Sempiternal [Merthur]

Þrēotīne

A twig snapped on the concrete under small feet, the halves dragged away by a long, heavy cloak.

The sky was clear but moonless, allowing the small boy to dissolve into the shadows, unseen. He moved swiftly around houses and through alleyways, gliding over yards, and almost flying over fences. He saw everything – whether it wanted to be seen or not – because that's what he was: an observer.

He saw Suburbia in each window – four people sitting side by side, with a dinner in between. But he also saw the fingers drumming on the table, and the eyes darting from one parent to the other as forks and spoons rose to meet pale lips and nervous smiles. He saw the mother clench her napkin a little too tight, and he saw the dullness in the little boy's eyes, or the little girl's downturned gaze.

He saw Suburbia in the souls walking down the cold sidewalk, rushing to get nowhere, and slowing down when they finally realize the significance of a second and the triviality of a minute.

And he saw Suburbia in the silence of the night, only getting deeper as the night got darker.

And as the lights in the windows went out one by one, he patiently made his way closer and closer to the nowhere he was headed for all along.

He stood there, in front of the house, blanketed by the night, for hours, staring at a streetlamp across from him – it flickered every few seconds, and it flickered and it flickered again.

And then... it didn't.

And he saw it all, because that's what he was – an observer.

Until now.

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Within seconds the boy was inside, the cold breeze replaced with warmth and the concrete beneath his feet turning into fluffy, modern carpeting. He looked around the bedroom, eyes scanning the contraptions that he deemed as rather useless – because why would you need an alarm clock when you can have a perfectly good rooster on your roof? In fact, the rooster would probably be more effective in the first place.

Shaking the leaves and branches off from the hem of his cloak, the little boy then started to quickly but quietly rummage around in the drawers around the room, hoping to find some personal items to help him achieve his goal.

After a few minutes of searching, tiny hands arranged two yellow candles, a comb, and a book in a line on the floor. He sat down in front of the sleeping man covered in blankets, and timed their breaths so that they were one. The boy then raised his palms over the two candles and with the blink of an eye and a flash of gold, they were lit. He set the comb on the book and began to silently chant:

Dè bha uaireigin

An e sin a bhios gu bràth

Agus bidh a-rithist

Mar sin mas e do thoil e, leis na Diathan agus a 'mhàthair chothromach

Thoir air ais na bha uaireigin

Thoir air ais an ceangal seo

Agus cuir air ais an tar-chuir seo

B 'urrainnear faclan a bhruidhinn gun ghluasad

Agus is dòcha gu bheil teangannan gun fheum an aghaidh draoidheachd

And as he said the words with no sound, his eyes started to shine brighter and brighter, and the trees outside started to blow, their branches gently grazing the glass of the window. The sleeping man started to twist and turn in between his sheets, and the room and everything that was in it started to softly vibrate – a hum to illustrate the energy flying between the two, doing its transcendental dance before reaching its destination. And then, the candles burned out, and from sleeping lips escape a barely audible gasp. Everything went still.