The lake. It had many aspects to it. For the students, it was equal part rollick site, escape from civilisation and secret garden; secret probably wasn't the most accurate word, as it was known by all, but there were very rarely more than a few people there outside glorious summers. The waters were an ambient temperature, too cold to swim in but not cold enough to bite into the flesh of those who came into contact with it. There were very few souls visiting the lake at present, the sun concealed behind a shroud of light, empty clouds but its rays still prevailing onto the earth, projecting a light warmth upon the blades of grass.
It was at the edge of the lake that Khross sat, the quill of a gryphon in his favoured right hand, one of his many parchment tomes resting upon the lap of his robe. His eyes peered at his own reflection, admiring the slightly clouded yet serenely lucid image of himself. Yes, he was no oil painting, the prime of his youth long passed, but the way his mirror image danced with the gentle ripples of the wind, the truth of a natural mirror such as a lake that seems to take a personality outside of the faithful, true reflection of glass...there was just something so breathtaking about the symbolism. Khross had learned much, and yet, Mother Nature always had another lesson for even those who had walked the paths he had already travelled. His runic stave laid at his side, Khross allowed himself to be lost in a trance, his quill painting with his words, capturing his fleeting thoughts:
"The veil between is clouded and obscure,
Entombed in mists beyond our knowledge scape,
But if you train your eyes to see the pure,
Your vision pierces through the liar's drape
And through the dancing ripples of a lake,
You'll find the truth meandering in kind;
Never pursue knowledge for it's own sake,
Instead pursue it for good of mankind,
For water is the mirror of the soul,
Great Mother Earth's own lucid looking glass;
For when at times the world seems oh so cold
Just look upon the lake, and woes will pass
A lake is more than just a fluid pool,
Just as a power is more than a tool"
Khross had not registered just how much time had passed since he had been writing, nor did he notice if he was being watched, his mind completely lost in his thoughts. But for his trance, he had created more words, lovingly crafted with care and great wisdom, that he may share one day with the younger.
Maybe sooner than he thought.
It was at the edge of the lake that Khross sat, the quill of a gryphon in his favoured right hand, one of his many parchment tomes resting upon the lap of his robe. His eyes peered at his own reflection, admiring the slightly clouded yet serenely lucid image of himself. Yes, he was no oil painting, the prime of his youth long passed, but the way his mirror image danced with the gentle ripples of the wind, the truth of a natural mirror such as a lake that seems to take a personality outside of the faithful, true reflection of glass...there was just something so breathtaking about the symbolism. Khross had learned much, and yet, Mother Nature always had another lesson for even those who had walked the paths he had already travelled. His runic stave laid at his side, Khross allowed himself to be lost in a trance, his quill painting with his words, capturing his fleeting thoughts:
"The veil between is clouded and obscure,
Entombed in mists beyond our knowledge scape,
But if you train your eyes to see the pure,
Your vision pierces through the liar's drape
And through the dancing ripples of a lake,
You'll find the truth meandering in kind;
Never pursue knowledge for it's own sake,
Instead pursue it for good of mankind,
For water is the mirror of the soul,
Great Mother Earth's own lucid looking glass;
For when at times the world seems oh so cold
Just look upon the lake, and woes will pass
A lake is more than just a fluid pool,
Just as a power is more than a tool"
Khross had not registered just how much time had passed since he had been writing, nor did he notice if he was being watched, his mind completely lost in his thoughts. But for his trance, he had created more words, lovingly crafted with care and great wisdom, that he may share one day with the younger.
Maybe sooner than he thought.