04-13-2020, 01:30 AM
(This post was last modified: 04-13-2020, 03:30 PM by Ascendancy.
Edit Reason: Misspelled Tuuru
)
Philip didn’t push the weight of her body away. Her trembling vibrated upon the white of his collar, but the energy dissipated into calm stillness about his shoulder. He released her when she desired to depart the comfort of togetherness, but Philip was barely a willing participant in the ritual to begin with. It reminded him of the pats of solidarity he bestowed begrudgingly upon mourning parishioners at a funeral wake. Upon winning his freedom, he plucked at the hood of his suit so it lay in perfect arrangement and such was the extent of any disarray during the translation to wherever they now found themselves. He looked around, a poised pilgrim in a secret land.
Previously, awe and wonder flooded the dream of the ancient life strewn through mighty branches. Moss, peat, and lichen clung to the woods Nimeda showed him like the moisture on the air may have been the first waters to dampen the very Earth itself. This was different. The light filtered golden beams through leaves of extraordinary shapes, most of which he could not name. A warmth tingled his cheeks that when he turned toward it, a sense of peace settled his bones so much that if he wasn’t already dreaming, he may have drifted into another sleep.
Patricus was a Pope who frequented the Vatican gardens day or night. There, an aroma of flowers lit perfume on the air that lingered even in his passing promenade. The experience was stale and lifeless compared to this. He was drawn to a bush of brightly colored leaves perched with yellow poms of fluffy blooms. Gold seemed to be threaded through the petals like sparkling veins. A sheen of dust was left upon his fingers that was strangely fascinating and equally annoying. A river glistened in the distance, and he considered cleansing his skin in the cool waters until Nimeda’s squeal of glee distracted his intentions.
He marveled at Nimeda’s novelty among the trees. It reminded him of a garden more than a forest, though shapes and colors were unlike any he ever witnessed before. Such were the things of dreams, he imagined, and followed her as she explored. A frown burrowed his expression to thoughtful caution when she called into the emptiness. She waited as though expecting an answer, and for a moment, Philip held his breath with similar prediction. Habitation permeated his intuition, for the wildness of the previous woods was clearly absent. Growth and land undulated freely, but it wasn’t without design. So who was the gardener?
So Philip followed the angelic girl of dreamland prophecy as she plunged into the heart of the sanctuary. Behind him, white petals sprung from his footprints as he walked. As each petal opened, an orb of light wafted upward and hovered a few moments before it winked sleepily away. Nimeda’s gasp drew his attention from the phenomenon and pulled it toward a mound of swelling greenery ahead. He approached, hands steadily resting at his waist as always. He wondered if the miniature green mountain would lift its head as had the dragon with the yellow eye from so many dreams ago. It was alive, but seemed oblivious at best and disinterested at least, to their presence. Nimeda greeted it like an old friend: older than even she. Philip rounded to the other side. When he did, a face finally lifted.
It was unlike any face he’d seen before, and he stared silently to comprehend. It had a head of wood through which was etched deep crevices of bark. Green tufts that he took for gleaming grasses sprang from the top and rolled downward along its jaw. Thorny sticks circled its brow like a makeshift crown. More crossed the line of its shoulders like armor-plating, and from them billowed a cape of pine needles and bushy ferns. As its body unfurled itself before them, the shape flickered from a place of kneeling slumber to fully upright. When it did, Philip saw Nimeda through the opacity on the other side. Philip shivered as he had the sense that they didn’t awaken the creature so much as activate it.
A yearning for knowledge plunged deep within. He had to know what this was and why the need brought him here. Though the creature stood nearly 10 feet tall, Philip positioned himself before it as if it may yet kneel to kiss the ring he was not presently wearing. He would not be surprised if it did. Instead, he probed for answers. Nimeda was with him now. ”Who are you?” he asked.
The creatures eyes were white globes in a very intelligent manner if not fully human. The irises were gold like the sun. They sought the origin of the question with an orderly scan of its surroundings, settling finally upon the little man dressed all in white posed before him. He spoke with a rumbling that may have been the voice of the eons.
“I am Tuuru,” it replied.
The agnomen meant nothing to him.
”What are you?” Philip asked.
Tuuru answered automatically. “I am an Arboreal,” it said.
Philip raised his chin, continuing the systematic interrogation.
”Why are you here?”
The hulking branches of Tuuru’s arms wove with the motion of woodsy undulation in a way Philip had seen in the black hole when he witnessed the branches of the cage protecting mankind. Likewise did the wood slither across the very surface of his arboreal skin. Philip shivered.
Tuulu’s cloak swirled and as the mighty carpet of green swept aside, a pillar was revealed behind him.
“I am the guardian of the Four-Way Pillar,” he said.
Philip gasped when he saw the Pillar. It was made of a golden metal he did not recognize, but for all purposes, seemed most like bronze. It stood slightly taller than he himself. Strikingly, at its top were positioned four heads, each pointing in the ordinal directions. The shapes were of a lion with its mouth reared open to snap, oxen with its horns angled sharply downward, eagle with its beak splayed open in frozen craw and a human man glaring with daring attitude. For each head, words pierced Philip’s mind, though he couldn’t be sure that Tuuru hadn’t uttered the four titles or if the words sprang from within: "speed, strength, flight and cunning."
The body of the pillar was wrapped in the hug of four arms. Four feathered wings were coiled about the rest, two angled downward while two angled skyward. Markings covered the whole of the pillar from base to the neck of the heads. They seemed to plunge below the level of the grass, though Philip could not tell for certain how deep the base was set.
He licked his lips. He knew this shape, though it was not as he had ever imagined it before. Nothing of the Earth frightened Philip, but there were plenty of beings on realms beyond the flesh that did. The guardians of paradise were among them.
