A Wild Thrush in The Fen (Self Mod Basic Acrobatics, Pre-Veil & GF'd)

[Quenthalus]

TS: Spring: Early Immanis

"I was really surprised to hear you were going this far with it." said Destrin rolling his shoulders, attempting to shrug off a hardened armor that had been forged during the times of the Elder Circle, at an age when the children of the forest took up arms of fire. Even Destrin was not so desperate to use a black powder firearm to press his nationalism, but he never knew how to refuse the leaders of the Elder Circle; especially Iksandar.
Quenthalus entered the clear meadow, addressing the cool breeze with a closed-eyed pause while his lungs filled with air. Visoring his brow, he searched the horizon of the southern plains, lazily wandering tired eyes across the noble fields of endless expanse. Seeming like a pillow made for the divine, he touched the surface of wheat crowns with a deliberate caress, fond of the quivering life that scratched listly against his bare palm. The softness was as inviting as the waters of Ce'lontael in the summer. "Taladinn tell's no lies..." Destrin turned toward the forest and snickered "...for once."
"There hasn't been a finer brightening." Quenthalus said, swinging his arms, stretching into his joints, his shoulders, hips, and spine. Destrins smile was unmistakable, he couldn't keep in his queer and confused expression. It wasn't in his nature to hide such feelings. Quenthalus suddenly gave two steps, once more, led with his left, planting a left hand down, then rapidly flowing with his right, dismounting into a beginner's flawless cartwheel. It was one of those easy tumbles.
"What are you frolicking, Quenthalus?" Destrin laughed, swooping down to sieze up a small twig and hurl it at the cartwheeling elf.
"Blah! Golmug's Feth-friend!" Quenthalus stumbled, catching the twig in his sensitive zone; spot on.
"Here, essssh. I'm sorry." He had never really stopped laughing, but he rushed to kneel and pat Quenthalus on the shoulder, stepping away when the elf was ready to rise.
"Fresh start. Wind, from the bottom up; comes out. Now, go ahead and take it all in." He stood up like one of Quenthalus' dancing kith, arms gracefully bowed in opposition, relivated on his tip toes.
"Calm yourself, high ass, the court of fool's has given you the brightening off." Quenthalus replied, standing up straight and dusting himself off, then with a roll of his shoulders he went back to stretching and bounding in agile steps around the peculiar Destrin.
"I kid. Genuinely." The silver-haired elf gave a regal smile and courteous bow, circling counter to Quenthalus' signature stomp of triumph. "So you're incorporating new moves into your dance? That is why you asked me here?" Destrin had a cleansed and untouchable tone, speaking whilst almost -seemingly- lost in a whirl of clouds and verdent fields. He was a still viper amidst tall grasses.
"I think it would be refreshing to explore the troupes of Imperia, I figure I'll attend to my own interests while I feign errand 'lad' for my uncle. Perhaps there is viable dancing to be done there." He laughed, trying not to sound too disdainful, and really he wasn't. He just felt like there could be more to the union of his family; no judgements set forth in the following silence. Quenthalus was hiding the heart of the matter, or feigning an ignorance for the unconscious efforts he was putting into this journey; the study of martial skills being the biggest act to draw attention from those around him.
"I'm not much of a dancer, friend." Destrin grinned evenly, stroking a deft hand across his thin lips. When his winter countenance regarded Quenthalus standing still to his east, a slender elm on the celestial step of southern wheat waves, he gave the teacher a cunning and rueful look, then curiously turned toward the elfhome and back-flipped without much effort, landing only a foot from his original launch. "Taladinn saw one of Starsong's master works at the Corranyr keep. The thought of you owning weapons--- Quenthalus, you're becoming a paradox. I don't like it." He floated up and around into a no-handed cartwheel. The winds made of Destrin a beautiful crane at times, where his robes and sash opened like wings to reveal a slender being sleeved in white linens.
"It is in your mind that these coincidences come together with purpose. Do not project onto me what is in you, and begin to set limitations upon me for the phantoms of your own particular devices." It was a daring save, but Destrin seemed to quiet his pursuit of the matter when Quenthalus answered back.
"I will guide you through my own ritual of the body, then I'll show you a few things. I'm not certain how you can use them, but I'm sure you're clever enough to suit the knowledge to your needs."
"Kneel, with your toes flat to the ground, and your self seated atop or between your feet. Keep your knees tight together."

[Quenthalus]

