Wading through a sea of grass alive with the cool breeze of an open grassland, he ran his hands over the feathery surface of the golden water. A great sun from his memory shone with warm brilliance over the fields, and he revelled in what comfort he got from that light – a sun quite unlike the one he knew now that scorched the dead earth to dust, then hid its face beneath grey shrouds in brooding.

Past the rolling hills of grass, he stood at a stout wall of rock. Stroking the grey stones with his hand, he walked along the length of the wall and the stones submitted their warmth to him at his touch, but yielded little else. He opened his arms, and the breeze blew his hair and pulled at his tunic, but there was nothing more.

Looking around him, the fields of grass extended and stretched into eternity and he felt himself shrink as the world grew and enveloped him and, strangely, he felt no longer the heat of the sun, but neither warmth nor cold… Then he closed his eyes and opened them again, and he found himself returned to the field beside the rocks under the warm safety of the sun.

Over the fields of grass was a long building that lay in the shadow of a great oak that had borne neither nut nor flower for as long as he could remember. It was late winter, and it bore no leaves, as well; its mighty arms, though skeletal, were nonetheless grand. His father's place, sheltered from the sun's warmth and light. Closing one eye and extending an arm, he imagined reaching out and touching it with the wistful hope of a small child, but with both eyes open, distance and the warm wall of stone barred his way.

Turning away from the building, he felt the wind in his face and it refreshed him, and he let it run its course around his body and tug with vain fingers at the fabric of his tunic. He directed his face to the sun, but found it had disappeared beneath the form of the building that lay in the distance.

He walked the length of the wall, arms spread so that his hands touched both rock and grass - always into the east.

The world thinned...


* * *

Throughout the first book, Luke is ever seeking his father who abandoned him as a child. He journeys west from his home, gazing longingly into the east, yet still eventually finds himself in the land of the Morning Star... but that belongs in teh second book.

This is the first of several dreams he has of his past home - highly symbolic and eventually prophetic, they reveal more about himself than he first realises...

Keep both eyes open.

Another speedpainting, except this began with a stock sunset image and a picture of an oak tree. The clouds were fun to repaint, and I debated using full colour in lieu of black silhouettes... but the black is wonderfully symbolic in context, so I left it.

~1 hour. Adobe PhotoShop 7.0.

Story and characters © Jen Philpot (The Tripartitus)