The Sun, the Wind, and the Songster Prince: a Referential Epic with lots of Alliteration

By KingAramis17

Sundriel awoke over the land, commanding the dawn from the sky.  The morning’s dew beaded and dribbled, sparkling with her light and the grass grew into its green finery as the shadows reclined from over them.  She stretched warmth over the horizon, pushing her glow into the west onto all she ruled.

“Sweet sunlight, pour if you may,” she sung of herself.  “We shall not suffer storms this day.”

Beneath her, another dwelt, and Windra poured from out the mountains in the east.  Steady and cool, she billowed on tufts of her invisible air.  She hurried through the plains of the valley, rousing the blossoms in the meadows and ruffling the feathers of waking birds.  She sung to them—soft and proud—coaxing their wings so they would fly among her breeze.

As she swirled with them, she crooned: “Oh dawn, first light, oh would you please, let not harsh winds nip our knees.”

The Sun and the Wind frittered paltry time to bring the morning.  Today, it would be theirs, not like the rest of the week that Sister Fogabella and Sister Raine-Stormilla had spoiled.  Sundriel and Windra even had Mother Night permit them full access to this day, after their sibling’s selfish reign of nasty weather.  The two were excited, and soon their wish to see [i]him[/i], after such a dreadful eternity, would be granted.

Sundriel squinted, like the very eye over the world, and Windra simply stilled to a puff of restful air.  Perhaps, He would come soon, to the place he always would—when the sky was bright and warm, and the wind was soft—to the outlook where in that soothing morning, he would sing.  Oh, how heavenly his voice would sound, all across the valley.  After a time, Sundriel glinted something beneath her light.

“There, there!” she announced.

Sundriel and Windra suddenly swooned, if ever one should know when the wind or sun does so.  He was coming—the handsome prince that brought the Sun to the earth and wind to her knees.  The prince propped himself up onto a mossy rock, his stage of course, and stood unswerving to the morning delight laid before his green eyes.  Warmth of sunlight soothed him, and gentle gales groped and caressed his night-worn body.

His hair was the finest endowment of gold and down fluff, crowned by a circlet of silver leaves, and dripping in diamonds and crystal dew.  Windra’s tendrils strode across his fair features, then simply stumbled intoxicated when they passed.  Sundriel glowed, for she was a star, but for no reason could she surpass this man in splendor and beauty.  When he smiled, its gleam put her to shame.

The finest clothing, green and embroidered, rippled themselves silly on his tall rawboned body.  It was a splendid sight for any man or deity (as the Sun and Wind were) to witness.  Yes, this boy had many admirers, both mortal and God.

“Sundriel, Sundriel!  He is here!” said Windra, who spun in a current with such an enchantment.  The wind grimaced, whisking to Sundriel’s heavenly height.  “Now we will here him sing, and see whose beauty doth he minds more—yours or mine.”  
  
“Nonsense, nonsense you fool, spinning like some drunkard in the air,” said Sundriel, “It is I, the Sun who presides over the earth, that the prince shall make his song.  He will sing to me this day.”

“Oh?  We shall see, my sister, who shines too brightly she is blinded by her own light.  We shall see.”

The prince began his song, standing tall and great, to look upon his bountiful kingdom.  His pleasant voice sauntered into the sunlight, wavered through the wind:

[i]I felt my world swimming,
Distantly fading from my eyes.
Mountains rise to shadow my pain,
And all hope is lost to me.

My heart, it longs to beat,
Carried through silence,
And to the dawn,
Gentle but bittersweet.
 
I fight for tomorrow’s end,
Flowing on a sweeping storm.
I cannot rest until no
King may spread his lies!

Morning will come,
And I melt with its soft grace.
Feel me against your soul
Never leave my wary breath.

For all I desire, is love.[/i]

It was a beautiful song, and even more joyous to hear, but it wrenched both Sundriel and Windra.

“What’s this?  H-he does not sing of the splendor of the Sun!”  Sundriel panted.

“And not the wonders of the wind either!”  The current Windra rode howled and then crashed against the prince.

“Who is this ‘Love’ that dares to take my Prince?”  The Sun boomed, flaring her rays, so they poured down over all the land in agony.  “How dare she?  I will roar like Hell’s fury and roast her!”

