Theme and Timbre: Pastorale

by RavenD (ravendreams@earthlink.net)

Archive: master_apprentice, anyone else, pls. ask

Author's web page: http://www.ravenswing.com/ravendreams/

Category: Vignette

Series: Part of the "Theme and Timbre" Series

Rating: G

Warnings None

Spoilers: none

Summary: Qui-Gon waxes poetic in a pasture. ;)

Notes: Thanks to Mystique for the beta.

Feedback: Waited for with bated breath.

Disclaimers: Lucas owns it all. I don't have enough money to pay attention.

Pastorale - A work of music that represents or evokes life in the countryside.

He sleeps, stretched out amongst the tall grasses and lop-sided flowers that in a true garden would be weeds. The sun adores him, kissing at his pale cheeks; his bare chest too long covered by robes. Even his toes, freed from their normal constraints, wiggle slowly in the sun.

He stretches out, protected from the dew by my cloak. He snatched it from our tent, no doubt, waiting until I went in search of water. Cheeky boy, napping on his master's favorite robe, waiting for me to find him here. What gall he has exposing himself to the late morning's light, soaking up the heat.

Slowly, I sit down on the soft grass, watching him breathe. Calling the Force to me, I bend the flowers towards him, framing him with yellows and violets and pinks. The soft petals kiss skin I dare not touch.

I would laugh at myself, at this ridiculous romanticism, but I do not wish to wake him and mar my fantasy.

Butterflies hover about, riding the warm air and I tempt them toward us, slowly teasing with wind and Force, until they flit about my padawan. The few become many. I feel them dancing upon the Force. Dozens of bright fluttering wings caress his face, his chest, his arms.

He is recreated into a sylph.

Smiling -- if I'm honest, sighing a little -- I bid the creatures go, thanking them for a stolen moment of beauty. One, a tiny butterfly with oddly bare, pale wings, flies up from my padawan's lips and moves unsteadily towards me. It lights upon my mouth, feet tickling with every step.

Our first kiss.

I smile and the butterfly moves off to join the others. What a fleeting kiss I have received from my fickle, winged lover.

A noise and I look over, see a pair of eyes shining at me.

"Our first kiss," those eyes claim, "but not our last."

The End