02-25-2016, 10:32 AM
no matter what they say, I am still the king
Winter had come- and with it, war. What a perfect timing. The skies were darkening quicker, the air growing thin and cold, and the wildlife in crippling scarcity. While Beqanna’s land was dying – snow coating the ground, frost kissing the leaves – the residents of Beqanna were preparing to fight or die. The irony of some things in life are just unthinkable.
While war was not quite declared just yet – the people knew. For the last six years, tensions had risen and rolled in waves. Alliances were forged, plans were set into places, and old faces rose from the woodwork. Yes, any day now the time would come.
So of course, with war just on the horizon, why shouldn’t dear Eight take a stroll to the forest?
When he reaches the edge, he stops, his dark eyes scanning the thickets of trees and brush – searching, waiting, for just the right thing.
Languidly he rousts a small flower from the blanket of snow – it’s petals reaching upwards and it’s vivid bloom opening to the sky – a flower like a fly trap - waiting, waiting.
While war was not quite declared just yet – the people knew. For the last six years, tensions had risen and rolled in waves. Alliances were forged, plans were set into places, and old faces rose from the woodwork. Yes, any day now the time would come.
So of course, with war just on the horizon, why shouldn’t dear Eight take a stroll to the forest?
When he reaches the edge, he stops, his dark eyes scanning the thickets of trees and brush – searching, waiting, for just the right thing.
Languidly he rousts a small flower from the blanket of snow – it’s petals reaching upwards and it’s vivid bloom opening to the sky – a flower like a fly trap - waiting, waiting.
∞
and now the storm is coming, the storm is coming in