The Sound of the Tree through the Forms of the Veil
Beyond the flames, up in the sky, the sun still shines. The maiden might turn away and dwell only on her fire's dwindling light. Or, that unmolded yellow sun might kindle one memory before it too departs. There was a voice in the tree with the withered leaves and in the near and far of the shrouded forest. Almost as words, it was there too in the eagle’s call. The paths of promise she followed it on gave way to the barren loneliness of the wilderness. Wandering thus led astray, she has wrestled with the elements to create on her own. Each creative stroke within the molten mass of gold has brought her wonder, but now despair of that which she lacks and seeks. Is the sanctuary where the voice became words forever in ruins? She pulls back her hands, but with her work left to the fire she knows not to where to go. Sinking into the waters, she gasps to find no words to cry.