It's Almost the Harvesting Season!
Kalortah had donned different colors, for the turn in seasons, as they became progressively colder the hue of his wings took on a colder tint. From the bright crimson that he was so well known for, to a deep purple, and then a twilight blue, almost black. His hair remained a fair platinum color, and his eyes took on a heterochroma of blue on the right and pink on the left. He strode among the harvesting stations in the gardens of the Expedition Fleet. Dirwyn laid a gentle hand on Kalortah's arm, and frowned, "Your manner seems to have taken a downward turn, Teacher."
Kalortah's downcast frown did betray a dark mood, as his wings drooped behind him. He felt the warmth of his disciples hand before he registered the words. Then when he did, he looked halfway toward the hyludin youth, and shrugged, "I suppose it's the season."
Dirwyn's brows rose at this, "It's harvesting season, surely that's a cause for celebration everywhere! Few go hungry during this season, and we prepare for the harder days..."
"It's the harder days that dwell on my mind." Kalortah sighed, "Past and future."
"Those are neither here nor there." Dirwyn said, sage for his years. "We are in the present, let's enjoy it!"
Kalortah couldn't help but smile at the hyludin's resilient spirit. A sad smile curved along his lips, as he looked fully toward Dirwyn, "Let's see what they've grown up, and harvested then?"
Dirwyn returned his smile and nodded.
They were followed by a small gaggle of other disciples. In addition to the language exchanges he'd given them in Common, he'd taught them a few words in his native Lorien, out of sheer indulgence perhaps. Or perhaps he was preparing for some scheme. He couldn't quite say, but there was a realization that he wished for the cutting sweetness of his mother tongue to be spoken by these people. There was a perverse pleasure in hearing it come from the lovely hyludin. It struck a stark contrast to the native cruelty of his own people, whose state he'd begun to despise. Yet, he wanted to help them, if he could. He wanted to redeem them. If only Delroth would grant them redemption from their Lisirran and Syroan taint, they might be free of the savagery that grips them.
Dirwyn could still sense that his master was deep in thought, and so sought to distract him, taking a large juicy pear from a nearby tree, and tossing it toward him. Kalortah nearly didn't manage to catch it, but at the first contact with his robes, he managed to cradle it in an arm until it slid into his hand. There, he took a bite, and nodded in approval. "They've done well, but this one is a bit riper than I'd expect, for coming right off the branch."
As Kalortah took another bite of the pear, a thought sprang to mind, of the sweetness of the fruit of the earth. There was a lesson even in this, he realized, and one that connected directly back to Delroth.
"Does anyone here know why the plants spread, why the tree takes root?" He asked of Dirwyn, as well as the other youths that followed them. "Anyone?"
One of the brown hyludin raised their hand. A proper mud-raker he looked, but Kalortah gazed on him favorably for the boldness to raise his hand. Then he gestured for the young hyludin to speak.
"The cultivators take the seeds, and plant them in earth, then the plant grows from the earth and bears flower and fruit forms from the bud of that flower." His knowledge of the process of fruit-growing, while accurate to the steps in which seedling came to fruition, did not answer Kalortah's question.
"Well answered," Kalortah said, shaking his head, "But you forget why." Kalortah sighed, then took one of the smaller buds of the pear tree in his hand, observing its bright green, almost yellowish color. It would become a brown pear in time, but for now, was young having only shed its flower petals recently.
"The bird visits the flowers of the tree and shrubberies, visits the flowers on the weeds in the wood. There to admire the treasure trove of color, scent, and of course the special nectar the flower contains." Kalortah said, and several including the brown hyludin nodded along, understanding where he was going. "The dust of the flower sticks to the feathers and beak of the bird, and so when it takes its drink, and moves to another to take yet another sip, it spreads the dust of one flower to another, creating a fertile flower that bears fruit and subsequently seeds."
Kalortah understood this much, as a follower of Delroth and someone with a basic education such as was afforded to the privileged of Athart. He didn't know all the particulars and idiosyncratic details of the process. But an overview gave him enough to make a lesson out of these fruit trees.
"Delroth inspires the greed for beauty, and the taste of nectar in those birds." Kalortah said, "He is not only lord over the winds that flow around us, but also the birds that travel on its current." Kalortah stretched a long twilight wing toward the trees, in a sweeping gesture. Several smaller blue feathers shed from his wing, which he let happen.
There, a small white-winged dove dove to gather up one of the smaller feathers. Taking it to their nest, presumably.
"In the inspiration of beauty, greed for the sweet nectar of a flower, he ensures the fertility of the orchard, and the field." Kalortah watched all of them, hoping he was making an impression upon them.
"So it behooves us to be kind to his creatures, so that they might fulfill their natural edicts and ensure the fertility of your fields." Kalortah smiled at all of them, and then turned his back, watching the clouds ahead, an the sunlight that shone through the autumn treeline.
So he began singing, knowing well from experience that they would remember if he sang his points to them.
"For Greed of Beauty,
By scent of nectar,
Comes a winged guest.
Blessed to partake
of the nectar's kiss.
To beak and feather,
The dust of flowers,
Carries on their flight.
Tasked to bear seed,
To flower's embrace.
From flowering heart,
Arrives a sweet fruit,
To sustain our thirst.
Gifted by their wing,
To sustain a life.
And from life preserved,
To leaf of nesting,
There to build a home.
Springing from seedling,
Grown to fruition."
Kalortah finished his quatrains with a flourish of his voice, allowing it to fry with some emotion at the end. Sometimes his proficiency in singing got in the way, and leave one with the impression of unreality. That was where the embellishments and flourishes could help remind them that he is indeed a mortal soul, singing to them.
Something that they can aspire to, and become, if only in their dreams.
