12-10-2016, 11:45 AM
The old King was tired. And yet, he was not here in his cave, like he wanted to be. He strode through the jungle on his island, making the round, dragging his amber tipped wings through the foliage, flowers and mushrooms growing in his wake. The rich earth was black and healthy, and he was doing his part to keep the Ischia insular from the outside world. What they could cultivate here—by his blessing—prevented them from having to return to the mainland. Not all of them could swim; for since its inception, the pathway that kept them all safe and dry on the walk through the ocean had closed, and most of the inhabitants—indeed what few were left—were left stranded here.
Ashley took it upon himself to care for them, for in the fairies’ selfishness, they had not considered the dangers of stranding ground-dwelling creatures in a saltwater sea, upon an island. He grunted and tossed his head, red hair sent flying behind him. The phytoplankton glowed with the coming of another sunset, and as the pyreflies rose from the ground, Ashley’s nostrils flared—the smell of the flora assailed him. Sweet air that you could taste; only something that this island could provide him. He smiled and tucked his wings around him, settling his ruffled feathers for a moment of peace.
These moments were rare, but the beauty of a pink sky and the dappled rainbow of color that bounced off the water in the spring at the middle of the island—exercised by the pyreflies and the phytoplankton—created an orchestra for the senses. In the distance, a water fall. He headed in in the direction of the far side of the lake, in an effort to gain some perspective on the Island. Most days he spent his time below it, in the caverns that he called home—only accessible via the ocean—but as he made a lounge of broad leaves, he lay down in the open, taking note of the sheer beauty that his home has brought him.
Tonight, life is good.
Ashley took it upon himself to care for them, for in the fairies’ selfishness, they had not considered the dangers of stranding ground-dwelling creatures in a saltwater sea, upon an island. He grunted and tossed his head, red hair sent flying behind him. The phytoplankton glowed with the coming of another sunset, and as the pyreflies rose from the ground, Ashley’s nostrils flared—the smell of the flora assailed him. Sweet air that you could taste; only something that this island could provide him. He smiled and tucked his wings around him, settling his ruffled feathers for a moment of peace.
These moments were rare, but the beauty of a pink sky and the dappled rainbow of color that bounced off the water in the spring at the middle of the island—exercised by the pyreflies and the phytoplankton—created an orchestra for the senses. In the distance, a water fall. He headed in in the direction of the far side of the lake, in an effort to gain some perspective on the Island. Most days he spent his time below it, in the caverns that he called home—only accessible via the ocean—but as he made a lounge of broad leaves, he lay down in the open, taking note of the sheer beauty that his home has brought him.
Tonight, life is good.
ashley
I walked the path, it led me to the end.