Vysmari

The story of how Venos became Vysmari.

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“Vysmari” the wind whispers on a breeze as it passes by, playful and tickling her wings, beckoning for her to follow. A voice, something soft and yearning and calling that only she can hear yet Venos does not know what for. She turns towards the sun, squinting against the bright rays of early afternoon, morning only just passing by. Watches as the clouds pass by, slow and serene and without a care in the world and she hums their lullaby with them and yearns. Yet still, it is not enough for her to spread her wings and venture into the unknown adventure that beckons because how could she venture alone?

How could the world expect her to venture alone, without so much as a companion by her side to help her along when she may need it.

Venos tries to muster up some courage to ask the wind as it speaks in a whisper, tries yet the words are trapped in her throat. Unable to fall from her tongue and she, once again, ignores the call, the urge, the push to follow. She does not yet have the courage. To ask, to follow, to do anything but wait and some part of her despises the wait. Yet the Imperial still only waits and listens; listens and longs to go along, but not quite strong enough.

(And when the wind calls again, as it always does, it sounds less like a whisper and more like a caress and Venos longs just a bit more each. As she always does.)

The Imperial sighs, eyes lingering up on the clouds wings shifting in want. Clouds are rarely alone and isn’t that quite something she thinks, lowering her gaze to her surroundings. Trees and fallen leaves and the undergrowth, the sounds of a rushing river nearby. Serene. Calm.

Lonely.

The breeze picks up, wraps around her like a blanket before twirling away in a ballet of beckoning. “Come,” it says, “Vysmari” the wind calls again and Venos still does not know what it asks for. “Where is that?” she asks, finally finding the words to reply but not the ones she wants. These work just as well despite it. “Not where,” the wind laughs, tickling her chin and fluttering by her wings as if urging her for flight.

“Who,” it responds and Venos wonders what is to great about this Vysmari that the wind beckons her to find this mysterious and seemingly allusive dragon. “Who?” the Imperial mimicks, rising to her feet to the delight of the wind, trees rustling and leaves fluttering about by her feet as if in a joyful fall of goodbye. The wind does not answer, laughing and lively as it brushes against the branches of the trees, friends greeting and parting all at once.

But there is something in her, the same thing that resonates with the wind and it’s calls, that whispers the name so easily like breathing air. “Vysmari. Who is that?” she repeats, rising her gaze towards the sky once more. Clouds, together and wandering. Leaves, fluttering, separate but not alone as the trees wave beneath them.

And finally, after what seems like a lifetime, after her feet move of their own accord, after the leaves fall their goodbye and the trees wave and the clouds take the lead. After she realizes she is moving does the wind reply, laughter and joy and a welcome home.

“You.”