“And I,” added Windra, “will fill my gales with a thousand demons to prick and torment this footling wench!”

“But whoever is she, Windra?  Where shall we find Love, so she may suffer?”

Windra gave a sidelong glance.  “Actually, Sister, I do not know.  Hmm...Maybe the Prince will let it slip.  Let us spy—er, watch him some more.”  Windra circled gently around him, and the Sun poured down her eyes.

The Prince had suddenly panicked when the wind pushed him over and the heat suddenly flew.  Now it was calm again.  “What just happened?” he cried.  He was speaking to something the Wind and Sun had not noticed before.  Two cats, one white and the other a calico mix, emerged from behind his feat.

“Maybe it’s your father,” said the white one, in a voice so profound, it was a wonder why not all cats could talk.  “He does have some skill with the weather, and he does want you home, William.  Just my idea.”

The Calico looked a bit more rowdy.  “No, yer father doesn’t have that kind of power.”  So was his voice.  “That was just a sudden flop in the weather.  If the King had any power over anything to get you back home, then he would’ve used it.  Maybe it’s a sign, Will.”

“But for what?” asked the Prince in an acidic tone.  “A sign that I’m not doing the right thing?  Please, Nicolas, I am not going back.  The weather’s cleared and I’m making my way off this continent while it stays.  And that’s final.”  

Nicolas sighed, the way a cat would.  “Newm and I, we just want what’s best.”

“Yes,” the white cat seconded, “for you, your highness.  Running away won’t settle anything.  You must speak with your father.”

“Oh, stop it, both of you!  As long as I am Prince William Alexander Remington IV, I’ve no chance at love, and I’ll be married off to [i]the Faerie Queen[/i].  My father, he doesn’t understand, and maybe you don’t because, well your cats.  I need to get out of the Kingdom; my love is waiting for me with a ship on Terran—that’s where I’m going.”

The Prince set off, down the outlook with his two cats skittering close by.  He held a pack, filled for a long voyage that the Sisters did not see either.  He was to cross the entire valley, and then over the mountains, in order to escape the Kingdom.

“So Terran,” Windra muttered, “That’s where we can find Love.  If it’s a ship she’s waiting for him with, I’ll simply blow it away, with her in it.  I can afford to make a deal with Sister Sea-Lena, if that’s what it will take to have the Prince for my own.”

“Humph, for your own?” said Sundriel, “I think not!  After I burn Love to a crisp, then we shall really see who the Prince sings for.”

The Sun in the sky rolled slowly after the prince, and the wind hustled at his side.  He would lead them to Love, and then the Sun and the Wind would have their way with her...

* * *

King Aramis XVII couldn’t understand why his son ran away.  He stalked behind the Faerie Queen, wondering who in the right mind would decline a union with such a delightful creature.  [i]The world is truly strange with its taste[/i], he thought.  She was angry right now, but once he got things settled, everything, he hoped, would be fine.

“Give me more time,” the king pleaded, “My son; he’s just being a nuisance.  He will be back, I assure you.  May I ask why the Queen needs an heir so quickly?”

The Faerie Queen, tall and illustrious, paced down the marble audience chamber, toward the exit.

“This union would provide security to both our realms,” she said, “but since your stunted little son ran off, he will ruin it all.”  She eyed him darkly with shadowy eyes set on a pale face.  “I need an heir.  You know the reason why, but if not, I won’t help you.”

She prepared herself to ascend through the door of his audience chamber when the king grabbed her wing—not something one should do to a Faerie.  She ceased from beating him over the head.  “What now?” 

“Wait, oh your highness, please!” the King gasped.  “Why is the Golden Dragon such a problem?”

“Why is the Wordweaver such a problem for you?” she caustically shot back, holding herself from simply whisking away.  “You need me to rid the Wordweaver from your kingdom because you’ve no magic to do so—Faerie magic.  While I need an heir to present to the Golden Dragon when he arrives this winter for the tribute, but there are no more men in my dominion for that use.  Your son, he’d better show up!”

“Of course, your greatness, but how is it you can manage the Wordweaver but not a dragon?”

“You pudding head, the Wordweaver is nothing but a rogue Faerie.  She’s pretty and has a great deal of spells up her bodice, but I am still almighty over all Faeries and the Faerie Realm.  Dragons, now they are a problem.  Gods, I curse them for giving magic immunity to those swollen, chauvinistic lizards.”

