by Stephanie Barr

Created on: August 12, 2008

Windrider

The leaves fluttered back, lifted by a sharp breeze. The man lying beneath the tree should have noticed the wind for the day had been stiflingly still, but he was lost in contemplation of the reflections in the motionless pool.

Behind him, silver sandals touched the pebbly ground, soundlessly. Silently, she slipped behind the tree. Silence was as much her gift as riding the wind, and far more acceptable, but it was best if she went unnoticed. The leaves rustled again briefly as she climbed above the recumbent man. One leaf trembled and fell, disturbing the clear mirror of the lake.

The man started and reached for the offending leaf, but it was beyond his reach. Instead, he sighed.

She made no sound, but she sighed, too. She knew him, of course, for he had come to her village many months ago. Whenever he disappeared for a few hours, she would leap aboard the wind when no one was looking and find him. The wind always knew where to go.

She knew why he sighed. Rene, the village beauty played with him as she played with all the other men. He was only a minstrel and poor of gold, and Rene dreamed of a rich husband. Still, his voice was like gold and his face handsome, so she kept him to keep her beaus jealous.

Poor Michel, for his heart was well and truly taken. He had no armor when she pouted her full red lips or flounced her golden curls at him.

Venetia could see what Rene did to him and her eyes bled silent tears. Though no one knew. No one noticed Venetia for she was as odd as she was silent. Who could care what she saw or what she thought?

Michel pulled a flute from his bag and Venetia smiled. She loved when he played the flute. His harp playing was inspired and he had a voice like nectar. Even so, when he played the flute, Venetia could hear the wind, feel it fresh on her face. The wind was her friend and her escape, and she loved it when Michel brought it to life with his breath.

The wind liked it, too, for, as he played, it danced lazily around the tree, toying with the leaves and blowing about Venetia's long white-blond hair. Venetia laughed soundlessly, but the wind heard and danced faster.

Suddenly, the music stopped. The wind slipped away. Venetia stared down to find him, standing, staring up at her. Her dark brown eyes widened like those of a startled deer, and she slid clumsily out of the tree.

"Don't go," said Michel. "I didn't mean to frighten you. Really, please stay."

Venetia stopped, torn, but no one had ever asked her to stay. No one

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