Shivering, the boy huddled close to the dying embers of his meager fire, his pale blue eyes sunken and dark from lack of sleep. His mouth moved slowly as he repeated the chant he had learned from his father, his dry lips cracking painfully and his throat sore from intoning the holy words. His nearly black hair was matted with dust from sleeping in the dirt; despite his resolve to remain alert while awaiting his vision, exhaustion had overcome him on three occasions. His normally slender frame and high cheekbones were accentuated by his rapid weight loss, rendering him gaunt and pale. He wore only a vision seeker's loincloth. After the first night he had sorely missed his leather tunic and trousers, his sturdy boots and his dark green cloak.
Above, the night sky surrendered to a predawn grey and the stars began to fade from view. The very air seemed to pause, as if waiting for a first intake of breath, the first stirring of a new day. The stillness was uncommon, both unnerving and fascinating, and the boy held his breath for a moment in concert with the world around him. Then a tiny gust, the softest breath of night sighing, touched him, and he let his own breathing resume. As the sky to the east lightened, he reached over and picked up a gourd. He sipped at the water within, savoring it as much as possible, for it was all he was permitted until he experienced his vision and reached the creek which intersected with the trail a mile below as he made his way home.
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For a brief instant, he saw something: high in the sky above him a silver hawk flew in a circle ... His last thought was of the bird.
Albeit of back rooms, basement closets, or some other conclave of shadows, there's power in vision.
Kieli found himself looking into the bird's black eyes. The bird's claws tightened again and pain shot though his arm again. Kieli's eyes locked on the bird's, and then the words came. Rise, little brother. Rise and be a talon for your people. As you feel my talon upon your arm, remember you can hold and protect, or you can rend and revenge. Kieli heard the words in his mind. Suddenly he pushed himself upright and stood, bearing the hawk on his arm. The bird's wings flared as it kept its balance.
Pain was forgotten for a moment as Kieli stood facing the bird. The hawk stared back; then bobbed its head, as if nodding agreement. Their eyes locked once more, and then, with a screech, the bird leapt upward, a single snap of its wings taking it right past the young man's ear. Kieli felt another slight pain and reached up to touch his right shoulder. His eyes saw upon his arm the pinprick marks of the bird's claws.
Was this my vision? he wondered silently. No hawk had ever behaved so in the history of his people.
I admit I had to look the prose up...that kind of fiction generally doesn't appeal to me so I am not very familiar with it...unless by Kipling or some such.
However, Trooper sucked me in with the photograph of the Krider’s Red-tailed Hawk...a pale version of the the hawk found mostly in the west over the Rocky Mountains. Its morph origins is a source of endless debate among "Birders."
Finding the needle in the haystack is one thing, finding a use for it afterwards is another. I like these posts because they open the door to something more. Similar perhaps what the Special Whose do for others.
MamaM...me too, I never tire of learning something new...even when tricked in to it ;)
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