“But must you resort to magic for every trouble?  A simple sword can deal with any self-important dragon—it has been done in my time.”

“Fool!  You would have my realm reduced in darkness?”  The Faerie Queen rose above him on wings of a butterfly, and her eyes burned with a purple flame.  “A treasonous tongue you have, stunted king!  If ever should a blade find its way across the sea and into my dominion, all Faeries would die.  Get these thoughts out of you head, mortal, and let me here it no more!”  She was off after that, flapping through the sky and above Aramis’ kingdom, back to her own realm. 

Good riddance.  The King was slightly relieved, but there was still much to be done before his worries were over.  When he returned inside and sat himself down onto his throne, he began to ponder how exactly he was to retrieve his son.

* * *

[i]Someday, my Prince will come,
To carry me across the sea
Hurry, before the wind’s undone
Sail away in a ship with me[/i]

It was sunset when Clare sung into the wind.  She had been waiting aboard the ship, the [i]Fantasy-Rider[/i], tied up in Terran’s harbor for some days now.  Before the dusk, when the golden orb of the Sun lamented close over the horizon, she sounded her longing words, for her Prince, her love, to ride out over the pier and into her arms.  And they would sail away.

However, this wasn’t some nonsense fantasy-romance story.  The trouble with reality meant good patience was necessary, and Clare needed to be a good girl and wait—unless she decided this Prince wasn’t the worth.  That was not the case.

Her brown eyes longed for the sea.  “Oh, how I wish he was here!” she cried.

“Are you at it again?”

She whisked her head of mahogany locks around from her perch on the stern.  It was Saemi, in her sparse black bodice that held her burgeoning blue bounty of burdensome bosoms.  The pirate’s chest heaved, between two biceps of brilliant blue arms, squeezed, perked, and tight.  Her white and wild hair fell onto it all.

“Oh hello, Saemi,” the very bashful Clare said, “I was just thinking, about him again.  I’m sorry about how weird I can be, always singing, and that sort.”

The blue pirate smugly grinned, “Weird?  Oh, you’re far from weird.  Maybe if you took a look—”

“Saemi!” 

Avorian, the warrior queen of Avoria (what do you know?), stepped from below deck, with a stern face aimed toward the blue pirate.  Her head of flaming curls kindled below the falling sun. “You know better, leave Clare alone,” she said, her own burdensome bosom bursting at the seams of her leather jerkin whilst she breathed.

Saemi shook her head, knowing she’d been cut off for a very sensitive reason.  “There’s going to be a storm soon and I want to be out of Terran before then.  But instead we wait for this prince I don’t even know exists.”

“Yes he does!”  Clare exclaimed, “He is coming, I know he is.”  Her eyes set out across the sea once more.  “I love him...but his father the king, he makes it difficult.”

“So you’re saying the prince of Erressia loves [i]you[/i]?”

“Saemi, don’t let me say it again.” the Queen whispered, with a twinge in her voice that said, [i]back-off[/i].  “Clare is a very beautiful girl.  Why would the prince not want her, may I ask you that?”

“Beautiful?”  Saemi glanced at Clare, unsure about what not to say.  “I suppose she is rather...fully capable of finding herself a mate, but, er...I’m not sure about the prince.”  

“It’s not your job to be sure about anything,” Avorian said, “leave that to me.  You [i]will[/i] wait for the prince to come; do I need remind you, pirate, that within your hold you have captive over a hundred Royal Dalmatians?  It would be a shame for someone to let that kind of information, to um, slip to the authorities.”

The Pirate scoffed and said no more.  She could not leave, and yet she couldn’t stay either.  [i]Quite a predicament for the poor dear.[/i]  She left Clare alone on the stern in a huff.  The prince had better hurry, for the dark mushrooming clouds on the horizon, looked harsher then any of the King’s dungeons.

* * *

It was two moons that Sundriel, the Sun of the Land, and Windra the Day Wind, followed Prince William.  They only wished that when day fell and Mother Night and Duskwind woke, and they needed to sleep, could they continue after him.  Still, they had never been with him this long, for he would normally leave, when they saw him singing, after the morning to indoors.

