A work in progress... I have no title for it in other words.

“The young one has chosen his name.” The murmuring crowd silenced. “He shall be known as Leven Ruen” the Priestess declared. Her hands curled around my rib cage. She lifted me up so all the people could see my young face. The crowd stared at me questions filled there eyes. The Priestess set me down and gently pulled at my shoulder. I turned. She held out her hand to me. Hesitant, I took it. We walked down the stairs from the scaffold onto the cobbled streets of town square. She raised her staff, the strings of beads tapped against one another and the trinkets jingled. The crowd separated and made a small passage way. The crowd rippled and wavered, pushing to see. I saw the questions in their eyes ‘What’s going to happen?’ ‘Where are they going?’ She looked down at me, winked and firmly squeezed my hand as if to reassure me not to worry. Then lifted her head and confidently walked on with me trailing at her side.1

We reached the edge of the crowd and stepped out into the open square. A cool breeze had picked up. Confused and tossed in a coil of air, dried autumn leaves and dust churned. It curled and danced around us pulling at her cloak, skirt and my tunic. It snaked and twirled around the square. The Priestess crouched beside me and whispered;2

“Run with me?” When she asked me I herd not the Priestess beside me but her inner child speaking to me. I nodded. I loved to run. She rose up ready to run; gripping my hand. I could feel the adrenalin pumping through her veins. 3

She lunged forward impulsively; I stumbled unprepared for the sudden start. The cool air moist from the morning mist rushed past my face and burst into my lungs sending an exhilaration through me. I ran faster. I let go of the Priestesses hand and ran even faster. I was ahead of the Priestess. I looked back to see how far ahead I was. She rushed past me. It was a race. I smiled and ran faster. We ran out of the square following a street lined with tall house that blocked out sky except for a strip of blue as wide as the street. The street twisted and turned. 4

Her cloak lashed and skipped in the wind. Her sash rose and fell on her shoulders in a steady beat as she ran. The bangles around her ankles jangled and clinked against one another with each step. Our bare feet slapped the ground. The echo sounded like a pitter patter down the streets when it reached the crowded square. The staffs’ beads and trinkets bounced and leapt as she swung her arm with step. The beads hit one another in a patchy rhythm. Her flowing brown hair whipped around in the wind lashing her face. We ran through the streets toward the boarding house. I could see the courtyard. I ran full speed and could barely keep up with her. We reached the building. The race was a tie. Breathless, we laughed. We laughed from the joy and satisfaction of the run. Panting she took my hand and led me to the door of her study.5

She opened the door and ushered me in. The priestess’s study was the closest thing to a holy place save the church. I wiped my hands on my tunic. She removed her cloak and set her staff in its holder. She moved about the room lighting candles, tending the glowing fire, and moving a tall wing-backed deep purple chair closer to her incredible and elaborate chair. The chair had an octagonal shape that angled in then back out. It was in the simplest of terms a golden octagonal hour glass. The back of the chair swept over half the hour glass following the octagonal pattern. The high point of the back of the chair sat even with the top of the priestess’s head. The chair back tapered down to the middle of the two sides next to the front face; leaving only the front side and half of the second and eighth side flat. The seat, cupped on top of the hour glass, had a luxurious red velvet cushion that covered the whole seat and the back of the chair. Two lavish arm pillows of embroidered orange silk one on each side. There was a hook on each side of the chair bearing a red corded rope with gold tassels on the ends by the arm rests. To complete the elaborate chair the hourglass sand in a steady stream kept time. By the amount of sand it probably ran for a whole day. How the priestess kept the time going I do not know. She couldn’t turn her chair over to let the time run back, she would have no chair. The chair itself reminded me of India although I had never visited there. I had envisioned such a chair would be like the throne of an India Emperor. 6

She motioned me to sit. The wing-back was warm, comfy, cushy. I nestled into the warm chair. The room smelled of the most wonderful incense and was dimly lit. Beautiful scarves and tapestries hung on the walls and blocked the window so the full power of the sun was lost. The smoke from the incense filled the room causing the light from the sun to turn a light, purple hue. There were many wondrous things from other lands on the shelves lining the walls between tapestries. Small trinkets, little machines that whirred and clicked, scrolls and books and many others things I could not put a name to.