Post by ravin on Jun 20, 2012 9:23:47 GMT -8
The construction of a mourning garland was an arduous process that took many a manhours to get completely right. It was an ancient tradition within the etimonian society which had dwindled away and evolved into the more commonplace; laying apon the single bloom. Ravin prefered the garland though. The labourous work that went into making one seemed to show how much love you had for the one that passed. A single bloom could be picked seconds before the ceremony. A garland required preparation, planning and thought. Each breed of flower signifying different phases of life and love. Though Ravin wasn't particularly distraught at the death of the Vildar, he felt the need to make one. Even if he wouldn't present it to the royal family, it would make him feel that he'd accomplished something. If Eltan heard that he was making one, he would have likely chastised the young man but luckily he was planetside, enjoying the death of the ruler. The last time he'd made one was after the death of his parents so it conjured up some very fuzzy images in his mind. He was a rather young at the time so it wasn't very elegant in shape or presentation but the emotion was obvious. His uncle, had insisted that he make one. And he was glad that he had. Eltan had taken on the burden of the memory transfer so he had no potent connection to his parents. But now he could think back to the construction of the mourning garland and feel at ease that he had done something.
Now, he found himself sat at a table in the rec centre, weaving flowers into a wreath for the Vildar. With age, his technique had certainly improved but he lacked the necessary creativity he had as a youth. His learned mind made logical choices, making sure no colours clashed and the meaning of each bloom was correct and appropriate. But this ruthless perfectionism gave a stale outcome. He just couldn't seemed to get it right. The mishmash of shades and shapes he'd made in honour of his parents seemed infinitely better.
Picking up a yellow pansy-like like blossom, famously the Vildar's favourite colour, he began picking at the petals mindlessly. A sigh escaped his lips.
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Now, he found himself sat at a table in the rec centre, weaving flowers into a wreath for the Vildar. With age, his technique had certainly improved but he lacked the necessary creativity he had as a youth. His learned mind made logical choices, making sure no colours clashed and the meaning of each bloom was correct and appropriate. But this ruthless perfectionism gave a stale outcome. He just couldn't seemed to get it right. The mishmash of shades and shapes he'd made in honour of his parents seemed infinitely better.
Picking up a yellow pansy-like like blossom, famously the Vildar's favourite colour, he began picking at the petals mindlessly. A sigh escaped his lips.
Tag: Any