Corruption Of A Saint [aw]

[KALUM]

`Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' I shrieked upstarting -`Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore! Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken! Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the bust above my door! Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!' Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

Over the hill and high above the traveler the saturated grays deepened with rain. In rushes the wind billowed through his thick ruffs of fur, and with an immediate freshness and an explicitly clear picture, it all dawned upon Kalum. After even the most desolate of times, life becomes green once more, that life - a pleasant illusion. It was something that never usually existed outside of the mind, well, his mind at least. The chanting sleet, sacred to the forests, therefore sacred also to him, soothed him so. But it was foreboding since it was then that the cold nights follow. If only all could see the forest in deep thought, in the darkness, if only they could. Kalum had welcomed the darkness, and had immersed himself openly in it. Each morning he would wake, the delicate tree patterns waking with him, partly screened by a moisture laden mist, the wet ecstasy of the forests. The mist rises, carrying new breath and songs to his lungs. From there his spirit flies up, as a black swiftlet playing with the rain. Sounds of water running over the large boulders in the river played music if only to make him happy. With rocks and clear streams, waters permeable but flexible, yet all the more powerful. These streams are veins of the forest, let him wash his feet, wash his hands, his face. Let him wash his heart, with another's life blood, for then it is also his own life blood.

The immaculate jasmine that lasts for but a day, the leaves of the Kopsia aged red, butterflies and moths, dragonflies levitate, these are thoughts, and most likely, only his thoughts. All he had left of these everyday things were the memories of how he had last perceived them. Others would think nothing of such insignificance, brushing them off, if even noticing them at all. But the forest, oh how beautiful she felt. The trees are not indifferent, they seems to be jostling with joy. As Kalum strode past their many bases, he could feel them pulling at their roots, as if trying to uplift themselves and join him in his wanderings. A smile tugged gingerly at the corners of Kalum's lips. Although he would welcome almost any form of company, the dispersed scent of Antal had him focusing on no other. He hoped his cousin was somewhere in the vicinity, whether near or far. Despite the distance that may, or may not, separate them, Kalum wasn't deterred in the least.

Despite being blind, he knew the forest around him held a beauty. He was at a loss for for words, and knew only awe. Each blade of grass, dead leaf, or thin root he passed seemed to grasp at his toes; ah, such jesters nature had designed. His nose twitched as he scented a noble oak passing beside him. Stopping, Kalum reclined back upon his haunches in the shadow of the mighty tree. He tilted his muzzle up, but of course, saw nothing. "Tell me your vision, oh noble giant." What he wouldn't give to be able to see what each oak and elm bore witness to on a daily basis. Hills, and more beauteous hills, clouds and clear blue skies above, the world vast and wide, expanding as life grows. Oh, the vision of such a giant knows no bounds. Life must be grand at such a height, but the work that such a life must incorporate. The barriers of the forest must be broken, such development warrants time, patience must be unlimited, then sacrifice. More and more sacrifice. But Kalum had learned patience, it was a skill he was forced to learn with the loss of his sight. And what more could one sacrifice than their sight?

As the dappled sun that managed to breach through the ceiling of leaves, the warm light gently caressed his brow. The touch tilted his head down, and sent him on his way. In short, but precise, steps, Kalum once again began his search for his kin. Even with his significantly heightened senses that remained, there was no guarantee that he would find Antal. Hell, the pallid knight may even find him. What good was one's sense of smell when they were up wind? Nothing, that's what. For all he knew, Antal could be watching him, silently, from a distance. And unless he made some kind of movement, even Kalum's sensitive hearing would fail at his detection. "Oh cousin, brother, stranger, whatever I am to you now, I wish you would show yourself," Kalum muttered to himself. He tired of these wanderings, craving the companionship of his cousin like they had shared when they were growing up.

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken, "Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store, caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster. Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore - till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore of 'Never - nevermore'."