Dawn solitude in the royal preserve. Cold transparent solitude. The long-fanged rain passed away. Red gravel path scattered puddles. The prince and his three sisters were hunting. He leaded the party. He was trying to avoid the red mud for his sisters drawing a clean path, concerned about silk and chamois and kidskin. His heart was feebled with fight. A harass of shadows of curses unspoken. He hesitated before a shallow. Swiftly, sweetly, his redhead sister, his elder sister took over command and guided them all the way through secret watery spheres of morning light and leaves --no matter the silk, the chamois, the kidskin. Poisoned with rotten rage her whole body a murky pool shaked by a stone, he saw his grandmother ghost screaming in front of him. And he was afraid of his own wicked blood. The game wasn't a deer of moss and silence this time, nor a long-leged creature made of songbird and shadow. The game was tears and a scream. He ducked before a tree --a girl tree a caress tree. And fetched the game.
Delicate shining. He wrote in his notebook: "My sisters were one with the rainy forest. There were golden droplets and foliages in their eyes and golden beams in their teeth." An also: "Some days are like a fish of gold --a tattoo in an angel's belly." _______________________________________________ Five7Five mailing list [EMAIL PROTECTED] http://www.pairlist.net/mailman/listinfo/five7five
