Once upon a time.. far beneath clouds of white, a little boy stands with howling wolves. In the blackest of nights a tear in his eye is captured by the fading moonlight. The forest rages above him with trees of claws, resistantly bending and lacerating the wind. The fields at his feet are swallowed by the jaws of a heavy mist, of the darkest sins. Reminiscent of torrential mud and scorching smoke. Spreading fast, like breaking waves of fear. From the abysmal core of all darkened souls, his pulse is racing. It is everywhere. His eyes are flickering and searching. Bitten by the instinct of survival. But the fog is approaching like an avalanche, to the beat of a majestic but deadly dance. The entry wounds of the landscape are too many to count and the howling of the wolves have drowned out. In the building storm branches are breaking and thrown like meteors crushing down. A violent stroke to his shoulder and he falls one knee to the shaking ground. A fracture underneath him spreads at the speed of light. Rupturing the earth like a breaking heart. Heaving from the void below a numbing cold, blazing shivers to the skies. He clenches his fists and closes his eyes, withdrawing to find the strength to rise. A snowflake melts on his frowned brow. Slowly rising now. Picturing his heart in his minds eye and the courage in his blood rushing in. Like a diamond in the midst of his soul, a flickering light starts to grow. He is remembering.
And his pulse declines, with a deep inhale. He focuses his mind. The raging storm now turned deaf to his ears. Sharpening sight, he opens his eyes with a mordant stare. Like a golden ray of light. A razor edged sword. Cutting through the dust and the crust of the hidden door. Shadows are cast from a lightening flare. And for an instant of a moment
...a phantom flicker of angel-wings appear...
The muddy darkness of smoke distorts. Pulled back like the backdraft of time. And the piercing pound of a dragon-tail’s whip, eradicates gravity instantly.
All turns silent of sound.
A wildfire of light radiates from his chest. His hair moving gently with a breeze. Quietly blessed, so quiet, he hears a white rose in bloom. East of the sun and west of the moon. Fists unclenched and a slow exhale, and a single heartbeat that would become this tale. A story untold, unwritten, unheard, but heartfelt. In the distance a bird, gliding softly through the air, and the boy looks up towards the sunny glare. A smile of relief meets the wildwing’s song. Knowing it was within him ..all along…