summer_jackel (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
summer_jackel) wrote2017-05-26 10:27 am
summer_jackel) wrote2017-05-26 10:27 am
Entry tags:
Writing Prompt --- Dead Language
develop-your-oc
Which OC speaks a dead language?
His language is not dead, but in the city it may as well be, so distant are all of its speakers. Valerai fervently hopes that they remain that way, but she will always miss them.
Seljai, she thinks every morning at the time she once opened her mind to daily prayer: be alive, be full of joy, be far, far away from this place.
And in the city, she speaks his language to her hounds. “Beautiful ones, sleek wind-chasers, little piece-of-the-sky hounds," she speaks to them so that she does not forget his language, so unlike any other she ever learned. The long softness of its syllables, the gentle rising and falling of its cadence, the neat definition of its structure comfort her, soothe her aching when she misses him and all that she has lost.
Everyone assumes Valerai is speaking her own language, or nonsense-syllables; and if she becomes aware of this, she does not correct them. She does not speak of him, does not wish to invoke him here; but she will not forget his language, for it is not dead, and, somewhere, neither is he.
Which OC speaks a dead language?
His language is not dead, but in the city it may as well be, so distant are all of its speakers. Valerai fervently hopes that they remain that way, but she will always miss them.
Seljai, she thinks every morning at the time she once opened her mind to daily prayer: be alive, be full of joy, be far, far away from this place.
And in the city, she speaks his language to her hounds. “Beautiful ones, sleek wind-chasers, little piece-of-the-sky hounds," she speaks to them so that she does not forget his language, so unlike any other she ever learned. The long softness of its syllables, the gentle rising and falling of its cadence, the neat definition of its structure comfort her, soothe her aching when she misses him and all that she has lost.
Everyone assumes Valerai is speaking her own language, or nonsense-syllables; and if she becomes aware of this, she does not correct them. She does not speak of him, does not wish to invoke him here; but she will not forget his language, for it is not dead, and, somewhere, neither is he.