A figured bathed in shadow sits under a pastel orgy of twinkling lights. All is quiet except for the melodic singing of hopeful toogly toads serenading their suitors to be.
A fire breathes its last breathes and quietly begins its new life as dancing embers. their last glimpse of heat fades quickly like an old star fading into the abyss.
What light there is creeps it's way to a dirt covered face, eyes sunken in shadow, cracked lips give in to gravity. Filthy Tattered rags hide an emaciated form. A sorry sight for sore eyes...
The night is as calm, only a gentle breeze whispers sweet nothings to the leaves...
Sleep evades the shadow,
Along with any hopeful notions of the morning.
but soon it comes.
And the shadow finds rest.
Morning comes when a nut falls from the tree and lands with a thud upon a mop of unkept blonde hair. Dirt has now become its natural color. A boy just shy of 17 springs to life.
Gasping, on high alert searching for the assailant. A blue crested forest squirrel chatters over head then dives to an ajaysent tree branch and is lost in the canopy.
The boy wipes the sleep from his tired eyes and scans for his supplies. A masterfuly crafted guitar lays over his lap.
The body is a dark mahogany with rosewood inlays, golden vines span the neck broken up by silver frets. It is the boys sole prized possession.
A heirloom that has stayed with his family for millennia. Although it is hundreds of years old the sounds is crisp and warm.
He stands the guitar upon a tree and reaches for his goat skin canteen. His parched lips beg for water as he turns the skin up to them.
As if to be mocked by the universe a single drops falls out and is lost upon his tounge. A sigh rolls from under the boys breath as he sets the skin back inside his worn out pouch.
Birds of all feathers sing A symphony of chirps and Whistles that echo through the Forrest. Only the resentful growl of the boys stomach can be heard over the singing.
"I hear you I hear you....."