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A song about strange love.
Ħererbiştañ. Parking"

And we hit the road.

You followed us
And so amazing:
Tired, exhausted,
But they looked around

And caught the raindrops.

And one whose mane was
So shaggy, red and disheveled,
I kept stroking the leaves with my hands.
And its rough greenery,
Covered with smooth drops,

She flexed gently in response.

We would have walked all night, and then -
And a considerable part of the day,
But now one stumbled.

And then the second one.

And the third one almost fell,
Slipping on a smooth root.

• • • •

Parking in the middle of the night under a red moon;
A burning fire and billowing smoke;
The smell of freshly roasted meat.
We treated you, and you responded to us

(even though it was clear -
you have little left)

Offered a share
Big white circle.

“Gnsts,” said one light-maned one.
- Τυρός.”
“Cheese,” repeated the fair-haired man.

Hellenic word
We were familiar
But this one is something different.

Not yellow and hard
And white and soft.
Either air
Either grainy
And just a little more salt.

There wasn't much of him
But there was enough for everyone.

“Ἆρ' ἄρτον ἔχετε? - asked my friend,
Suddenly smiling at them,
“Do you have any bread?”

They nodded
We reached for the bags.

But the rain was heavy
And the fabric is so thin...

And all that we managed to see is
White mess
Gray mess
Black mess
And their dejected faces.

And suddenly I felt so good
And strangely funny, as if
This monstrous rain
Along with the bread I washed away

Everything, every single one, all limits.
Everything that separated us.

Then one of my comrades laughed,
After him - another, and then a third,
And I won’t hide it;
And people

At first they blinked in surprise,
And then smiles appeared on their faces.
Either timid, or embarrassed, but pure,
Like the bark of trees washed with moisture.

Parking in the middle of the night under the red moon -
And a sound, deep sleep,

which the stars wove

Its sad-sharp
Endless, unearthly beauty.

Let's get back to our workdays, so to speak. And immediately good news: our artist came to us! The first to meet her was none other than Berenice, and the greeting was so stormy that it left a truly indelible impression.

In short, keep the drawing.

Artist: https://vk.com/neksush

New thing, what.

Since Hveitstad is a historically Folian city (and to this day there are many ethnic Fols living in it), then at the excavations near it anyone would hope to find, first of all, something Folian. Well, yes, less than two years have passed - we finally found it.

In the next batch of documents there are notes written by the younger fufark in Old Ruginian. Probably our old friend Lodinn, but that’s how it is. The real salt is in the content of these inscriptions:

…ᛁ ᚼᚢᛁᛏᛅᛋᛏᛅᚦ ᚢᛅᛦ ᛁᚴ ᚦᛅᚱ ᚦᚢᛦ ᚦᛁᚢᚦ ᛁᛦ ᛚᛁᚴᛁᛋᚴ ᚢᛋ. ᛁᚾ ᛁᚱᚠᛁᛏ ᛁᛋ ᛅᛏ ᚴᚢᚾᛅ ᚦᛅᚢ ᚦᚢ ᛅᛏ ᚢᛅᚱᛏ ᚢᚴ ᚦᛆᛁᛦᛅ ᛘᛅᛚ ᛁᛦᚢ ᚴᛚᛁᚴ…
…í hvítastað vaʀ ek, þar býʀ þjóð, eʀ líkisk os(s). en erfit(t) es at kun(n)a þau, þó at várt ok þeiʀ(ʀ)a mál eʀu glík…

“...I was in Hveitstad, people similar to us live there. But it’s hard to understand them, even though ours and their languages are similar...”

Then he describes a little the customs of the locals, and also mentions their self-name:

…heitask full(l)ans, á os(s)u máli ful(l)u…

“...They are called fols, in our language they are fuls...”

This, by the way, is a very characteristic moment. The self-name of fouls is traced back to the Proto-Germanic *fullaz “full”, and the Old Ruginian word fullu This is precisely what “full” means. That is, either Lodinn himself made an analogy and used the native analogue of the word, or this ethnonym was already known in his area. I'm betting on the former.

And he also mentions that the local people have already accepted Christianity, but not quite yet, and in confirmation of this he cites a whole list of gods in which the fouls still continue to believe. Comparing with your own, of course. There are a whole bunch of them out there, so here are just a few examples:

- Óðinn (One) - 𐍅𐍉𐌳𐌰𐌽𐍃, Yodanс (Vodance)
- Þórr (Thor) - 𐌸𐌿𐌽𐍂𐍃, Ѱnnʀs (Tunrs)
- Freyja (Freya) - 𐍆𐍂𐌰𐌿𐌾𐍉, Fʀango (Fraujo)
... (thousands of them!)

Zahar and I did some terrible and disgusting things last night. And not with what you thought, but with translations from the classic gearta. At hand we had a modern speaker (Zehar himself), several dictionaries, a corpus of texts and a lot of tea.

As I once said, we are going to translate “Song of Strange Love” - in such a way as to completely depersonalize the narrator. We use classical translations into Retzin to the extent that we can, but we do not rely heavily on them. The fact is that although the original text looks like prose, divided into short lines, rhythm periodically appears in it, and... we honestly tried to convey it. You be the judge of how it turned out.

In short, welcome, the first part is ready! And, yes, it is also here: https://ficbook.net/readfic/10967470.

"Imferañ. Entry"

That night went crazy

The rain was like
Azur splashed in the well of heaven,
And the water poured down.

