A Still Dance -UNFINISHED-

Stormsong considered the Afir tree. The tree did not clad itself in a tough bark, as many others did. Nor were its roots as extensive or as thirsty as might be expected from such a large and expansive being. Instead, the Afir was clothed in a soft, skin-like tissue, and drew water from the air itself. It relied not on being tough and difficult to move, but on the ability to move and change for its surroundings. It was impossible to chop down an Afir tree; upon an axe striking its skin the tree would simply morph around it, and the axe would continue to move as though it had passed through nothing but air. Where strong winds would tear branches from the Afir's kin and pull them from their roots, the Afir would stand tall, it's branches and trunk split into thin segments and its leaves perforated with holes, allowing the gale to rush past. Like the running waters of rivers and streams, the Afir tree moved around obstacles smoothly and swiftly. To live as a Harlequin, Stormsong thought, one must imitate the Afir tree and flow around the stage or an opponent's clumsy attacks and perform the masque with the same raw power as a river, using every muscle of your body in perfect harmony with every other.

Stormsong, harlequin of the troupe of Laughing Blades, rested in one of the many garden domes of Xenlocke, a small craftworld that drifted amongst the eastern fringes of the galaxy. It was a testament to the bodily control of the Eldar woman that despite the fickleness of the tree upon which she pondered, Stormsong had come to lean her back against it, and it had shifted only to better support her gentle weight. She sat with one long leg stretched out elegantly before her. The other was at angle from her torso and bent at the knee so that her toes touched the ankle of her first leg, thus forming the triangle symbolic of the Three Moons. The fingers of her left hand had woven themselves into the rune for Isha, her right hand bearing the symbol of the Laughing God. Even at rest, in places where there was no audience, the woman continued her performance, as she had done ever since she had passed the ritual decades before.

The performance had finished some time earlier, and only the troupe remained in the Dome of Llrien's Gaze. There they prepared to fade away into the labyrinthine webway and waited for the return of their kin. Slipping away and finding somewhere to be alone was something that Stormsong did regularly when visiting a craftworld or planet, and the rest of the troupe knew that she would return before they set off.

If she didn't, she would be left behind.

The woman kept her eyes on the foliage opposite, past the dirt path that lay between them, and allowed herself to be caressed by the sounds and feelings that could not be heard or felt anywhere but upon a craftworld. The spirits of Eldar millenia old, tirelessly powering and observing the craftworld from within the very bones of the ship itself, whispered in the back of her mind, the discordant sound of thousands of spirits that somehow seemed to come together to create a wonderful chorus. Also there were the minds of the Eldar who still yet lived aboard the vessel, each a shifting tide of emotions and thoughts in their own right, but to Stormsong they were only another whispering voice, and the voices of the young mixed with the voices of the old, and together they created a wonderful symphony into which the harlequin had to resist losing herself.

She continued to listen to the many voices, and did not stir when one grew louder than the rest, suggesting that one soul was closer than the others. The harlequin felt a small pulse as the door to the dome opened, admitted a single person, and closed once more. She no longer held the solitude she had sought, but Stormsong didn't mind. It would be a while before her kin came to this place if they took the time to experience the surroundings. Doubtlessly they would, for there was little other reason to visit a place rich in foliage and life, but devoid of any real purpose. Stormsong brought herself back into the material realm, away from the alluring whispers, and closed her eyes. The woman now listened to an altogether different set of sounds; that of the natural world that existed in this small space.

Here there was another set of songs and acts, sung and performed by the many creatures that made their homes in the dome. The woman listened intently to the music of these creature's everyday actions that was played on the instrument known as life. There was no worry for the coming of war or the political machinations of the corrupt. All there was, was an instinct survival.

Then, a foreign sound, one not native to the garden. The sound of feet against dirt path, a soft collision of entities. The Eldar had made it to her much quicker than Stormsong had thought. Perhaps the other had come here after sensing her. Unusual, for the mental signature of a Harlequin, she knew, was a slippery thing and difficult to gain a grasp on for any but a seer. The Eldar felt more than heard the other stop in their motion directly before her. She mentally observed the emotion radiating from this woman. It seemed to her to be a slow moving tendril, stretching out its surroundings and then reeling itself back, as though bitten. The one before her was cautious. It was a suitable emotion for one so young, Stormsong decided. The youngsters who did not learn of caution were inevitably drawn to the wondrous tales of the Outcasts, and were destined to follow the path of the Outcast themselves. Most who did would not return home.

"It is unusual to see a harlequin so far from her kin"

The voice confirmed this Eldar's cautiousness, as well as her youth. Stormsong slowly opened one eye, its bright blue iris gazing through her mask to the woman before her.

Everything about the Eldar spoke of a young girl, the harlequin thought. Her robe was as carefully crafted as any other worn by a craftworld's inhabitants, but it clung to her lithe form in a manner that accentuated the shape of her hips and bosom, the sky blue material held tight against her frame by a white cord tied around her waist. The silk garment split into two at the thigh, and the material thinned into a trail of cloth that revealed slender legs, resting between them in the wind-free dome. She stood with her legs spread slightly apart, a stance that spoke wariness and gave the ability to flee quickly should it be necessary. The woman's dark eyes were fixed on Stormsong's, or rather fixed on the eyes of Stormsong's mask. For the shapeshifting mask of a harlequin was as impenetrable as the air to the ocean creatures, and none could see what lay behind.

Stormsong smiled to herself, taking note that there was a second layer to the actions of this Eldar. She was inquisitive. No doubt the chance to speak to a troupe member, to learn of the harlequins from a harlequin herself thrilled the woman, who, by her lively face and inability to stand still, couldn't be more than two human centuries old.

"Unusual indeed, were it so" Stormsong replied. The caution of the other woman hightened the moment the words left Stormsong's mouth, her eyes darting about the garden, searching. Impressive - she knew not to rely on the senses of her mind alone. While she might only hear the harlequin's mind others could be near, others adept at silencing their mental whispers. Her stance had altered as well, no longer that of wary being ready to flee but that of a warrior. Her muscles were relaxed, arms and legs bent slightly that she could react an instant faster. It was a basic position often adopted by the warrior shrines of Khaine, one of the first taught.

"Your troupe remains in the performance dome"

"The troupe remains there, yes" Stormsong agreed, "And I am here, half of a world away. Their song is but a distant whisper" The woman's eyes narrowed further, much to the harlequin's amusement. She was enjoying this little game.

"Then how do you claim to be close to your brothers and sisters?"

A pity. She had wondered if the child could come to the conclusion herself, "The performers linger far from the garden, yet other Eldar surround this place. Are both of us, servant of the Laughing God and servant of Khaine, not children of Isha?"

The woman continued her gaze at the pale mask, not flinching when its expression changed to reflect Stormsong's amusement. Eventually she allowed a small smile to cross her face and nodded "It is so. I see that even the Harlequins feel akin to others"

"There are few of us for whom that is true" The woman's face fell, "But we are all born from one, and we must all act as one. Those who ignore the bond to any of their kin are only helping to bring about the downfall of the Eldar"