It was dusk, that time of false darkness when light still clings to the sky but stars shine overhead.  A gentle breeze stirred, moaning over the water and whistling past the rocks, polarity in its very being as it swirled across the earthen ground.  The moons shone clearly this night, twin orbs of purest silver casting their glow, battling with the last remaining vestiges of sun and cloud.  But all things must pass, and the golden light vanished over the horizon, leaving moon in his stead.  All was still as the night reclaimed her own and the land quieted.

But one figure was not quiet, standing silhouetted in the moon’s face, staring up to the sky.  The shadow stood, waiting, as if poised on the brink of motion as narrow as a knife’s edge.  The cool breeze stirred the shadow, wisps of darkness caught in the wind’s grasp, just as silver gilded its features.  In this realm of half-light, colors faded and nigh invisible, the pale glow lighting all that it touched in an ethereal glow, the figure shifted.  Again, it seemed to wait, head slightly cocked.  

Listening to the far off beat of a distant drum.

Again, the shadow shifted, slowly and languidly in the twin moons’ light, limbs spreading and shifting.  A hand reached up, almost pleadingly, slender and calm, before drawing in once more, cradled delicately next to her heart.  A bare foot tapped, softly upon the earthen ground, her pulse slowing to match the bass rhythm.  She shifted her weight, striking out with her other foot to land gracefully, all the while the beat firm and steady within her mind.

In her mind’s ear, others joined in, a light and airy drum rolling and tapping a rhythmic melody as the high wailing of a pipe countered her heartbeat.  Her motions were sure, smooth, every position, every angle of wrist and finger perfected through practice.  The wind was with her as she flowed from one form to the next, lifting her, buoying her flagging energy.  But she did not notice the burn in her muscles, did not notice the sweat gilding her skin, sparkling in the moons’ light.  She only heard the rhythm, the music.

A voice entered her mind, a wordless call that added to the urgency of her motions.  Her feet slid easily over the ground, the soft earth letting her tap and glide across it harmlessly.  Again, the call came, only to be answered by her own voice, a harsh sound, discordant yet oddly fitting.  She crouched, fingers brushing across the earth almost lovingly.  Here she paused, letting the rhythm slow and quiet, barely above a whisper.

An arm reached out, the hand spread, catching the silver light of the moons, appearing pale and white.  Her head slowly raised, face and neck exposed to the sky and stars as she knelt on the earthen ground.  The wind stirred slightly, taking tendrils of hair with it, cooling her fevered skin.  She fell back, her breathing harsh and panting as the gentle breeze blew over her exposed flesh.

The rhythm slowed further, barely audible in her mind’s ear.  The pipes had long silenced, the voice a distant memory.  All that remained was the rhythm of her heart.