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 midas LINES IN THE SAND Shadowed by an overhang, I hold watch of the southern forest. Threshold is suspended in perfect silence, peacefully sleeping. Behind me is the constant white noise of thunder, a crashing giant that echo's endlessly. Our land fills to capacity, distant mountain runoff, coupled with a recent flood turned our shallow brooks into savage streams and unimpressive puddles into small ponds. There was one sole benefit to a midnight patrol -- very rarely were there prying eyes upon these cliffs, (save for that of my companions) no one around to judge the weary haze that slowly took me as long hours passed at a snail pace. I don't bother stifling yawns when they came to spread my jaw apart and reveal moist ivory. Yon world was at ease; yet, these lids held themselves sternly open, refusing to shut, despite feeling weighted thrice as much. Perhaps things weren't as docile as they might seem. A shriek cracked the passive calm into a billion pieces, the sudden sound startles my flesh into a reactive tremble as a half awake brain became suddenly aware. I jerked round, peering to the south. Silas's lean avian frame rises, breasting the cliff. Those glossy feathers are momentarily shrouded in mist wafering from the tumbling bay. Fire wakes from a notch in yon overhang. She shuffles to the brim, glaring at the ebony bird with the beginnings of a snarl rearing its ugly head. His presence can only mean one thing... ______ Her taste is heavy upon the stagnant air. The very breeze is saturated with sweat, pain and fear. Memories of Shadow and her failed laboring bubble to the surface of my consciousness. I violently shove them away, and press for the den. There lies the dappled queen. Effort is dark upon her skin. "Africa," a quick swallow quells my sinking gut and ramped up heartbeat. Thankfully the site is absent excess blood, a minor reassurance that thus far -- everything was progressing as nature intended. Without further pause my legs push me to her heaving side, muzzle drops to press against an exposed salty cheek, attempting to vainly to comfort agony. "Thee flesh will know what to do, heed instinct." Like most men, my knowledge of labor was limited. |
Word count: 375
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