Today he traveled slowly, and they were a little bored stiff with it.

“This valley is too big!” bellowed Windra, picking up a bit, perhaps hoping that blowing the prince would make him hurry.

“And our prince moves through it too slowly!” said Sundriel, “It’ll be forever before we can find that witch, Love.”

“Quite right, my sister.  If only we could hurry the boy so he can finally lead us to her!”

“Did you try blowing him?”

“I did.  But if I were to actually move him with my gusts, he could get hurt.”

“Maybe I should shine harder to get him going.  Shall I try for a time?”

“No, sister.  He’s a human; you wouldn’t be coaxing him at all.  He’d only go slower.”

Ever on, the Sun trailed after Prince William and the wind blew from behind.  Newm and Nicolas were the only companions he acknowledged however—though of course, Windra and Sundriel were truthfully stalkers, and not companions.

After crossing for an eternity under a treeless and cloudless path, the purple peaks of the mountains were still the same eyeshot away after two days. 

“We’ve been at it forever, my prince,” said Newm.  “Perhaps, it would be wise to go back.”  The lithe and lovely white cat was perched around his shoulders.  Such a perfect feline wasn’t going to walk now! 

Regardless, she did speak the truth.  Will was a homebody, and no more suited for this journey if the cat was forced to make it herself.  Palace life [i]does not[/i] make good adventurers.  The cliché of royalty embarking on perilous quests is all rubbish, you see. 

Will trudged on, trying to ignore the little voice in his ear

“Now, Newm, I am very sensible to the signs of nature.  My island upbringing taught me that,” said Nicolas.  He had bothered to walk on his own.  “After last week’s depressing rainfall and fog, the sun and the wind have finally returned.  And for two fine days!  If that’s not a sign that this journey’s meant to be, then have me altered!

“Scoff, anything but that dear,” the other cat said, loosening her diamond necklace a bit.  “So it seems now you’re going along with it, hmm...what a loss, now I have to do everything myself.”

“You sure don’t walk by yourself,” sniggered the prince.

“Oh I cannot be expected to do that, it’s not in my control.”  Newm looked away, blushing.  “I am only trying to persuade you, Will, that leaving the Kingdom is placing your people in terrible danger.”

He sneered.  “From what?”

“Must I remind you again?  The Wordweaver, you remember her?  She is still a threat, and you’re just running away from it when it’s your duty as-”

“Please don’t say that, I’m not the king,” he said, “just a wandering bard now, don’t you remember?  [i]Not a prince[/i].  It’s my father’s job;” he put it bluntly, “he and the Faerie Queen will settle it themselves.”

Newm groaned, rather un-elegant for her.  “But the Faerie Queen will only help if you marry her.  You’re being selfish.”

Though it was hard for Sundriel to hear from so high up, it wasn’t a problem for Windra, and she had crept close to eavesdrop and heard everything well.  Immediately she returned up to Sundriel; it was noon, the Sun’s highest point in the day.

“Faeries!” shouted Windra to her sister.

“What about them?”

“They’re part of the reason that our prince goes to see Love!” the wind exclaimed.  “How dare those flittering, prancing, airheads?”

“Excuse me, but there’s nothing the matter with airheads, Windra,” Sundriel said nastily.  “Now what have those Faeries done to make our prince want to go and see Love?”

“I’m not certain of it all.  There’s something of the Wordweaver-”

“Oh, she’s rather agreeable, but what’s she done?”

“Her?  Oh nothing, her name only slipped.  But I know for certain that our prince is being forced into matrimony with the Faerie Queen, and that is the reason he runs away!  It’s dreadful!”

“Ghastly!”

“Yes, how dare she?  She should be punished.”

“But there’s nothing we can do to her,” sighed Sundriel.  “Mother Night loves them.  Her especially.”

“But what would that crazy clod of a queen want with our prince?  I never heard of Faeries fancying humans before.”

Sundriel thought a moment.  “Maybe we should talk to the prince,” she said.  “Get him to speak up.  I really don’t like eavesdropping, and those cats seem to be working against him.  Someone needs to get him going, and only other humans are good for that.” 

Windra answered with an unexpected scowl.  “Well, that would be nice.  You’d just end up blinding him and burning the earth.”

