original fic (in progress)
May. 28th, 2002 08:23 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
gilascaveNo Consequence
Meshiuzin sat before the pillars, numbly. Watched the sand beat against their surfaces in the driving wind, listened to the howling of stone beneath the relentless struggle for survival. Stone carved centuries ago to withstand the wind and rain and weight of the hands which touched them in reverence, still they bent under the tiny grains of sand.
It was nothing one could see, unless one looked close at the level of a grain and the pockmarked surface of the stone pillars and nothing one could feel unless one's fingertips were as sensitive as the wind itself. The stone had suffered to be worn in this way since the day their stone birth-slabs had been pulled from beneath the dirt and brought here, to be carved by soft metal and genuflective hands. Still they remained, their histories carved upon them now with more than an artist's eye for balance and delight.
The pillars would stand for many hundreds of years more, Meshiuzin knew. There was no need to worry that the driving sands would break the pillars in two, crumbling the supports which held the roof above him. But he knew that one day the pillars would be worn to nothing, long after the surfaces were beaten rough and the decorative lines were gone. There would be new pillars cut, perhaps, to hold the roof. Or perhaps the roof would be gone by then as well, and a new structure would be built.
Or perhaps the spot would be returned to the desert and the wind would drive the sand freely through this space with nothing to impede it. Meshiuzin reached up to touch the fabric of his headwrap, adjusting the face of it against the pressure of the wind. The fabric covered his entire body with only the space covering his eyes turned clear, so he could see. He could have dimmed it as well, to the dark rust of his entire cloak, for his meditations did not require him to see the sand, or the pillars, or the wind which fought between them.
But there was no reason not to see, so he'd left it as it was when he'd sat down before the storm struck. He would continue to sit, wait out the winds, and watch the swirling sands and contemplate the pillars. When the storm had passed, he might rise again and retreat into the building or he might continue here, in meditation unpon the stillness of the air. The choice would be made at the moment to be enacted, and Meshiuzin, like all entities of his Order, knew the patience to wait.
Meshiuzin sat before the pillars, numbly. Watched the sand beat against their surfaces in the driving wind, listened to the howling of stone beneath the relentless struggle for survival. Stone carved centuries ago to withstand the wind and rain and weight of the hands which touched them in reverence, still they bent under the tiny grains of sand.
It was nothing one could see, unless one looked close at the level of a grain and the pockmarked surface of the stone pillars and nothing one could feel unless one's fingertips were as sensitive as the wind itself. The stone had suffered to be worn in this way since the day their stone birth-slabs had been pulled from beneath the dirt and brought here, to be carved by soft metal and genuflective hands. Still they remained, their histories carved upon them now with more than an artist's eye for balance and delight.
The pillars would stand for many hundreds of years more, Meshiuzin knew. There was no need to worry that the driving sands would break the pillars in two, crumbling the supports which held the roof above him. But he knew that one day the pillars would be worn to nothing, long after the surfaces were beaten rough and the decorative lines were gone. There would be new pillars cut, perhaps, to hold the roof. Or perhaps the roof would be gone by then as well, and a new structure would be built.
Or perhaps the spot would be returned to the desert and the wind would drive the sand freely through this space with nothing to impede it. Meshiuzin reached up to touch the fabric of his headwrap, adjusting the face of it against the pressure of the wind. The fabric covered his entire body with only the space covering his eyes turned clear, so he could see. He could have dimmed it as well, to the dark rust of his entire cloak, for his meditations did not require him to see the sand, or the pillars, or the wind which fought between them.
But there was no reason not to see, so he'd left it as it was when he'd sat down before the storm struck. He would continue to sit, wait out the winds, and watch the swirling sands and contemplate the pillars. When the storm had passed, he might rise again and retreat into the building or he might continue here, in meditation unpon the stillness of the air. The choice would be made at the moment to be enacted, and Meshiuzin, like all entities of his Order, knew the patience to wait.