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11-24-2014, 12:38 PM
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The world seemed to shift, the faces surrounding you becoming blurred and warped. Voices, hushed and quiet, disappeared, getting too deep and slow to understand. You stood, rooted firmly to the ground as the scenes before you began to stretch, as if they were being pulled backward against their will. The sensation was nauseating, because you knew, deep inside, that you were going the wrong direction. You were observing the wrong time. Finally, the scene stopped. You stood at the top of the world alone with nothing but swirling snow and howling winds. The crystals of ice passed right through you, the wind never rustling your fur. You were an observer, unable to affect the timeline, a watcher. Not even the grass beneath your hooves was upset by your weight. A stallion, old and wise, moved with surprising grace to the top of the hill, looking down. Myrddin. He gazed at the world with a knowing look, his mind obviously shackled by the age of his frame. The sky darkened, black mist gathering at the ground and swirling the hill top. Myrddin seemed curious by this, but fear was quickly growing. From the mists which grew erupted a violent shadow. Black smoke, tainted with red lunged at the older stallion, knocking him to the ground and tearing his flesh. Myrddin snatched with his teeth, managing to yank part of a feather from the creature which howled. Somewhere beneath the darkness was someone, something very real. Then, the blackness disappeared and all that was left was the dying figure of a clever man. He whispered but one word: "Moon." @[Roskuld] |
