ONE： A VISITOR
THE STRANGER appeared one afternoon, on the eve of the Ritual of Flight. Duma, having a mischievous(and what some would whisper lazy) streak, had decided not to join his brothers in thes weekly outing. Instead, he chose to walk, his wings folded tightly against his back like a bird's wings in winter. He trod upon a dirt path over a fwe hills down to the Southern Slop of Heaven. The Field of Gold rippled gently like an amber sheet in the breeze, and the Presence was quite warm upon his face. He like it here; it always seemed more peaceful than anywhere else. Duma preferred to work along, but his assignments in the Silver City often required the cooperatrion of several of his brothers. Generally, he got along with most whether they be if the Sarim or Cherubim.
But he never passed up an opportunity to sneak away, whcih he ofren did. And although he would lightly be punished, he would gladlu make up for his "indiscretions" with extra chores. Duma's temperament was unpredictable and his brothers did not complain when he missed the Flight. In fact, some were quite glad he did not join in the Ritual. Most of them could recall a certain time or two when Duma flew too close or plucked from them a feather here and there and then laughter at them.
But Duma cared for none of their whisperings. It paled in comparison to what he'd been called six thousand years ago. Most of the angels had forgotten or acted as though it had never happened.
"Ridiculous."
A younger naive angel named Cassiel had called hime a rebel, and Duma, in a grenzied attack, gouged out Cassiel's left eye, but broke one of his own wings in the melee.
It was a painful memory. Made more so perhaps by the fact that only one of his brothers, the archandel Ramiel, stepped forward to protest Duma's punishment on the rack. But soon after, the Sopheriel twins, along with the Irin and Qaddism who constitude the supreme judgement council or beth din, saw fit to amend the Law of Heaven, citing that the rack was no longer appropriate punishment for one of the Host. A historic decision, but one that did noting for Duma and the faint circle of scars on his geet, ankles,and wing blades.
But all that matters not, he tried to convince himself. THe wing had healed with time, though it was now not quite as strong as it had once bee,. Instead, he discovered his love for walking, and for being alone.
Duma crested the hill and veered ogg onto a narrow path into the Feild of Gold. The path was no wiger than was absolutely neccessary, and buma was always careful to either tuck his wings in extremely tight or to raise them like two great sails above the tops of the thin amber stalks.
He walded several hundred yards to his gavorite spot. It was a clearing in the field worn by the diameter og his wings, roughly twenty feet across. He stooped to one knww and touched the dirt. It was cool and slightly yield to his touch. Perfect with the warmth of the Presence. He flapped his wings thrice, and theresulting wind wased the wheat at the edge of the circle out ward, giving a wider view of sky as he lay on his back. Soon his brothers would take flight in the bright sky, like bats spilling into the dusk. Duma closed his eyes and waited for the beating og his brothers' wings.
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看到那句"喜欢路西法到愿意读英语的你"有点想笑，总觉得英语老师似乎在怨恨的看着我