Ehlin

"Fucking winds, how in the hells can they possibly be so strong?!"
"Careful, dear, one of us might just hear you..."
"What? Who said that?"

— A man speaking to the wind

 

Spellbound

  Not one to announce herself with thunder or storm; instead, the Dawning comes quietly, gently. She slips into the world on pink and amber threads of dawn, tracing her fingers over the hills and whispering her secrets into the breeze that stirs just before sunrise. She is the delicate symphony of the morning, a blend of rustling leaves and the distant call of awakening birds.   Wearing a gown spun from the soft hues of sunrise; pale pinks, soft lavenders, and hints of gold that glow brighter with every passing second, the Dawning's appearance is as fleeting as the first light. Her hair is the color of the sky just before the sun rises; that strange, indeterminate shade that’s neither light nor dark. When she moves, the air around her hums, not with force, but with anticipation.  

Entranced

  Her presence is felt as a promise of change, a gentle nudge that life is always about to start again. She carries with her the scent of new beginnings, of roads not yet taken and opportunities still waiting on the other side of the horizon. The Dawning does not impose her will but rather stirs the heart to action with a whisper of encouragement. Farmers adore her, as do dreamers and insomniacs, for they know that the Dawning brings a kind of magic only found in the in-between, where day and night exchange a quiet handshake.   But make no mistake, she can be relentless when she wants. For while the Dawning is patient, she is also inevitable. You can hide from her under blankets, shut your curtains tight, and turn your back to the east. But she’ll be there, waiting, as steady as the first light of day.