Sphinx in the West

Forwards and forwards now to the West, Westwards, Westerly. To the left looking North, to the right looking South. The Sphinx travelled. Maybe not, maybe the Sphinx just faced to the West, face to the wind. To the West, where the wind comes out the sky, where the wind comes come down to bend the tall grasses.

The Wind is in many ways. A horse running in the air, a sound of water without water, a snake or other sinuous thing, no, not a snake, a veil, not a wall. A staircase of air, a wall of air moving, a house of air pushing. None of the above.

A movement, one against the other, seaweed moving under water.

The Sphinx came to the West Wind and felt for the power that it might give. She made to the West Wind a plea of allegiance in saying all the troubles of her world. The West Wind said, to wait. It drew together a great council of all the winds to decide the decisions. And the decisions were decided, except a few that were kicked into the long grass (which the wind bent over).

All the winds of the world were there, swirling together in a great confluence to decide whether to come to the aid of the Sphinx in its endeavor to stand against the creeping darkness that was come with blood and destruction out of the east.

Some winds only wished to blow softly across the desert in the evening. Others wished to barrel across the trackless wastes and scour the footprints of those passing from the ice. Making the falling petals of blossom trees dance was found to be particularly popular, whilst causing the rain to travel horizontally was also a said to be an attractive pastime.

When the votes were taken, the slips were muddled in a bowl and the long straws were pulled, the winds of the world decided that they would assist in the dire struggles of the Sphinx by blowing grit into the eyes of her enemies and ruffle the maps of their commanders as they studied the war zone. They would make cold the soups and send some shivers in them. The winds would take the voices from their mouths and dash the words into pieces. They would fell the trees in their path and blow irritating draughts around the back of their necks.

They would ensure that the enemy’s flags never flew straight and that things left leaning against a fence would unexpectedly fall over. The rain would always blow into the faces of darkness and get into their eyes and down the necks of their clothing even if they had tried to tuck in their scarves. Wind would take the feeling from their fingers at a crucial moment and carry sand into their mechanisms.

Will this be sufficient? Asked the West Wind.

I’ll take everything you’ve got, replied the Sphinx and faced North to converse with the Ice.