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Madison Scott-Clary 2020-12-26 14:50:03 -08:00
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writing/unseeing/learning.md
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@ -4,41 +4,39 @@ Lyut is slow to begin moving, and when he does, he walks as though a great dream
Lyut moves as though a great dream has come upon him and lets Ýng guide him, and even so his morning task of making incense is far slower than usual, for his eyes water constantly and he marvels at just how drab the ingredients, so bright and colorful in the nostrils and so familiar to the touch, are to behold. He has not known the comparison of color before, but even to one for whom sight is a new sense, he is surprised to find that the crushed root of nardin and the shaved root of sweet flag look so similar despite the vast difference in aromas and purposes, that the mastic, that steadfast base of a scent, nearly glitters in the sun while the jewel-bright scent of cardamom is belied by so dun a color. Lyut moves as though a great dream has come upon him and lets Ýng guide him, and even so his morning task of making incense is far slower than usual, for his eyes water constantly and he marvels at just how drab the ingredients, so bright and colorful in the nostrils and so familiar to the touch, are to behold. He has not known the comparison of color before, but even to one for whom sight is a new sense, he is surprised to find that the crushed root of nardin and the shaved root of sweet flag look so similar despite the vast difference in aromas and purposes, that the mastic, that steadfast base of a scent, nearly glitters in the sun while the jewel-bright scent of cardamom is belied by so dun a color.
He moves as though a great dream has come upon him until it is time to lay the powdered incense in the bowl of ash, that third prayer of creation, and he realizes that he can see the furrow he digs in ash with his claw, can see the tan powder that he packs in its place, and can see the spiral he builds, and then tears come upon him once more, and all of his prayers of destruction are completed through sight blurred by shock and he relies on his habits and Ýng's guidance to make it through to the end. He moves as though a great dream has come upon him until it is time to lay the powdered incense in the bowl of ash, that third prayer of creation, and he realizes that he can see the furrow he digs in ash with his claw, can see the tan powder that he packs in its place, and can see the spiral he builds, and then tears come upon him once more, and all of his prayers of destruction are completed through sight blurred by shock, and he relies on his habits and Ýng's guidance to make it through to the end without burning himself.
I stand apart from the lord and Their servant and watch, and sup in what prayers I may along the way. I stand apart from the lord and Their servant and watch, and drink in what prayers I may along the way.
At last, the time for prayer passes and Lyut stumbles into the woods to tend to his toilet and lingers a moment in wonder at the sight of his own body before returning to his cave and, out of the habit of so many years, grabbing his stick to guide him down to the river. At last, the time for ritual passes and Lyut stumbles into the woods to tend to his toilet and lingers a while in wonder at the sight of his own body, the sight of the woods and the leaves and humus on the forest floor, before returning to his cave and, out of the habit of so many years, grabbing his stick to guide him down to the river.
After a moment's confusion, the fisher laughs.
"Do you need that, faithful?" "Do you need that, faithful?"
"I suppose I do not, Týw." After a moment's confusion, the fisher laughs. "I suppose I do not, Týw."
"Will you leave it behind?" "Will you leave it behind?"
"It is comforting in my paw. I will take it with me." His answer is a long time in coming. "It is comforting in my paw. I will take it with me."
Guided still by habit --- and perhaps by Ýng, for I do not know the lord's every thought --- Lyut taps his way down the path to the water, and perhaps it is for the best that he has brought the stick, for his eyes are drawn to every detail along the way, from the way the suns arrow strikes the leaves to the way their shadows dance across the ground when the wind moves across them. His eyes water still, for he is overflowing with sensation. A life lived without a sense is still a full life, and to one born without that sense, raised without that sense, he did not even think of himself as blind except in comparison to Zita who picked up the amphorae of incense with such ease that he had never known. Guided still by habit --- and perhaps by Ýng, for I do not know the lord's every thought --- Lyut taps his way down the path to the water, and perhaps it is for the best that he has brought the stick, for his eyes are drawn constantly to every detail along the way, from the way the suns arrow strikes the leaves to the way their shadows dance across the ground when the wind moves across them. His eyes water still, for he is overflowing with sensation. A life lived without a sense is still a full life, and to one born without that sense, raised without that sense, he did not think of himself as blind except in comparison to Zita who picked up the amphorae of incense with such ease that he had never known.
