Shaping Synvasti

[Llyewell]

Sigarni usually let her carvings shape themselves. Within every piece of wood was an object waiting to be coaxed forth, and with her blade roll unfurled and her tools spread before her, she was the willing midwife, helping to ease that shape into being. Occasionally, however, it was necessary to exert her will upon a piece of wood, and this was a far more delicate undertaking. She found, through trial and error, that the best results were obtained not by thinking of what she wanted to make, but rather the reasons for making it.

Now, as she turned the uniquely grained wood chunk in her hand, so did she turn her thoughts to the woman who had given it to her. Her Luck-friend, Synvasti, had presented it to her as she did all of her gifts, with little ceremony and no wrapping. And Sigarni had received this gift as she had all of the gifts from Synvasti, with warm surprise and a touch of wonder that spiced the pleasure of receipt.

She settled back in the long grass of the plains, perched on the top of the hill with sea salt breezes tugging at her hair and setting the heavy blooms of the roses to bobbing and dancing. What to make her? It needed to be something small. It could not hold her back in her journeys, could not slow her steps or make her have to pause and fiddle with pack and pouch and belongings. Synvasti came and went like the tides, waxed and waned like the moons in the sky. She was never in one place for long before the wanderlust would start in her fingers and toes, and set her gaze to stealing furtive glances at the horizon. Sigarni understood this about her, and though she felt disappointment welling like a sigh within her whenever Synvasti abruptly clambered to her feet, she knew that the enchanter would return, drifting over the horizon to stay a while and share words. She took comfort in the promise of future meetings the way a child makes it through the darkest hours of night by having faith the sun will rise again.

Jewellery, then. Something she could wear, rather than carry. Not a charm to add to the ones already strung about her silvered throat. Not a ring to make her other fingers jealous. Sigarni smiled crookedly, feeling the idea slide into place in her mind. It would be a bracelet, loose enough to not bind, close enough to not slip off. She sat up and looked over the blades snuggled in their pockets within her leather blade roll, and chose the curved edged shape of her roughing blade. Working in silence, she carved away what she did not need, her focus sharpening upon the receiver of the gift with each cut.

The inner circumference would be smooth and round, able to spin freely without chafing at the woman’s flesh. She thought of the way Synvasti never lifted her eyes to another person’s face, except for quick glances. She thought of how she always folded in on herself when she sat, and how she kept a careful distance from others, even when joining in their circle of companionship. There were no harsh words, no threatening glares. There was always something, though -- a wall, or an invisible boundary. A sign written in the air that proclaimed DO NOT TOUCH. They had never spoken about it, but Sigarni was not sure they had ever needed to. It was simply a part of Synvasti, a piece of the whole rather than a quirk, so far as the rogue was concerned. Her blade flashed as she shaped the outer border of the bracelet into a gentle square; the suggestion of a box.

She switched blades as she held the seed of the bracelet in her fingers, tucking in her roughing blade and choosing a finer, more flexible blade for refining. Synvasti Shymere. The name rolled over her mind’s tongue, echoed in her brain. She toyed with its pronunciation, twisting it from Sin-VAST-ee to SIN-vast-ee, and frowned at the close rhyme it made to ‘travesty’. No, Synvasti was no travesty. She was deep souled and many featured, vast as an entire unexplored world. Sigarni grinned, and turned her mind to Shymere. Was there ever a name that fit a person better? It was true Synvasti could appear shy, though Sigarni knew she was not, merely contained. And ‘mere’ could mean a pool of water, and didn’t they say that still waters ran deep? Synvasti ran deeper than the ocean, deeper than the velvet between the stars. But ‘mere’ also meant ‘just enough’, and that also described Synvasti. She was not overly generous, nor was she stingy. She was the proper amount of all things, that piquant moment between starvation and gluttony.

Sigarni put away her refining blade and looked down at her lap, covered in curled shavings and bits of wood. She brushed them into the grass, save one twisted corkscrew shaving that she held up and let the wind snatch from her fingers to spirit away to parts unknown. The bracelet was pretty enough, but still not finished. She picked out a small pronged blade and sat with it balanced across her fingers as she tried to think of what to carve into the bracelet. For half a marc, nothing came to mind. She shifted a body gone stiff and closed her eyes, pulling up her picture of Synvasti. A woman dressed in gray, with silent bells and autumn caught in the ever-present tangles of her hair, she moved with a seeking stride. Not quite a prowl, but very much a hunt. She was shaped by her wandering; her skin bronzed, her pack serving as anchor point for numerous treasures, and her features gone rangy and lean. And along her fingers were those silvered tattoos, dancing lines of thorns that travelled her digits and disappeared within her sleeves, taking hidden paths to her throat, where they reappeared in an inked torque. Thorns. Silvered thorns. Sigarni did not know the meaning behind the gilded lines, though she dearly wished to map them, but she knew it would be a shame to break their path. And so the pronged blade began to etch away at the squared surface of the bangle, replicating the same pattern of thorns as a makeshift bridge.

A marc passed, the skies turning smudged violet as a sunset spilled fire along the horizon before she was finished. She puffed her cheeks out, blowing chaff from the bracelet, and then rose to her feet. She winced as her hips protested, grown used to their seated position, and then bent and gathered her blade roll and her pack. With a last murmured word for the sleepy roses, she turned her feet towards the ocean and began to make her way across the plains towards the sand and the sea. She would scour the wood and baptise it in the sea, and then she would find a place to polish the wood until it gleamed with a softly golden sheen. Then she would simply hold onto it, until the Wanderer’s path met her own again, as she knew it would. As she had faith that it would.

[Viviyana]

Sigarni, I love how you weave words together in a way that I can see the imagery so clearly in my mind. You are so very gifted! The whole tale had such a feel of Synvasti and you captured her essence, or my view on it, amazingly well. Oh and "No, Synvasti was no travesty." is my new favorite saying Magical!

[Thorne]

Sublime. The telling of the gift is as much of one. More so, since it is shared.

Well done.
-Th.

[Topaz]

I enjoy reading your writing so much.


Topaz

[Llyewell]

You are all so very, very kind.

[quasha lavarte]

Lovely, as always. <3

[Synvasti Shymere]

((You know how you can have a thousand things to write because your heart's all filled up and spilling with ebullience and gratitude, but you just bounce around physically and in your brain, and don't write a single thing? Yeah. That was me when I woke up Thursday morning and saw this post by you, Loreweaver. I literally spun circles all the way from my computer chair to the kitchen. What a present!

I've been spinning ever since, hunting for words, finding all of them inadequate.

You are so frigging amazing, and I'm so lucky to have met you through this grand game. I am consistently awed and inspired by your RP, and have admired your writing for years now. Thank you for storying my character in your profoundly lovely, insightful way. Thank you for being The Storyteller. Thank you for being my friend.))

[Sorynn]

Stunning, thank you for sharing.

[purazon]

Just wonderful. Well done!