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Sep. 27th, 2009 05:39 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nnyEvolution
(The Ancients are forgotten/the Ancestors are born)
Something Wraithless, deep-sleeping under water, counts (steady-ticking) the years as they pass.
Outside, above, across and beyond, in directions uncounted and distances untold, the passing years are meaningless and measureless and old. The people count their time in generations, in nations, in creation and destruction and efforts made to rebuild.
Their story-memories are shaped around ancient buildings, technologies, faceted meanings evolving from half-forgotten truths. Truths become history, become memory, become myth, passed on and learned from and created anew.
They dance their memories, stamping them into the dust with their heels and their hands, drumming their defiance and their gratitude and their praise.
They sing their memories over birth beds and death beds, into ears too old to hear them and too young to understand.
They weave their memories into the tales they tell around the flickering-intimate light of firesides at feast times, of candles at dusk.
The passing years are meaningless and measureless and old.
Lives lived in the shadow of the terror of the Wraith only gives sharper outlines to the joys that they hold.
