Yuletide: Night Eight
A cloud drifted over the moon and shadows fell across the
land merging with night. Inside thin
beams of smoke arose from two candles flanking the mirror, flanking the
dragon. Almost, the kitsune thought, as
if pillars flanking the gate to some foreign Plane. The dragon shifted and the smoke shifted with
him, following, flanking. Silence fell
and he spoke. “While he would not let
himself look at the phoenix the Ice Basilisk had gained a sense of her from the
chill that wound through the air and he knew that the fog had put her into a
sorry state. Remorseful, he avoided the
Planes of fog and rain and sleet and whatnot that a phoenix might find herself
bogged down in. At the same time, more
than ever, he was determined to find Planes that would buffer his curse. And so they met again, in the Plane of Smoke
and Shadows.”
The Plane of Smoke and Shadows
An ashy smudge across the sky
A dark cast across the land
Rare the light and rare the flame
That gives form to smoke and shadows,
Rolling hills of stone and grass
Forests short and dry
All that gleams is smudged with smoke
Or hidden within shadows,
Even the Ice Basilisk’s shining white
Is dampened with soot
His scales grey and dulled
A pale specter in the dark,
Faraway from water
Faraway from light
The Ice Basilisk lingers
In a smoky night,
He stares upon an ancient cliff
Tracing lines of bygone eras
Waiting for the glint of flame
Hoping, fearing, fire’s coming,
She kept her gaze upon the smog
Thick as thieves with stolen sight
Listening to the whispers of smoke
Searching for an errant chill,
Over forest, crackling
Over fields of stone
Over valleys with umbra hung
The phoenix flew alone,
At last a chill upon the air
A twitch as if the smoke confused
Churned around a foreign shape
As water vapor condensed and froze,
Careful as her kind oft was not
Lyra alit atop a cliff
Her eyes firmly affixed
On the distant shifting smoke,
“Ice Basilisk!” She called
Her voice ringing
Setting particulate clouded air
Awhirl as it resonated,
“I am here.” He whispered
Scant the breath
That bore that sound into the night
He pressed his head against the cliff,
His eyes cast down upon the ground
The dark, dull, stone and soil
Barren of life
Stripped of shine,
For the first time
She heard his voice
A whisper of ice
Smooth and cool,
Leaning into the cliff
He wrapped his moniker
So hated and feared
About himself in her voice,
Bound by loneliness
Longing for and leery of sight
Amidst the smoke and shadows
Fire and ice conversed through the night.
Upon the mantle the shadows under the cloak of the candle
smoke were darker, deeper, shifting at odds to the usual drafts as the black
dragon spoke. “It would be the first of
many lingering conversations between the two, wrapped in darkness, cloaked in
smoke. Brought together by curiosity and
loneliness they came to find that they were more akin than any would
expect. Both possessed, by one means or
another, of fearsome power. Both with
hearts that longed to travel and explore foreign Planes, especially the more
eclectic ones. Both born of extreme
elements, a greater, wilder, power, in which they reveled.” The black dragon blew one long breath over
his shoulder and the candles went out.
Smoke rose twining with shadows.
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