Your Perspective In Time and Fletcher Wings part 5: The Beginning of a Party

Your perspective in time is like a person standing on a road. The mountains (hard times) you see far ahead and behind you seem much smaller than the ones you have to get over now. The huge plains of waiting are almost completely hidden from view, no matter how long they take to cross when you are at them, and the small valleys of good times aren't seen again once you've left them, except one time.

That last time you glimpse them will be once you've climbed your last tall mountain and turn around at the peak to gaze serenely at all you've left behind. Then you will see those lush valleys, and all of the road-- the hard parts and the good. It will be the best perspective that you will get your whole life; because the last mountain is always the biggest, because all roads lead slowly upwards, if you were to level them out. And once you've gotten to that tallest peak, you will notice more about your life than ever before. You will see how sometimes, the hard struggle up the mountain actually was what led to the easy and restful walk down. You will smile to remember all those times that you conquered the mountains...
 
And then you will turn slowly, and begin to walk again, thinking with a bit of sadness, "It's all downhill from here."
 
And eventually you will get to the end of your road, and discover what you've been headed for your whole life, and I hope that you didn't take a wrong turn somewhere and not turn back. I hope that what you were headed for was what you were searching for. I know the way there, I think, but not many do. Even for me, it is so hard to read the sign posts pointing out the correct path.
 
Do you know what you are searching for? Home.
 
And if you do get there, it will still hurt like nothing you've ever felt before, just to step off the road after so much wandering. However, in the end, your heart wasn't made to travel. It was made to rest in the quiet of Home.

I hope I see you there.



 ......... That was something I wrote a day or two ago. I'll post more of Fletcher Wings also. Oh, and sorry that I didn't post. So much for 'tomorrow or next week!' (Haha)

            The next day Mr. Dwalvin woke me up. He said, in an annoyingly cheerful way, “Today is your welcome party. Be- or at least act- very thankful to have everyone visiting. It would be… unfortunate… if you made an enemy merely because you said the wrong thing in response to their head on a stick they somehow found appropriate to give you. Understand?” I groaned and sat up. I said, yawning, “Sure. Don’t argue. Look like you love everyone’s presents.” Mr. Dwalvin said, “Well, that’s the gist of it. Now come with me.” I complained sleepily, “I need some time to wake up!” He simply yanked the comfortable sheets and quilt off the bed. I was up like a spring, bolting down breakfast and pulling on a pair of leather trousers and a white linen shirt. Then I allowed Mr. Dwalvin to lead me away.

            We stopped at an impressive building and went inside, through the huge white marble columns. I felt hesitant to even walk up the steps, much less enter. The place was so stiff and official, and it reeked with politics and formal men who would frown at my messy hair and sleepy expression. It reminded me of the big buildings back on the other side of the Daun, except those were more modern.

            Despite the bad first impression, it didn’t seem so bad, once I got inside. The halls were brightly lit with candles and flowers. The floor was thick, soft, red carpet.

            Then I got to the party room.

            A huge chamber soared above me. To one side a stage was set, presumably for musicians. In the back of the room a chair sat, with a rug going up to it. The entire place was empty. Mr. Dwalvin said, “Hurry! We have not a moment to waste! Sit down in the chair and look smart while I get everything ready!” He hustled from the room. I looked around, then walked up to the chair and sat, feeling more than a bit ridiculous. I waited for about ten minutes, and then Mr. Dwalvin came back, leading an army of short men in black clothing and aprons. Several began sweeping, while others carried in a table with plates and food already set out on their shoulders, while at last several approached me. They led me away, into a small door, to a fairly large closet. It was full of ceremonial robes and suits. They told me to put one on, and then went back out the door. I looked through several ancient red robes, set aside several suits that looked too big around the waist for me, and even held up a blue robe. Every one didn’t fit, was too big, or too… interestingly colored. I finally came across a green outfit. It had black leather leggings that were clean and nice but not fanciful or with ruffles, a crisp light green tunic with a touch of black embroidery on the hem, and a swirling emerald green cloak. It all fit perfectly and was comfortable, feeling made for show but wearable in a fight. The cloak even had a slit down the back that would allow my wings through. I put up the hood and stepped back into the main room, closing the door behind me. I walked back to the chair, dodging the fairies, elves and dwarves that had filled the room in my absence. I sat down on the chair, stiffly, waiting to be told to do something. Then someone began playing a trumpet, and everyone in the room turned towards me.