2.

When he first appeared, I lay viable, but powerless. My structure still debatable. Will I present up-right or slouched? Flashes of conjured energy sent to nurture me composed spectrums unknown to this world, which was where he hid, waiting, looking for a way in. It only took one extra bone to bare the unbearable mark of the ancient. I had it. He knew. He sought it. This was why he attacked me so early. If he did not seize them, my hands could would hold wind. My feet, without moving, would take me across our word. Before I knew the use of my eyes, I would have the history codified. He must attack! He did. But at first interference of the flow of energy sent to foster my state, the trumpets blared. He hid.

Proof of the ancient mark was never reviled to the bearer. While there were tunes played for only the chosen's ear, he himself would have to hear them. I admit being deft to the tune of my destiny for both the moon's turn and the sun's. In all truth, regardless of one's calling, when left to see life as you will, even with a myopic lens willed for detail, the ignorance one travels with as a youth is not only trenching but blinding. This is how he caught up with me. Masked, he appeared void of color, beyond scent, gentle at first touch. I immersed myself in his beauty. Unbeknownst, my ancient powers did not trump my human properties. But again, immediately following his attack, the trumpets blared. I was released.

The nature of the force sent to relieve me of my right to discuss history with the winds spoke very little of mercy or rest. He stood in tune with his reach, and I at the time knew not how to describe ability let alone was a wear I possessed any. So he continued to pursue me. And on a number of occasions became alluring. Being born of this world my make-up was of its elements. I too, even with the mark, had to come into self. He waited for the time when I was unsure, at battle with what I was, wanted to be, and who I was meant to be. Then he attacked. I felt an unbalance, but waved it off as one of earth's courses. It was not. It was him. He had found his way back into the lining of my being. He wore my face. Controlled my vision. Kept my focus on the crowd, and not the direction I was meant to discover. The trumpets blared. Without thought I turned to it's sound. There he was, sneaking up on me. But the horns. He couldn't take the horns.

Both virulent and cajoling he attacked again. This time with all his force. North refused south. South refused its self. Thunder. Rain. Yet clear skies. the womb that carried me to this realm misplaced my features and was forced to ignore me. My brow wrinkled. I forgot direction and headed one way demanding it take me another. I refused counsel. According to ancient text on the walls of unrevised temples, I was being insulting. I was out of control. I felt weight on my shoulders. Burden? No. Heavy air? No. Obesity? No!! It was him. I refused to move. He refused to let me decide anything. He conjured balls of fire. I ran. Found the source of the weight, shed it. I'm faster now. I should fly but I've yet to find belief in self. He's on me. I grow exhausted. I stop, turn to face him. Fire heads my way. I refuse to fear him. Trumpets! I'm safe again.