His voice trailed to a whisper for he knew that he did not belong in this place. “And for what purpose is the Four-Way Pillar?”
Tuuru’s presence flickered again. Thread-fine streaks of fire criss-crossed the shape of his body until it reformed. When it did, Tuulu smiled. Bark flaked from his face in the stretch of his mouth.
Previously, awe and wonder flooded the dream of the ancient life strewn through mighty branches. Moss, peat, and lichen clung to the woods Nimeda showed him like the moisture on the air may have been the first waters to dampen the very Earth itself. This was different. The light filtered golden beams through leaves of extraordinary shapes, most of which he could not name. A warmth tingled his cheeks that when he turned toward it, a sense of peace settled his bones so much that if he wasn’t already dreaming, he may have drifted into another sleep.
Patricus was a Pope who frequented the Vatican gardens day or night. There, an aroma of flowers lit perfume on the air that lingered even in his passing promenade. The experience was stale and lifeless compared to this. He was drawn to a bush of brightly colored leaves perched with yellow poms of fluffy blooms. Gold seemed to be threaded through the petals like sparkling veins. A sheen of dust was left upon his fingers that was strangely fascinating and equally annoying. A river glistened in the distance, and he considered cleansing his skin in the cool waters until Nimeda’s squeal of glee distracted his intentions.
He marveled at Nimeda’s novelty among the trees. It reminded him of a garden more than a forest, though shapes and colors were unlike any he ever witnessed before. Such were the things of dreams, he imagined, and followed her as she explored. A frown burrowed his expression to thoughtful caution when she called into the emptiness. She waited as though expecting an answer, and for a moment, Philip held his breath with similar prediction. Habitation permeated his intuition, for the wildness of the previous woods was clearly absent. Growth and land undulated freely, but it wasn’t without design. So who was the gardener?
So Philip followed the angelic girl of dreamland prophecy as she plunged into the heart of the sanctuary. Behind him, white petals sprung from his footprints as he walked. As each petal opened, an orb of light wafted upward and hovered a few moments before it winked sleepily away. Nimeda’s gasp drew his attention from the phenomenon and pulled it toward a mound of swelling greenery ahead. He approached, hands steadily resting at his waist as always. He wondered if the miniature green mountain would lift its head as had the dragon with the yellow eye from so many dreams ago. It was alive, but seemed oblivious at best and disinterested at least, to their presence. Nimeda greeted it like an old friend: older than even she. Philip rounded to the other side. When he did, a face finally lifted.
It was unlike any face he’d seen before, and he stared silently to comprehend. It had a head of wood through which was etched deep crevices of bark. Green tufts that he took for gleaming grasses sprang from the top and rolled downward along its jaw. Thorny sticks circled its brow like a makeshift crown. More crossed the line of its shoulders like armor-plating, and from them billowed a cape of pine needles and bushy ferns. As its body unfurled itself before them, the shape flickered from a place of kneeling slumber to fully upright. When it did, Philip saw Nimeda through the opacity on the other side. Philip shivered as he had the sense that they didn’t awaken the creature so much as activate it.
A yearning for knowledge plunged deep within. He had to know what this was and why the need brought him here. Though the creature stood nearly 10 feet tall, Philip positioned himself before it as if it may yet kneel to kiss the ring he was not presently wearing. He would not be surprised if it did. Instead, he probed for answers. Nimeda was with him now. ”Who are you?” he asked.
The creatures eyes were white globes in a very intelligent manner if not fully human. The irises were gold like the sun. They sought the origin of the question with an orderly scan of its surroundings, settling finally upon the little man dressed all in white posed before him. He spoke with a rumbling that may have been the voice of the eons.
“I am Tuuru,” it replied.
The agnomen meant nothing to him.
”What are you?” Philip asked.
Tuuru answered automatically. “I am an Arboreal,” it said.
Philip raised his chin, continuing the systematic interrogation.
”Why are you here?”
The hulking branches of Tuuru’s arms wove with the motion of woodsy undulation in a way Philip had seen in the black hole when he witnessed the branches of the cage protecting mankind. Likewise did the wood slither across the very surface of his arboreal skin. Philip shivered.
Tuulu’s cloak swirled and as the mighty carpet of green swept aside, a pillar was revealed behind him.
“I am the guardian of the Four-Way Pillar,” he said.
Philip gasped when he saw the Pillar. It was made of a golden metal he did not recognize, but for all purposes, seemed most like bronze. It stood slightly taller than he himself. Strikingly, at its top were positioned four heads, each pointing in the ordinal directions. The shapes were of a lion with its mouth reared open to snap, oxen with its horns angled sharply downward, eagle with its beak splayed open in frozen craw and a human man glaring with daring attitude. For each head, words pierced Philip’s mind, though he couldn’t be sure that Tuuru hadn’t uttered the four titles or if the words sprang from within: "speed, strength, flight and cunning."
The body of the pillar was wrapped in the hug of four arms. Four feathered wings were coiled about the rest, two angled downward while two angled skyward. Markings covered the whole of the pillar from base to the neck of the heads. They seemed to plunge below the level of the grass, though Philip could not tell for certain how deep the base was set.
He licked his lips. He knew this shape, though it was not as he had ever imagined it before. Nothing of the Earth frightened Philip, but there were plenty of beings on realms beyond the flesh that did. The guardians of paradise were among them.
His voice trailed to a whisper for he knew that he did not belong in this place. “And for what purpose is the Four-Way Pillar?”
Tuuru’s presence flickered again. Thread-fine streaks of fire criss-crossed the shape of his body until it reformed. When it did, Tuulu smiled. Bark flaked from his face in the stretch of his mouth.
![[Image: hiclipart.com_-e1597513863757.png]](http://thefirstage.org/wp-content/uploads/2020/08/hiclipart.com_-e1597513863757.png)