… When she took off, stepping her bare feet on a soft grass slightly wet from evening dew, her legs themselves carried her in a ritual dance. Her hands themselves danced in the air, drawing unfamiliar gestures. The dark river of her voice herself picked up an unfamiliar spontaneous melody without words. She did not think who she was, and what she was. She did not think what she should have done, and how it should have been right. She did not think about what Tillard taught her, and so far she had not managed to teach. She was just, and in these moments she was a call addressed to the rider, and horses woven at night, and a changeable foggy dogs – to those who were her own soul, she realized whether it was either not.
The night sighed, straightening the dark sparkling wings. The air rang with magic, filled with images, and the veil became thinner, and Shi roads opened. In the multilayer translucent air, it was already possible to distinguish the shadows and reflection of people, beautiful and creepy. But the call of Riana was directed clearly, like the flight of arrows, and no one else dared to respond to the relics of you …
Author
Nikitina a-k
Publisher
Stigmarion, 2013
Genre
Modern domestic prose
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