Nature wears the colors of the spirit

[Philomel]

"Meh onn enk shan grung'val marla rr'kaki ane'li shan velros gm rana.

Meh onn enk shan grung'val marla ranna'zme mandre'li komp nennak'val ponse, e kimandre ot lela shan gen lelnn itan.

Lelnn ane'li shan grung'val marla rand gm nen ki'de tom rr'gengenga, nen ba nena nomma, e lelnn garsh'li shan lelnn nenafa nom pakse.

Lelnn shema'li'den ranna'ma gengenga maa, hare'li'den ranna'ma shosho, e lelnn pafi'li shan rand gm nen itan negnen velros."

I have a dream that one day the world will see that nature is good.

I have a dream that one day all will turn from their dark ways and turn back to her who gave them life.

They will see that one day there is nothing left in the ground, no gold nor food and they will regret that they cannot eat rocks.

They will have withered every ground dry, abused every hill and stream and realise that there is no life without nature.

Translated from the works of Roan van Velros, The Travelled in his book Journeys Across The Sea, of his exploration across the lands of Fallien, Tular Plains and Raiaera.

[Philomel]

Philomel awoke with a start.

Quickly, quite suddenly, she awoke, reality and awareness coming to her in one tumultuous roar.

Sitting up, she blinked, hard, before staring around herself and grasping empty air. Foggy visions flashed past her mind, none clear, all as if part of a distant dream. Her tongue felt numb, she tried to move it, but as she did she only felt more and more anxious. Even her sight was unclear, it was as if she had had a busy migraine that had affected her sight, then fallen asleep and now, on awaking it was still as lucrative as destroying her senses as before. But no memory served up to remind of a headache, nothing came currently to speak of a current pain. There was simply dullness and emptiness, and a feeling of loss. As if she had known, had seen, and now there was nothing.

Large brown blocks began to form in front of her. So too came the shocking strong whiff of a natural rich scent. It was familiar, like the touch of one's favourite cushion to rest your head on for the night. Other smells, associated with the first, yet separate came to her, along with the distant feeling that somewhere, deep down somewhere, there was movement in the earth and rock and -

She gasped, and quickly rubbed her eyes. The mist began to lift from her eyes, and the brown blocks became trees.

There was still no memory, however. As she stood she knew her name, her race, her place, and her life. But there was no clear obvious reason for being here. Here, in this wood, when the last thing Philomel had vaguely known was eating fritters in her old friend Master Draak's hall. The fritters had been good. But they had not been eaten amongst trees.

As she stood, the smells were identified. They became those of bark. Of sap, of leaves, of grass and twigs. They were the scents of the woodland air, the birds nests and the honey bees produce. So comforting were they to the faun that she found herself grinning, and with that grin her sight cleared. The fuzzy trees became fully formed trunks and branches with small leaves, and the lumps became foliage and shrubs and small beasts crawling away. Wriggles gave indication of insects, a slight feeling at the edge of her ... not sight, but earth sight, that sense! - gave her realisation of a deer eating grass. A light was turned on in her mind, from blank to nothing as she drank the forest in, the familiar beautiful place and peace was made for a single moment.