Stops, at last, at the edge of the stream and stares at my domain, mouth open as though to speak, though no words come forth. Stops, at last, at the edge of the stream and stares at my domain, mouth open as though to speak, though no words come forth.
I wait a while, and then ask: "Faithful, do you see the wonder of my friend the water?" I wait a while, and then ask: "Faithful, do you see the wonder of my creation? My friend the water?"
"I had never imagined that it looked like this. I did not know that something could be as beautiful." "I had never imagined that it looked like this." His voice is barely above a whisper, and his eyes drink deep of the sight of the stream. "I did not know that something could be as beautiful."
This fills me more than any prayer yet that day. "I am the god of the water and the god of watching and the god of the moon and death. When you come here to fish, when you come here to bathe, when you come here to drink, those are praises that you sing to me." This fills me more than any prayer yet that day. "I am the god of the water and the god of watching and the god of the moon and death. When you come here to fish, when you come here to bathe, when you come here to drink, those are praises that you sing to me."
Lyut tilts his head. "Is Ýng not the god of all things?" Lyut tilts his head. "Is Ýng not the god of all things? I am sorry for asking again, but I must know."
"They are the god of many things, and They are the god of me. To sing praises to me is to sing praises to Them in turn." At this, I feel the lord's anger at me lessen, though it does not go away entirely. "They are the god of many things, and They are the god of me. To sing praises to me is to sing praises to Them in turn." At this, I feel the lord's anger at me soften, though it does not wholly retreat.
"I do not know the words to any prayers to you." "I do not know the words to any prayers to you, Týw."
"That is alright, faithful. You may pray all the same by fishing and bathing and drinking, by rejoicing in those things that are under my jurisdiction." "That is alright, faithful. You may pray all the same by fishing and bathing and drinking, by rejoicing in those things that are under my jurisdiction."
Lyut nods and steps into the water. This is not the usual order of his mornings, but as the wonder on his face at the sight of the water moving around his legs fills me to overflowing, I do not complain. He stands in the middle of the section of the stream that is his own, in the pool held up by the narrow gap across which he strings his net, in the cool water where the sun's arrow pierces the canopy of the trees. He stands there and he watches the way that the light reflects off the surface of the water. Watches, too, the way the water eddies around rocks, explores the funnels of whirlpools with his fingers, peers through clear water to the silt and rocks and algae below the surface. Lyut nods and steps into the water. This is not the usual order of his mornings, but as the wonder on his face at the sight of the water moving around his legs fills me to overflowing, I do not complain. He stands in the middle of the section of the stream that is his own, in the pool held up by the narrow gap across which he strings his net, in the cool water where the sun's arrow pierces the canopy of the trees. He stands there and he watches the way that the light reflects off the surface of the water. Watches, too, the way the water eddies around rocks, around his legs, explores the funnels of whirlpools with his fingers, peers through clear water to the silt and rocks and algae below the surface.
"What am I now, Týw?" "What am I now, Týw?"
@ -48,7 +46,7 @@ Lyut nods and steps into the water. This is not the usual order of his mornings,
I remain silent. I remain silent.
"I am sorry, god of water and of watching. I do not doubt you, for your gift has spoken for you. I do not turn away your gift. But if I was complete before and a servant to Ýng, then what am I now?" "I am sorry, god of water and of watching. I do not doubt you, for your gift has spoken for you. I do not turn away your gift, and offer my praise to you. But if I was complete before and a servant to Ýng, then what am I now?"
I watch him curiously, this servant of mine and of my lord's, standing in the middle of a pool in a stream where his thighs are steeped the cool water. "You are Lyut, faithful of Ýng, faithful of Týw. Has that changed with your sight?" I watch him curiously, this servant of mine and of my lord's, standing in the middle of a pool in a stream where his thighs are steeped the cool water. "You are Lyut, faithful of Ýng, faithful of Týw. Has that changed with your sight?"