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The Flute Begins

The Flute Begins

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Published by Rowan Visser
I have come to the borders of sleep, the unfathomable deep forest where all must lose their way… Edward Thomas 1878-1917
I have come to the borders of sleep, the unfathomable deep forest where all must lose their way… Edward Thomas 1878-1917

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Published by: Rowan Visser on Sep 06, 2010
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04/23/2012

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ROWAN-FIXION.BLOGSPOT.COMThe Flute BeginsA short story
Copyright to Rowan Visser9/6/2010
I have come to the borders of sleep, theunfathomable deep, forest where all must lose their wayEdward Thomas 1878-1917 
 
 
The Flute Begins rowan-fixion.blogspot.com
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Moisture trickled through every crevice and crack inthe ever present darkness of
the
swamp; its wetness fedby a thick mist snooped close to the ground. Above themist black trees stooped low over the mud, their branchesthick white with spider webs. It was as if the mistflowed from their branches to seep into the muck below.Huddled to the base of each tree thorny leaflessbushes sagged with the weight of slick insects. Worms,maggots, roaches all found their homes here where theycould leisurely sip at the soup of decomposing mire. Inturn strange ancient creatures fed on them, palecreatures with big eyes and long skeletal limbs. Ghostlycreatures, quiet as the night, shadows between the trees.Big ears pitched this way and that to follow noises farof or near by. 
erra muridur 
. Silence speaks.From late dusk theyd perch on high branches or sitdeep in hollow trees, unmoving, listening for hours,before flitting through the forest checking territoriesand signs of intrusion. The slightest sign of an animaldiverting its normal routine would attract theirattention, the lore of the forest their own, engraved,etched into their purpose. Every animal, every plant hadits place in their consciousness, a map of memoriescarried in the dreams which filled their stone dead days.The moon floated full overhead amongst high cloudsstreaking over the emptiness below. Owls hooted theirterritories and badgers scurried, nose to floor, looking
 
The Flute Begins rowan-fixion.blogspot.com
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for crawlers to cross their path. Far to the south a packof wolves were marching west, the winds calling them tobetter hunting grounds. All these comings and goings werelike a primordial beat to the ancient ears listeningamongst the trees. They could hear life and deathhappening and they took note.Seraphis had taken perch on the tall red oak, thevery top of the wasteland. The nearer he was to theunspoiled sky, the better he felt about the world and thefurther he could see across their shrinking world. He satwith his head lowered, eyes closed and ears twitching,following sounds and chains of sounds. His breathing wasso slow that you would have thought him dead had he notstirred suddenly and raised his head.He breathed in deeply and held the air in his chestwhilst staring out over the forest in the direction ofthe sound. It was a single sound, a dear jerking his headup. Seraphis let the air out of his lungs and lowered hishead into that direction. He followed another sound. Alarge animal running wild, scared and reckless. Hesnarled and whipped himself from his perch, instantlydisappearing at the base of the tree.An owl hooted to the right of him. Twitching hishead to that side he could make out others of his kindstood scattered around the forest floor, all lookingintently in the direction of the sound coming their way.It was a mile and a half away still, but they could all

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