go of the writing process restarting. No lingering or pondering needed to think about where the tale is travelling..

  1. Pingback: The sharing of a tale (the chase) | Sean Bidd·

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