“No, no, of course not like that!  We can’t let him see us as gods—he’d just start asking us what the meaning of existence is or some other drool those humans make up to put meaning to their lives.”

“Obviously; they were merely a mistake to begin with.  We can’t have that, even for our prince.  Mother Earth would be furious!  Humans going berserk because they get their poor little hearts broken.  But I do believe we should have a talk with him, to get him to hurry up.”

“And to keep any nuisances the Faeries send after him, I assume they will,” Sundriel added.  “We’ll turn into humans, patents of our godlike forms.  That way we’ll also find out who he’d rather sing for, for real.”

“Yes, a splendid idea!  We could never expect him to get along with the wind or the sun, no matter how brilliant we were.  We needed to be human!”

And for this reason, the Sun and the Wind set out to become humans.  By the next day, they would have undergone a complete transmutation, something very difficult even for gods.  Of course, during that time, they would renounce control of the day to their siblings.  This meant an end to any more good weather...

* * *

By the time the Faerie Queen flew home, she had worked herself into a huff.  Immediately, she enthroned herself upon a seat of gilded coral and began issuing every possible order for her underlings to complete.  The Faerie Realm was in quite a stir, busying itself to the very words of its maddened monarch.  Then, the Gold Dragon, decided to show up.

Even though a large and rigid reptile, he pranced through the palace doors with girlishness in his gait.  Almost like a little lamb, one would say.  But despite the awkward disturbance, when you consider the general gaiety that Faeries embody, it actually fit quite well here.
In a misplaced voice, high and lisped, he spoke.  “Faeries, oh my lovely Faeries, I had wished you’d all be dancing to my arrival.”

There was a displeased groan from everyone.  Faeries are actually more tepid then most humans presume, and do not enjoy dancing very much.  Nevertheless, the Dragon’s stereotype fell through, and there began a Bollywood in the ballroom, Botox smiles bursting on everyone.  Some flittered their Faerie flutes, others played pixie pipes, and the Dragon in his shrewdness, swayed splendidly to a fast-fabricated fandango.

This all came very suddenly to the Faerie Queen, who hadn’t been told of the Dragon’s arrival.  She only heard laughter, and it made her angry to hear others pleased when she wasn’t quite at her best.  Not even bothering to call her servants to flap her wings for her, she flew from her throne to see the fun—then quickly ruin it all.

“Administrating punishment is my favorite,” she said, fluttering towards the ballroom.  “I moderate with an iron fist this palace, and no one will be happy while I’m not.  They’re supposed to be cleaning, scrubbing, suffering.  Not dancing!”  When she came amid the place in a salsa scene, on the pale and pretty ballroom floor, no one bothered to bow to her.  “What is this?” she cackled.  “How dare—” Then she saw the Dragon.  He was in the middle of all the frolicking: tall, effeminately clapping his claws, not at all supposed to be here!

The soon nauseated (and anxious) Queen knew what to do.  Coyly, she perked up her best bosomy look and flew dazedly to the dragon’s side, dark eyes a’ dazzled.  He would like that.  Faerie magic may never work on dragons, but for bosoms, there was no immunity to them.

“Why my lord,” she excitedly breathed, “I had not been expecting you.  What fortune doth bring you here?”

For some reason the dragon didn’t speak to the Faerie Queen’s chest as she’d hoped.  “Oh?  Is it truly a surprise that I am here today?  Your Faeries aren’t the only ones who forgot it seems.”

“Excuse me my lord?”  The Faerie Queen was partial to the stupidity of Gold Dragons, but always before she understood the nonsense he breathed.  What was he at now?  “We honestly did not see you coming.  You’re mistaken, there was no word of this day’s appointment.  May I ask if the Lord Dragon has had too many malts before flying here?”  She leaned over so cleavage flourished.

But the dragon pierced her sternly, deflating bosoms with his stare.  “Faerie Queen, I know what you’re playing.  It isn’t good to make fun my intelligence when you’re the one caught in my noose.  Now pick up your bodice and let me see bosoms no more!”  It hurt him a little saying that, but it was far more a terror for the Faeries to hear.  The Faerie Queen immediately obeyed, and the maidens around her stopped to do it as well.

