Tiny Stories And Concepts

Pan's Dance

Round in a circle they danced and spun, a whirling of feet and hands and joyous voices. In the center, at the heart of it all, danced the most graceful of creatures to ever be seen. A faun he was, furry brown with delicate horns. The tap of his hooves was the beat of the song, an endless rhythm that never ceased. He smiled coyly, putting a reed pipe to his lips, playing a song more wistful but quick than I'd ever heard. His eyes danced as much as his feet, and he seemed at ease in the center of a whirlpool. For that's what we became, the bodies of liquid fire that licked the ceilings and drowned the floor. The flick of his glance was too often thrown at me. And my cheeks burned to know another soul could see mine as I moved with it pinned to my chest.

The magic was slowed but not extinguished as he drew his song to a close, and when it finished, a roar followed, wild voices and hearts set free by his song, praising his ways and his gifts to our souls. As was tradition, he removed his white tasseled scarf, and let his gaze drift over the crowd in indecision. Whomever he saw fit, he would gift the scarf, granting a bit of the magic he played that night, and letting it shift in their soul for a while. It was the nights ultimate prize. Why he would choose a person was never clear. It could be that he liked your smile the best, or you danced with true heart, or your eyes were the brightest. His decision was always different. But it was never argued, only envied. As his calm, sparkling eyes moved from one anticipated face to the next, a smile tugged at his lips. Never spoke a word, only delivered magic. And tonight, it fell on me. When his gaze settled on mine, I could do nothing. I froze with disbelief. He took two steps and stood in front of me. With a gentle movement, the scarf fell around my neck, with a small gasp from all except him. He smiled once more, as my fingers touched the edge of my gift in reverence. And with a step back, and a bow, he departed.