Quenthalus begin to slip into that place of shelter and stillness within his mind. The wind howled, landing crisply against the skyclad skin of his torso. Garbed in his warskirt, both knees snaked out between side-slits as he touched to the earth. Hands were out to his side, and raised up as if in flight. The muscles of his thighs flexed and corded as he tightened his sitting position, erecting his back to sleek and straight poise, knees together, bottom neatly cupped by his heels and ankles.
"Stretch forth, toror, and take the earth into your hands. The brightening is still radiant. She will be warm and inviting."
Quenthalus closed his eyes to the thoughts of the past. Like life, he just longed for the love of the simple moment, reflecting on the happiness that came with every beautiful instant that ever crossed him. He bade away the longing he had for his lost love. In everything her face, her smile, her scent, her touch, and the presence of her light seemed to creep up. The hurt of his loss translated itself into the trembling clutch of his hands as fingers sunk into the dirt. His back extended over the ground, elongating a slender spine that seemed to go on and on forever.
"Feel yourself out, Quenthalus. Breathe. Always breathe. It is breath that reminds you your body is still there. It will alert your highest senses and keep life flowing through you. It will expand and lift you." Destrin watched the creases of time etch across the somber visage of Quenthalus. He could see weariness and resignation, but somewhere in the fold of silence there was a final force emerging again, a familiar energy he had seen when Quenthalus had left by himself for Acumin eras ago. Happy for his brothers and sisters, Destrin watched the love between Wisteria and Quenthalus blossom, but he always found them to be strongest on their own; neutralized when together. He felt that way about Quenthalus especially. He adored the elf when he was alive, aware, and often, when he was alone. Seeing him like this was like watching a younger member of the social circle come into a maturity of their skin.
"Hold your place till the count of twenty..." he studied the elfs extended body, appraising Quenthalus as one examines a piece of fine carving. "...thirty counts if you feel inclined. It is obvious you're capable of longer. Good. Now slowly draw yourself back, and gently breathe yourself up to the sitting positiong you started with. Very good."
Quenthalus never flinched to pause or cease, returning to his kneeling posture with one unbroken motion.
Destrin knelt beside him, mirroring Quen's position. "You're going to place your hands to the earth, palms down, just in front of you. See?" Destrin held a flawlessly symetrical position, his arms neatly extended, elbows bent evenly at the side, shoulders straight and even, chest extended, with all bending exerted from the hips, not the back. Quenthalus mimiced the position.
"Now, keeping your hands flat to the earth, rise up, but use your calves and thighs, extending your seat out and up. Stretch those particular muscles." Like a bud, Quenthalus bloomed up and out, folded over like a perfect arch.
"Now gently ease your arms out, same with your legs. Tilt your toes inward, and keep all flex centered around your hips." Destrin's soothing words seemed to coach Quenthalus into a fairly difficlt stretch that seemed to grow only more difficult, even for the dancer.
"Now raise your right leg up. Up, I said. Higher." Quenthalus strained to Destrins command, pressing himself to extend, tilting his hip and tightening his muscles. His toe-tips extended to the clouds, arcing toward the skyline while every fiber of his body went taut. Left leg slightly bent, and right leg tight like a walk-rope, he watched as Destrin bent down and began the first repetition of a push-up.
"Now you. Thirty." Quenthalus huffed to Destrin's request, quickly throwing himself into a rush of presses that, as time quickly passed, began to slow in their enthusiastic cycles. Beads of sweat welled on his brow and veins began to press. That left leg had to go tight, while that right leg trembled under the free hang. Again, again, again. Quenthalus didn't stop. When Destrin finished they switched legs and repeated the same strenuous set, push, and switch.

[Quenthalus]

"Is it like dancing, mellon?" Destrin asked, laughing as he did so.
"I have an entirely...new respect.....for you, mellon." Quenthalus replied, sweating and nearly panting as he canted a blood-and-vein-filled face toward Destrin.
"That's enough. Let's begin this." Destrin brought them to the end of their repetitions. When he halted Quen followed suit, and the two of them leaped up to bounce and stretch the tension from their bodies.
"Keep doing that," said Destrin.
"Doing what?" replied Quen.
"Keep bouncing like that. Jump using the thrust of your calve muscles. Trust me. It will change the way you leap from here on out. Jump using the thrust of your calves for at least fifty sets, at two set intervals a brightening, and I promise you will leap a significant amount more in the next season." It looked as if Destrin were in a higher state, fueled by his passion for accelerated motion, and his infamous unstoppable charge of movement. Quenthalus gave no resistance, pumping his legs with a steady flow of havoc. Once the set and rhythm had been found, he seemed unflinching and contented, easily capable of pushing himself a little higher, arcing his back a little further, and extending his chest and shoulders a little bit more outward. Wind was filling his insides, expanding him like a sachet of silk above a roaring inferno. He fluttered, and when Destrin silently gestured for Quenthalus to follow him, Quen watched as Destrin charged for the open field at full speed, lunged with a right arm extended, then neatly curved his arm, head and upper body into a carefully placed shoulder roll, nearly transplanting him twenty feet from where he just was.
Summoned of similar intensity and excitement, Quenthalus bounced once, again, and then again, and charged until his left leg planted, giving him a thrust from his right leg as soon as it came down. Like a champagne cork his foot exploded off the ground the second it had touched, with Quen vaulting himself forward into the same tucked shoulder roll that Destrin had just demonstrated.
"I normally use that to duck beneath swinging blades and place myself at a foes rear, or to press further into the enemy ranks, and often it gives them an alarm because of how fast you came at them. Get it precise and you could use it to take a few enemies down. But I'm sure you'll find a fanciful purpose and appropriate dismount for the technique. Enjoy." Destrin grinned ruefully, watching as Quenthalus appeared to tame the move with a masters grace.
[i]"There are many ways to fall safely, and the shoulder roll becomes one of your closest confidents in tackling the ground, or any safe landing."[/]
Quenthalus nodded, "It was fun."