The Dragon leered over them.  “It is the first day of the season, and my tribute has not been brought!” he flared.  “Where’s my princess?  Why did I have to fly down from my cave just to get her?”

“But my lord,” the Faerie Queen said, “it is only the first day of the summer season.  It’s months away from the tribute.  How can you be so mistaken to come for it now?”

“What?  You dare call me wrong!  It is winter and the snow falls across the sea in the Man kingdom.  I have seen it.  You have been virtuous this year, haven’t you?  Disgusting!  Now where’s my new Faerie Princess?”

Something was wrong, and it wasn’t because the Gold Dragon was being an over-active imbecile today.  He was under some manipulation to believe that summer and fall had passed.  Such a shrewd and devious influence could only be the work of the Wordweaver!

“Oh lord, but it is summer,” the queen pleaded.  “You’ve suffered an enchantment of the Wordweaver.”  [i]Such a stint in his mind has to be[/i].  She feared the fiery death of his breath and flinched to where her subjects stood.

The other Faeries saw the workings of malice and they too pleaded with a barrage of yes-men nods.  “It is true,” they cried, “the Wordweaver, our enemy, is to blame.  Please Lord Dragon, come to your senses!” 

The Dragon did not have it.  He burst open his superfluous wings, and they stretched so terribly to fill the ballroom.  “Bah!  I am a dragon and no magic has potency over me, desperate Faeries.  Your self-absorbed Queen is to blame, and you know the penalty for failed tribute.”  Dark dragon shadows heightened as the Golden Lord gleamed with fire, shutting out all other lights in that bright place as he did.  It could be that a strong enchantment had finally found success on his kind; he poured forth the evil of sorcery.  “A princess is to be surrendered for my enjoyment each year,” he said with a toothy grin.  “If not, I’ve come to repossess this realm.”   

All the Faeries and their queen cowered beneath him.

Darkness was rushing over the Faerie Realm, and there to watch it, was the Wordweaver herself.  From the shadows of her hidden lair, she listened in exultantly as the first phase of her schemes played out well through her Mirror of Truth.

Her plan was almost complete... 

* * *

If humans knew anything about Gods, then they would have known just how much Sister Raine-Stormilla loved hassling the sea.  Unlike Windra, she settled for swift and caustic airstreams that tumbled the land and her inundated sister, Sea-Lena.  The first leg of her storm was already upon Terran, bristling over the port with wayward winds and roughened rain. 

It was cold and damp as Avorian writhed in bed, listening to the squalls moving in the clouds.  More then anything, she wanted to sleep in quiet, but even the downpour proved more gracious then the strident snores near her ears.  Saemi the pirate slept beside her, too close for good reason.

She had a lantern put on and refused to let it die.  The fire and light crackled, and snores continued to push out from the blue pirate, all to the misery of poor Avorian.  Her head thumped, and was on the brink of a nasty overload.  The warrior within her urged for the kill, even as the queenly half told her propriety and restraint was best.  Sleep or snoring: which one would she give up?

Then lighting, from overhead as well as from within her, burst aloud, ripping away right and reality.  The warrior within the woman struck out, revealing the spear she’d shut in secrecy and she bashed the lantern to the ground.  “The power of Christ compels you!” the fanatic woman shouted. “There shall live no evil.  Now die engine of Satan!”  In frenzy, the queen jumped to the other side of the bed and began impaling the blazed shards of the lantern, screaming, “hallowed be thy name o mighty God!”

Saemi numbly awoke, unaware of her shipmate’s delirium.  Seeing her now, the queen of Avoria leapt onto the pirate, trampling burdensome bosoms with boar skin bootees.  “My roommate, it has been hell this night, and I have discovered the reason why,” Avorian madly shrilled atop her.  “You are a demon!”

The storm surged the sea as sadism swept the inside of the [i]Fantasy-Rider[/i].  Avorian was clawing at the hair of her “demon” because Saemi had wrested her spear and pitched it aside.  The two women tossed around, turning and titivating the bed of turquoise sheets.  Their bodies bonded as they brawled, bobbling everything on the counters beside them with their buxom battle.

Saemi, sick of the Queen’s surplus sway aboard her boat, swept at her sides.  Avorian, angered by the agony of acidic nights assaulted the pirate’s arms.  Then from nowhere, came Clare, crying into the room with a coward’s creep. 

