A gentle breeze blows hot through the tall grass. In the midst of a vast prairie a little girl sits watching the clouds pass overhead on their slow journey. She turns her head as she hears the sound of a bird from the woods behind her. She closes her eyes and thinks of the bird sitting on the branch of a tree. Who does the bird there sing for? And then her mind drifts off to follow that thought. The girl oft would dream of far off lands, of castles, and people of old. There a knight, a wizard, a king would pass by upon the road as they travel to someplace unknown. Perhaps one night a bard would sing her a lullaby. The sound of his harp whispering in her ear as she lay down to sleep. At times it would seem as if she could see, or hear, or touch these places. Though they remained only in her mind and in her play.
As she grew and learned these things would come to her in different forms. Words from paper now came alive, books she read would bring her over and over again to these places she had dreampt so often of. They would pull her in and bring her to some new found wonder. The girl would only finish one story, then to feel the need to find another. For years, this, the stories of others upon paper and the moving images upon a screen seemed to satisfy the longing she had.
Until it seemed the stories themselves sought another path. The girl still growing there upon the rolling prairie, would sit and dream. And to her mind would come near visions of the tales yet unknown. She could see it all so clearly as if no longer a girl there upon the prairie surrounded by row after row of corn growing all around. She was Ola, with bare feet she ran across wooden bridges. She played in the village and ran through the trees. And she, as Ola, saw through dream and mist. She had to run. She had to save him. There in the cave near their home, though miles away, she saw the dragon that sought her brother. And so she ran to him. Ola ran to find her brother and the dragon. Did she find him? Or was she too late?
And later the girl, now Beria with sword and bow would go with Andrid across the lands. Wavering images in pools and messages left on walls now guide them. All the secrets there to find, as the right-wise king would soon be brought to his throne.
Then she was Bella, as she fought her way out of darkness back to Aiyah and Jack. Bella flies on dragon's wings to the castle there in the mountains high as all the memories return to her. So many people did she become as the tales would play themselves out in her mind. She could see it all so clearly. And then with ink and paper did she begin to tell these, her own tales. Her memories at times almost seemed mingled with the memories of the characters that she created. She shared their feelings, their hopes, their dreams.
The girl, now grown, yet still it seems the words flow as a spring of water from her mind. The tales have changed. How many names does she count now as her own? With ink and paper, or fingers and keys the streams of words come to life. The cold stone walls, bright colorful pennants blowing in the breeze, towers in the sky, she has dreampt of many castles through the years. Yet with her eyes never beheld one truly. What of all the kings she had known? Or magic thus controlled?
She sits here in this quiet place and watches yet the corn that grows. The world like her has changed o'er time. There now exists a vast and growing web that circles round the world itself. Through these little shimmering strands, through these spider webs that bind us close, the girl reaches out. She learns of things, and sees with images of places far away. Maybe not as far away are they as time has moved us on. These images, these words, these sources of knowledge, she uses to help her as she weaves her spells of words and ink.
Now she is Alys. She closes her eyes and sees not the corn, but waves that crash upon the beach. She sees Emrys and Evan. She is Alys and holds the babe and sees the sword and battles yet to fight and halls that must be built. Off in the quiet of the night, the sound of harp and voices mingle, to fill her with a calm and happiness.
As the words to paper come, the girl searches still to find the lands far across the prairie seas, through endless sky, and farther still over watery deeps to the distant shores. She finds the words she seeks. She sees their black designs, dark upon the whiteness of the screen and paper, but cannot understand. The words, their look, their feel, their sound, are music in and of themselves. She hardly needs the meaning, just the words, they are right and good. They are near enough for her. But then she pulls upon a different strand of web. She finds the ones who bring the meaning to the words she sought. Could she truly know and learn these words? She reaches out and grabs ahold with mind and heart and soul.
Dw i'n trio siarad Cymraeg. Dw i'n hoffi siarad Cymraeg. Dw i'n moyn siarad Cymraeg.
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