It started with a line, just one line, and before I knew it, the line became a brushstroke, a smear, a shape. Once I started with that line, I could not stop until it was done. I needed to capture every detail, every hint of movement—from the biggest tree to the tiniest flower, to the way the leaves shuddered in the wind. Whether brush or pencil, canvas or pad, I could not put my tools down until that first line had become a finished work, no matter how long it would take.
Which is how I found myself standing at the edge of the waterfall in the fast-fading sunlight.
I had chosen a spot halfway up to the waterfall when I arrived shortly after midday. The rays of sun hit the waterfall just right, creating a beautiful play of shadows as the water crashed into the shaded fen, spraying drops of light everywhere. I spent hours trying to recreate the movement, the shadows, the sparkling water. The changing light made it difficult, but that first image was so clear in my mind that I hardly had to look up from my work. Surrounded by the thundering sound of the waterfall and the smells of fresh water, tangy hindra bushes and sweet yellow nara flowers, I worked until I had put the last bit of shade in.
I should have gone home then, but I had barely wrapped the painting when the water nymphs came out to play. They must have known I was there, but they splashed around as if I weren't, their lithe figures almost floating on the surface. I had never seen them so joyous and I couldn't resist painting them, losing track of time in the process.
With one last look at the water nymphs, I hoisted my bags onto my shoulders and made my way down the path leading to the castle grounds. I would have to hurry; it would be dark soon and Father would be furious when he found out I had sneaked off without my guard, Neia, again.
He had warned me over and over to not stray too far and to always take Neia with me. But it wasn't easy to paint with someone constantly watching me. Neia tried to keep her distance, but I still felt her eyes on me all the time. I itched to be alone—not alone in my room, no, alone out here, painting without being disturbed or being told when to go home.