To see the young one scuttle her way in for aid, and see naught but their craze, put a quick and desired end to the unfolding fight.  Avorian adjusted herself, forgetting completely of her demon.  “What is it?” she asked.  As the lightning fell, her senses returned with it.

Even Saemi worried seeing her sob, as she sifted through her hair to straighten its tangles.  “What harms you, dear?”

Clare’s lips parted and she fell into Avorian’s arms. Gently, the older woman stroked Clare’s long brown hair, feeling the unusually strong buildup of muscle on the teen.  Clare was bigger then her, lying here in her arms, and she’d never noticed it until now.

“He’s not coming, is he?”  Clare softly coughed, digging into the softness of Avorian’s chest.   

The storm was gaining power on the outside.  If he did not come soon, Clare would have to leave without him.

She needed to.

* * *

Grey clouds and a heavy silence enshrouded the land when the Sun and the Wind decided to become humans that morning.  Then, the excited voice of Sundriel rang through the air, and everything seemed to sweeten into a bright confection of her bliss. 

“I just love my body!” the Sun squealed. 

She stood above a crystal pool near the mountain’s forested edge, admiring herself in its still.  The prince had advanced much that night, it seemed, for he was camped on the other side, asleep. 

Readying herself, she studied every crook upon her new form, supple and soft to her newest sense: touch.  In the halted water, her body glistened with the glaze of toasted honey, nude and sumptuously nubile in her eyes of shining brown sunlight.  When she turned to the crackling of grass behind her, Windra too was just as overjoyed.

“Oh Sundriel,” the wind drawled, “I can at long last see my beauty!”  This transformation had been very profound for her.

The Sun’s face split with a smile.  “And I am no longer a chubby ball in the sky,” she said.  “Look sister, I even have bosoms!  Aren’t they wonderful?”  Of course, the sun was very voluptuous, bursting with life and much-desired curves.  “I am the prince’s dream.  For sure, he will have me.”

Windra drew a sudden scowl, for her chest was not as fortunate.  “Bosoms, you say?  Extra fat, if I ever saw it.”  She flicked out her tongue from a face, long and slim.  Whirls of a pretentious blue waves whipped in her eyes.  “Men, my sister, they desire the slight.  Not all that excess you have to offer.” 

Unlike her sibling, she was tall and lithe: wispy as wind.  Her own hair flowered with the waves of windswept willows, and her skin was pale as a winding chill. 

Competitively, Sundriel just tossed her hair, sun-kissed with a beautiful char.  “Hah!  You’re only mad because my body isn’t some shaven twig.”

“Oh really, a twig?”  The wind eyed her sister meanly and then poked her fleshy underside.  “At least I don’t have all this in my trunk.”  She pried her sister, nastily giggling at the curvaceous butt.  “What you gon’ do with all that junk when our prince sees you next to me, eh?”

“I’ll get him drunk with my lusciousness and then he’d forget you were ever there,” she bit back.  “No one ever notices the breeze, why would he now?” 

Windra did not give in.  “So that’s what you’re expecting, dear Sundriel?  But you’re wrong!” she refuted.  “Countless times, I have entreated him with my breath, and he was delighted.  I am simply not the stagnant star you so often are.”

Lovingly, or un-lovingly, the goddesses gibbered on of whom the prince would take.  By then, Will had awakened against their knowing.  Soon, he was approaching the waterfall for a bath, separated only by a large black boulder in the pool’s center from their loud bickering.  He took it as some wild chatter and unmindfully disrobed.

He was in eyeshot; [i]very close[/i], when he began his paean, of the sun and wind, that had got them going from the very first time the goddesses heard it.  As the sisters ceased quarreling, their Godly eyes widened to the heavens. 

Sundriel slopped from her angelically jolly lips, the squirmiest sound.  “My sister, is that our prince who soothes his splendid body in that waterfall?” 

“I shouldn’t wonder,” Windra breathed.  “It’s him, and without those things humans have on, he looks splendid.”  Both of them turned to hot air.

“His body,” said the Wind, “it differs from ours.”

“In more beauty, that is.”

“Right, he is eye-catching, and deserves no worship but that of Gods.  See how the water does not just fall off him?  Those nitwit Nereids enjoy groping such magnificence.  They flail about those strong curves on his bare arms—”

“And wind down those crags in his chest and stomach, and continue lower still.”

