Some believe the Tree was responsible for the creation of all that exists. Others believe the Great Empress is simply a giant tree. The Great Empress was nevertheless an unreachable entity, so distant and so great, so utterly remote, yet sustaining its charming, peculiarly charged strange presence. Looming over all, ever watchful.
When Old Fenrir jocularly put down his third peg of mead, as the bartender at the Mead Meadows Inn watched on, smiling and nodding, while wiping his crystal, the drunk man let out a heavy sigh and half turned to the wide open window, pointing with his free hand towards the endless fields and the Great Empress in the distance. "That," he slurred, "is nothing but a great big blue tree! And I," he enunciated, "will be the first to scale the distance to the damned tree so help me Inukai!"
The bartender smiled warmly as his mind drifted, engulfed in memories which came upon him all of a sudden, vivid and powerful.
His Gammee had once told him the Story of the Tree.
In the days of yore, the Air and the Good Earth we walk upon were as yet unsuitable for us to exist in.
Interbeing was impossible; care was harmful; love was futile.
For Love is never futile, not when there are beings to feel it.
And then with the Birth of the Lords of the Sky, from the Seed which would eventually become their Father, The Tree which sets them all dreaming, suddenly all was possible.
Trickles appeared which would become the strong swift rivers now as we know them.
Seeds sprouted which would make the forests as we now know them.
The Earth shook and the Air whistled as creation took place, as the Lords shifted among Matter restlessly, creation took place.
And then briefer than a blink, softer than snow, mellower than a meadow, suddenly there was the world as it now we know.
The Good Earth we walk upon and the sweet Air as we breathe.
When Freyr finished his reminiscence, he found with a start his Inn silent as death. Fenrir's head was bent, filled with thoughts he felt too tired to speak out loud. Heavy thoughts. Strange, far off thoughts he hadn't had before, grazing at the seams of his consciousness. The Air thinned as it dawned upon him what he must do.
Emptying his sac full of acorns on the ebony table, he dashed out the bar, running wildly as a fit of euphoria overwhelmed him. The Air caught in his hair, the Earth soft for his feet and a dream drumming in his heart.
The world seemed to hold secrets in its midst, and the seeking would be his.
And so off he went to seek.
When Old Fenrir jocularly put down his third peg of mead, as the bartender at the Mead Meadows Inn watched on, smiling and nodding, while wiping his crystal, the drunk man let out a heavy sigh and half turned to the wide open window, pointing with his free hand towards the endless fields and the Great Empress in the distance. "That," he slurred, "is nothing but a great big blue tree! And I," he enunciated, "will be the first to scale the distance to the damned tree so help me Inukai!"
The bartender smiled warmly as his mind drifted, engulfed in memories which came upon him all of a sudden, vivid and powerful.
His Gammee had once told him the Story of the Tree.
In the days of yore, the Air and the Good Earth we walk upon were as yet unsuitable for us to exist in.
Interbeing was impossible; care was harmful; love was futile.
For Love is never futile, not when there are beings to feel it.
And then with the Birth of the Lords of the Sky, from the Seed which would eventually become their Father, The Tree which sets them all dreaming, suddenly all was possible.
Trickles appeared which would become the strong swift rivers now as we know them.
Seeds sprouted which would make the forests as we now know them.
The Earth shook and the Air whistled as creation took place, as the Lords shifted among Matter restlessly, creation took place.
And then briefer than a blink, softer than snow, mellower than a meadow, suddenly there was the world as it now we know.
The Good Earth we walk upon and the sweet Air as we breathe.
When Freyr finished his reminiscence, he found with a start his Inn silent as death. Fenrir's head was bent, filled with thoughts he felt too tired to speak out loud. Heavy thoughts. Strange, far off thoughts he hadn't had before, grazing at the seams of his consciousness. The Air thinned as it dawned upon him what he must do.
Emptying his sac full of acorns on the ebony table, he dashed out the bar, running wildly as a fit of euphoria overwhelmed him. The Air caught in his hair, the Earth soft for his feet and a dream drumming in his heart.
The world seemed to hold secrets in its midst, and the seeking would be his.
And so off he went to seek.
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