Today on Drabble Wednesday, come read the old tales, stories told by elders to the new generations...
Once, in the forest of time, our people followed the Great River. We camped on its banks, fished in its waters, hunted game on the surrounding plains, or in the shadows of its woodland. We lived in peace. We were content.
Then came the time of no rains. When the grass dried and the trees died. When the people of the Far City stole our river, and we went to war.
A war we lost.
Our surviving people scattered, migrating to the distant corners of the kingdom. All that remains of us, of the river, is dry dust and ghosts.
Gather round, children, as I tell of the horrors that lie beyond our home.
Once we were alone in this land. We had no restrictions, we roamed freely. We made homes where we pleased, not simply here in the mountains. We did not hide.
Until they came. Until they drove us from the land with their weapons, their war.
Once we flew in the skies unfettered. Now we are hunted, our wings torn, our bodies maimed. We are killed. Our enemies are monsters.
Remember this children. Never approach the humans. Always avoid them, their villages. Dragonkind must be ever vigilant.
Time and Tide
The wide, unfathomable sea. It calls to sailors, and buries their bones in its cold, murky embrace. Great ocean storms swallow ships whole, yet sometimes it gives back. Bits and bodies carried to the shores and beaches. But sometimes it keeps what it claims.
And sometimes who it claims doesn’t quite die.
Submerged in the depths, the spirits wait. Their whispers ride the waves. Their anger fuels the storms. They howl under moonlight and exist in perpetuity, as hours pass into days, and days into decades. And immortality breeds patience.
Our time will come.
We will rise.
Fear the day.
© A. F. Stewart 2016 All Rights Reserved