Their fascinated eyes fell down the boy, like a fool fumbling down a stairs.  

“He has something that we do not!  Look Windra, he has a thingy!”  The wind and the sun looked down onto their own bodies.

“Yes, Sundriel, we are missing something.”  Windra further inspected, and then looked again to the boy.  “What do you think it is?” 

“No clue, but I’m feeling we should ask him.  Have you the courage?”
 
“I have the beauty, so of course,” smiled Sundriel.  “Let us go.”

The sun led the way through the pool, being her first time ever wet.  Plowing through it was like voyaging through a vat of toxic waste—but as a human, she was completely repellant of risk, and free to frolic.  Even the wind, who had experience tumbling the ocean, delighted feeling the cool luxury.  Humans had so many sensations gods did not, and they greatened nearing the prince.

The sisters propped themselves beside him, still busying himself with his bath.  It took a few moments, and then he dropped his jaw for the most spectacular expression the sisters ever saw.

“Hello,” Windra greeted.

“You look so much better up close,” added Sundriel with a wanton wink.  “[i]Au naturel[/i] looks grand on you, my prince.” 

Time stopped; heartbeats with it.  Then the boy overtook them with an unexpected yelp. 

“My prince?”  Windra reached out, hoping for a touch.

However, the boy scooted away on two left feet behind the black rock.  Any man would lust to see a pair of Goddesses pull themselves, dripping naked, out of water for him.  And as trippy a moment it would be, Windra and Sundriel did just that.  But why was he hiding from them?

Only one explanation could exist—at least the one Windra knew.  “Is this a game mortals play?” she asked.     

“Oh, then I want to join in!” said Sundriel.  The both of them excitedly followed after.

“I am Windra,” said the wind.

“And I am Sundriel.  It’s wonderful to finally meet you, your majesty.”

This was all too trippy for the prince.  “Who are you people?  Why are you following me?” he cried, bursting red as he did. 

Sundriel thought up something quick.  “We’ve been sent here, to be with you.”

The prince’s face furrowed and his redness looked fiery.  “If you’re in league with my father, I’ll tell you now that I am not going back.  He’ll have to send something better then naked women.”

“But my prince, we haven’t been sent by your father,” cried Windra.  “We’re here to help you through the mountains.  Love sent us.”

“Who?” he asked blankly.

“Love; isn’t that the person waiting for you with a ship?”

“Oh, you mean Clare!” he shouted.

“Exactly, we’re your new, er...bodyguards.  But who is Clare?” she said crossly.  “You have two women now!”

“Clare is the one I love,” he answered.  “And there’s only one.”

The sisters grimaced.  “Then who is Love?”

Will didn’t know how else to explain.  “[i]Clare’s[/i] the person that I love,” he said once more.  The women were still confused. 

“So,” said Sundriel, “Love is a thing that you do to another mortal?  Then I get it!  But what is it still?  And why is it you love this Clare?  Could you do it for us, perhaps?”

He shook his head.  “I can’t love you; I don’t even know who you are.  But if it means anything, you’re really hot.”

The Sun gasped, scampering back.  “How do you know I’m hot?  Windra [i]he knows![/i]”

“Wait, I don’t know anything about you.  Calling someone ‘hot’ is this new term for someone who is very pretty.  You’re both stunning, so I meant it for your sister too.”

“Ooh,” Windra bashfully giggled, batting her lashes.  “I’ve never been excited to be called hot before.  Humans have such delectable terms.”

“Though very misleading,” sighed Sundriel.

Something chilly fell over them all, and that’s when the prince realized he was still naked.  He turned a more embarrassing red, and then piped up.  “Sundriel, Windra, where are your clothes?”

“We never wear clothes,” they simply said.

“Never?  But wouldn’t you catch a cold?  The wind here is quite fierce, I heard.”

“Not to worry,” Windra winked.  “There won’t be any winds through the mountains.  You can trust me on that.”

“Well, if you’re sure.  But I’d rather you found something to wear if I’m to follow you around.  Is that alright?”

“That can be done easily.”

“Well good then.”  He shifted uneasily behind his hiding place.

(in progress)