That night the people came
You were one of them.

The face of a man on whom water runs,
faceless, on other people
Seems like.

Were your eyes? Palms, smell, or
something else - than from others
were you different?

Why do you tell me
without even touching me,
remember?

• • • •

The moon is so high, and yet -
Its rays are so low.
And the sparks flying through the splashes are bright.

That night we watched her
After all, she pointed out
To the earth and mountains,
Seas and fields
Wind and storm
Which you should have come with.

How long have you been so confused?
Who would answer?..
I could only see your dim ones,
Drooping eyes.

“Who are they? - asked the first guard.
“Why did you come?”
And in response - silence
And the silence of confused faces.

Not the Helsha tribe
From the steppes in the east:
They know our language.

Nor the evil urts
From the northern mountains
Neither Roma; like you
We didn't know anyone.

Some are light-haired,
Among them are light-haired,
In pants and shirts, from the water
Soaked through.

“Δεῦτε ὀπίσω μου,” said the guard in Hälsh, “
Follow me."
And we set off.

Did you understand us? Were you afraid of us?
And I won’t tell you now.
After all, a person’s face is a complete mystery,
Face made of stone,

And his gaze will not pierce her
Even myself

Azur.

Let's talk a little about Glinnar gardening?

I understand that the topics of posts are becoming stranger and stranger every day, but here everything is just right. It’s just that another discovered document tells us exactly about it. Classics: Proto-River, written in Glinnar script. From the handwriting we can identify that it was most likely Motley.

There is a lot written there, but let’s pay attention to the two sentences below:

I see, however, all the girls are looking at songs anyway. and your songs are truly wordless network.

“I saw that the elves grow trees by singing songs to them. And such songs are often wordless (= have no words).”

I won’t beat around the bush and explain right away: this is a special type of song magic, not very well known to non-Alvians (yes, not only Glinnarians do such things), but very widespread in Alvian agriculture and gardening throughout the globe.

If you imagine this as dancing around trees and humming meaningless words under your breath, then... in fact, you are not far from the truth. Usually, however, no one leads round dances - they just sit next to each other.

What do the elves achieve with such magic? First of all, they force the trees to grow the way they need. No pruning, no additional care, no supports or struts: you just feed the tree regularly enough, and in the end it will turn out the way you want. And this applies to both ornamental plants and all others. For example, we read further in the same entries:

There are also two trees near the grape vines, which suits them every day. and you weave the stone pillars so fiercely and kindly that they are similar to the whole body.

“I also saw two alvas standing by the vines, singing to them like this every day. And they braided the stone pillars so evenly and well that they looked like a honeycomb.”

Let me share my admiration with you. Our artist, at my request, painted Ifensea according to a drawing that we discovered a long time ago. And... it turned out, in my opinion, very cool.

Meet Inoitta Ifensea in color!

Artist: https://vk.com/neksush

Just yesterday I was asked a very sudden question: why are Geart voices so different from human and others like them? It would seem that it was possible to search the net simply, but - okay. There are three main points:

• the genus Dears has quadrangular vocal folds, while Homo has triangular ones;
• we also have them much thicker;
• and we are larger in general, in particular, the larynx and oral cavity.

Why so short and no information? Because the rest is in the attached audio! The question is about the voice, and it is answered, accordingly, also with the voice.

Promised? Let's do it! Traditional glinnar clothing in color.

Artist: https://vk.com/neksush

• 

• 

Fresh news for you!

Yesterday at Zeara It was a birthday, and because of this, today we felt a little bad for at least the first half of the day. Now I’m mature enough to tell you how it all went.

Zear turned twenty-four years old - an anniversary by the standards of the Eryakhsharians - and therefore we decided to prepare a holiday for him in the traditions of his own people. How could they, of course.

First of all, I will say that the Eryakhshar dzherts do not have days birth, but there is months: no one remembers the exact dates, but instead, from the first to the last day of the month, everyone born on it celebrates collectively. Our and Zeara’s work schedules do not allow this, of course, so we arranged for him only those entertainments that the Eryakhsharians usually have on the first day of the month.

Exactly at midnight, we gave him two glasses of okushrim (traditional fruit wine), put him in the car with us and went to a lake fifteen kilometers away from us. A pre-made fire was already waiting for us there, which all we had to do was set it on fire.

What's next? Then we splashed in the warm water, went ashore and dried off by the fire. They sat down in a circle next to him and told different stories in low voices. They are usually supposed to be told about birthday people, but only Berenice and I knew enough about Zear, so we just made do with various funny stories from life. And, of course, after each story told, the bowl of okushrim was passed around.

After the stories, traditional entertainment, like water wrestling, was supposed to begin. But either there were too many stories, or we didn’t calculate the strength of the okushrim... In short, we couldn’t stay on our feet for more than ten seconds, and each time we fell into the water, we started laughing louder. Although, maybe that was the point?

We spent the rest of the night sleeping near the fire, placing mats around it. Soon after dawn, everyone stood up together, extinguished what had not burned out, took the coals into the forest and buried them there. And we went back home.

Zehar has been walking around like a sleepy fly all day today, but incredibly happy. This means the desired effect has been achieved!

And finally. Our subscriber Sasha I also responded and decided to send a small drawing in my signature style. Keep it up =D

*ɠaḑā with dzherta - “damn!” shit!"