[Quenthalus]

Quenthalus begin to slip into that place of shelter and stillness within his mind. The wind howled, landing crisply against the skyclad skin of his torso. Garbed in his warskirt, both knees snaked out between side-slits as he touched to the earth. Hands were out to his side, and raised up as if in flight. The muscles of his thighs flexed and corded as he tightened his sitting position, erecting his back to sleek and straight poise, knees together, bottom neatly cupped by his heels and ankles.
"Stretch forth, toror, and take the earth into your hands. The brightening is still radiant. She will be warm and inviting."
Quenthalus closed his eyes to the thoughts of the past. Like life, he just longed for the love of the simple moment, reflecting on the happiness that came with every beautiful instant that ever crossed him. He bade away the longing he had for his lost love. In everything her face, her smile, her scent, her touch, and the presence of her light seemed to creep up. The hurt of his loss translated itself into the trembling clutch of his hands as fingers sunk into the dirt. His back extended over the ground, elongating a slender spine that seemed to go on and on forever.
"Feel yourself out, Quenthalus. Breathe. Always breathe. It is breath that reminds you your body is still there. It will alert your highest senses and keep life flowing through you. It will expand and lift you." Destrin watched the creases of time etch across the somber visage of Quenthalus. He could see weariness and resignation, but somewhere in the fold of silence there was a final force emerging again, a familiar energy he had seen when Quenthalus had left by himself for Acumin eras ago. Happy for his brothers and sisters, Destrin watched the love between Wisteria and Quenthalus blossom, but he always found them to be strongest on their own; neutralized when together. He felt that way about Quenthalus especially. He adored the elf when he was alive, aware, and often, when he was alone. Seeing him like this was like watching a younger member of the social circle come into a maturity of their skin.
"Hold your place till the count of twenty..." he studied the elfs extended body, appraising Quenthalus as one examines a piece of fine carving. "...thirty counts if you feel inclined. It is obvious you're capable of longer. Good. Now slowly draw yourself back, and gently breathe yourself up to the sitting positiong you started with. Very good."
Quenthalus never flinched to pause or cease, returning to his kneeling posture with one unbroken motion.
Destrin knelt beside him, mirroring Quen's position. "You're going to place your hands to the earth, palms down, just in front of you. See?" Destrin held a flawlessly symetrical position, his arms neatly extended, elbows bent evenly at the side, shoulders straight and even, chest extended, with all bending exerted from the hips, not the back. Quenthalus mimiced the position.
"Now, keeping your hands flat to the earth, rise up, but use your calves and thighs, extending your seat out and up. Stretch those particular muscles." Like a bud, Quenthalus bloomed up and out, folded over like a perfect arch.
"Now gently ease your arms out, same with your legs. Tilt your toes inward, and keep all flex centered around your hips." Destrin's soothing words seemed to coach Quenthalus into a fairly difficlt stretch that seemed to grow only more difficult, even for the dancer.
"Now raise your right leg up. Up, I said. Higher." Quenthalus strained to Destrins command, pressing himself to extend, tilting his hip and tightening his muscles. His toe-tips extended to the clouds, arcing toward the skyline while every fiber of his body went taut. Left leg slightly bent, and right leg tight like a walk-rope, he watched as Destrin bent down and began the first repetition of a push-up.
"Now you. Thirty." Quenthalus huffed to Destrin's request, quickly throwing himself into a rush of presses that, as time quickly passed, began to slow in their enthusiastic cycles. Beads of sweat welled on his brow and veins began to press. That left leg had to go tight, while that right leg trembled under the free hang. Again, again, again. Quenthalus didn't stop. When Destrin finished they switched legs and repeated the same strenuous set, push, and switch.