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In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
Sanso stood at the entrance to the cave, looking out over the valley. He loved the rich orange-red rocky cliffs and towering stone pillars, and recognized them at once. He remembered this place! A vague nostalgia swept over him, he’d loved it here, hadn’t wanted to leave…… A song started playing in his head …… ‘we wept when we remembered Zion’… mmm mmm mmm mmmmmmmmmmmmmmm……… when we remembered Zion….
What an extraordinary cave it was, Sanso thought, when he’d wiped his eyes and his nose on his indigo blue shawl. Every time I see a light at the end of one of the tunnels and follow it to the cave entrance, it leads me to another time and place.
The rain started to fall, gently at first, and then the valley was filled with the strange pale green light of an approaching thunderstorm. Reluctantly, Sanso made his way back into the cave.
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
Leörmn was quite amused by his role as a door-keeper.
He was by no means an impressive dragon in size, but he could project upon people and creatures an appearance of a great terrific dragon. For those like that young adventuress, who he could see was pure of heart, he did not create too frightening an image. But after all, he took his role much to heart, and decided he would play a bit with her.
The few humans to whom he had revealed his true form were most of the time a bit surprised at first by what a funny little endearing dragon he was, and even more surprised when they knew he was laying such big eggs.
He was not really a “he” either, nor a “she”, and as most of the dragons of his race, would not choose a gender, and would travel alone, or with a human companion, until he would find a place comfortable enough were he could start a rookery of his own progeny.
As far as the size of the eggs was concerned, they were at first only the size of big pearls, opalescent and iridescent, and upon the course of many moons they slowly grew in size, taking solidity in the form of that much sought gilded shell.
Buckberry had been the first one to hatch. His colour was a pretty shade of indogo (the same colour of the blue flamingos that lived in the Eastern Lagunas) and he was a very strong-headed one he could tell. Very funny too. This little one would have a hard time choosing a human companion worthy of him…
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
Illi was wondering which way to go. Sitting on a flat rock, damp and cold from last nights downpour, she sighed and shivered. Thunder rumbled in the distance. Hhmm, she tought. I said tought, not taught, she thought, I must be in Ireland. Hhmm, she thought, I said taught not thought, I must be a teacher in Ireland. The thunder rumbled closer. Or maybe I’m a pupil and I’m here to find my teacher. The thunder sounded further away this time, it must mean I’m here in Ireland to find my fellow pupils, she thought.
Illi sighed. Why was she thinking about teachers and pupils? This was a dream, she could do anything she wanted, anything at all, and here she was thinking about teachers and pupils!
The rain started to fall, gently at first, and the trees were sighing ahhhh so Illi did too, ahhhh so cool, so wet, so wet… so wet! The fig tree giggled and the olive tree winked at the fig tree, and the plum tree, who was watching, snickered behind the morning glory.
AHA! Illi was having an AHA moment. I’m not in Ireland anymore. Olive trees don’t wink in Ireland! Where am I now?
Illi rubbed her eyes. It wasn’t thunder, it was somebody learning to play a harp. She stood up and sniffed the air, trying to pick up a whiff of colour to tell her where the… (gonna get power cut, more later)
