So the following chapters have been done at Tanaver.
Part I
Chapter I: A Day in the Life
Part I, Part II
Chapter II: This Darkest Sea
Part I, Part II
I think I'll keep trying for about one half-chapter a day, which shouldn't interfere with other things I need to do. The current wordcount is around 7650.
As a sort of 'special feature', I thought I'd give my current draft of the poem from the Sylevid mentioned in Chapter II, the Amenetaar.
The Apple-Daughters
The new light is breaking on my thought,
sunrise-like upon a living sky;
the words of song are forming swiftly
to speak of kith and kin with bright voice.
Shall poet speak,
shall song be sung without the sun's flame?
In darkness light, in winter soft warmth
the singer will make with stories old.
Though ice grow thick, joy will leap in hearts.
Sing now the song,
let words be tuned to tell the old tale,
the tale of Sylve, and Linne's tale,
the holiday-tale our fathers told!
Sing with me in bright voice of old days.
Let the seed grow;
let apple bloom with sweetness and song!
From forth a seed there grew a great tree;
its boughs were heavy with ripe apples.
The apples were sweet, their scent was joy.
From seed came fruit,
the blooms grew full, each fruit a great world,
rich with every soul's habitation.
One fruit was finest, full of sweet life.
Three pips it hid; its daughters were three,
bright-eyed maidens.
Minne was first, swiftest with her hands,
keen with her sight and sharp with her mind,
stout in her heart, a soul to endure.
She looked at the world with learning eyes,
clear-eyed maiden.
Linne there also, swiftest on her feet,
danced to rhythm that pulsed in the tree,
sang with a music like wind in the leaves,
wove well a song of beauty and truth,
clear-voiced maiden.
But Sylve was sweetest, pure and kind,
quiet in grace; she sought out the right,
lived by the pulse of beauty and truth,
spoke with a wisdom beyond her years,
true-voiced maiden.
On an island Minne built her hourse,
first a small one, then it grew greater,
built with graceful stones and good silver,
every part lovely and full of use,
a place to rest.
But restless were Linne and Sylve:
there was wandering in their spirits,
and they adventured for their fortunes,
first in small journeys, then in long ones.
Without a rest
they roamed on sea, on land, through forests,
beneath strange skies and on strange stones
to find a homeland and a people,
to star-lands bright of which singers sing
and poets speak.
