It begins
The hardest tears are those of the man, when they fall, all with them goes. It is frequenting your mind. Like it was the kiss for the lady’s hand. You won’t have us wanting. To have you intact as the person that returns the love. Open the cavern of yours, to fill you with the sap and nectar, captured is your light as the one of the Great Jewels of Feanor, the Silmarils of the wondrously born wonderworks. Here it is, at the precipice of his own demise, if this is how it is to be. He was losing his hope. There was no repose for him, till he didn’t find himself in the seas of sands that were the beaming heights of the saltwater that is the sand, the seawaters of the dunes, he was at the sand shores that were the wastelands so deep, that the depth was the deep itself. Wherever he went, there was no trace of the human communities, some sort of colonial outposts, or the colonies itself, they say, that nothing lives so deep into the sand, but there were the lines of the suffused oblations that were the flowers of the deserts. It was the grainy wheat, and there was not even the sound of what he was looking for. He was thinking, if he goes ever deeper, that he is safer in there, than anywhere else, and he is securing even his Assassin Creed, till the shadow doesn’t pass, the blood clouds were bloodied by the Sun that was setting, going down for its reposeful slumber and he is to remain here, in between the worlds, without even knowing, where from one of these cloud sparks, the entity of the Dragon kind shall descend upon him, it was the Dragon blood of the Dragon seed, and why would they pounce without him sensing or even seeing, how much one Dragon can hide, in the opening? These were all clearings, there was no glade or the lawn, this was the open space that was gaping back at him.
Looming, taking shape. Ah, you are visioning the things, there is nothing out there. There is nothing to dig itself out and to lunge at you. For you would burrow yourself ever faster, to inter, so that there is nothing that could ever touch you. He doesn’t want to be owned. That someone steals his nights for itself. He couldn’t know if that is the man or the woman, he doesn’t prefer no one. He favors only his solitude, that was his private time for himself only, and he isn’t giving it to any Dragon Lord or the Dragon or both. He could surmise that it is the Young Prince of the newer generations. He doesn’t reckon how he can tell, maybe, he was receiving some information, from the sand? From the Deeps of Time that was passing so slowly. Like he had all the time in the world, and he was having less and less, even when it was stretching for him, for some more, laid out, the ones that are surpassing the beauty of the gentlest violet, as it was for a man to have the blessing of naming or re-naming what wasn’t his in the first place. When a man is alone, and when he is hunted down, he starts to speak to self, that nothing is so awful as when you are on the run, when you are caught, that is it for you, but he shall not be grabbed. Whatever is his sin or the grudge that is hurled at him, he had a right not to cave in. And he won’t, he cannot. It was harder with each perishable moment, temporal and impermanent, yet he still had breathed.
- May it be, that I just wait up for him? Or Her? To stand here and let it be over, to take me? No, that cannot ever happen. I won’t allow it, there is no sanction for it. Only the empowerment and I do strive to triumph, to make it. From the utter burrow I was thrown in. Ah, when the life was easier, I complained and grieved about it, now, when the life is catching up to me, I do not have any realizing minute that it shall make it last, the freedom of mine. There is nothing out there, so nothing. Not even some fata morgana, the small grove for me? Nothing of the human, I am too deep, and I have less water, even less some food to find, and I haven’t refreshed myself for a long time. I smell so bad. Such is the boon, you never know, that can do it, that Dragon and his…Dragon, to send away, far from him. Ah, stop talking to yourself, it isn’t healthy – better not to lose his strength. His mouth is chapped and he is parched as well, when, unexpectedly, he didn’t notice something, at first, the defining frames weren’t the secrets he could differentiate, and then, there it was. It was the small wood grove! The copse thickets. Someone from the heavenward was loving him. With the little atom he has left, he was racing against the time, and when he arrived, he was the happiest man alive. He got there, yes, yes, he is taking off his sandy garments, and he was into the blue lagoon, refreshing himself, he was splashing and spurting, it was pouring and spilling.
Coursing and gushing, it was welling out, the palm trees had the bountiful fruits, and there was the shade, he could wash himself with no care and the clothes as well, let it dry, he was saved. Ah, he was floating. Buoying himself up, the small ripples were having their dance, through the clear and pellucid white waters, that had no blemish and not a stain! Purling he was at the sun shafts, that were turning into the ensnaring shadiness, casting the daylight aside, for the nighttime. To be stolen from everything he knew or was, that won’t be his fate, not the astral influence, or that is how he dispelled his leaden thoughts. These were the Wolf’s days during the Age of the Dragon. There is nothing more invidious than when you realize that you are in the same dilemma, in the tight spot, nerving itself for the steeled mettle, it was nettling him, but he is to survive it.
For now, he doesn’t have to think about anything, not to reminisce of any Dragon, he was by self and that is what mattered.
Nothing else.
He worshipped his loneliness, it made him be himself, and in being self, he was the best version of the human being, he opened his eyes, and the stars were already sparkling, he closed them again, opening, sighting the shaded figure of the silver haired person, like he was to be drowned, he went under, the Dragon head was plunging after him, trying not to bite or sink its fangs, but to take him captive.
He was swimming ravenously, getting as far as it was maniacally plausible, he couldn’t believe, and where he is going, the deepest blue lagoons are stuffed with the unacquainted creatures, and he was compelled to go up, not to be swayed, but the more he was going closer to the surface, the delineated outlines were blurring his senses, he had to get out of here. Dragon head was denser at present, taking a huge dip, diving ever more, bobbing down, she tries to catch him. No, you won’t! He swung back, and he was doing the somersault and other saults underwater, he extracted himself from it.
He found another orifice, that was tunneled from the lower parts, bottommost, below and through it, he was still holding his breath, he took only once, while he achieved to glance speedily the veneer of the glass water, only to flee, finding this ground hole that was by the miraculous nature of the living world, there to save him, when nothing else could. Besides, he was a good swimmer, not the best, but he could manage it, he could do it, and he was doing it! He went up, having himself in another part of the desert. This was some variation of the shortcut? It was so.
- Damn, you cannot reason with Dragons. This was growing out of any proportions. Those are some dimensional beings, how the fuck they crept upon me? How is that even realistic? I didn’t feel them, I didn’t hear, I didn’t sense, how one large and giant serpent, long necked, could sneak unto me, without me, even palpating it? Beyond any detection. What kind of wizardry this is? This is some witching hour and again, I am talking with myself. This is guiding me nowhere – he was still in the pool of the branched lagoon. Recognizing his situation, it was just a matter of seconds when they fly over herein, where he was. With no food to reap, with no togs, and with no anything. Any finery to distinguish himself.
Dammit, dammit! Is there any ramified branching? Some delta or the dike that could lead him out from here, even if he is to be bare and shod. It is the truth, Dragons were their own and wolves shared their fates with those who rode them, there was no extensions in that, oh, he won’t even pray to anyone, or even beseech, there is no one he could summon or invoke. Whiles the drumming intonations, incantations and invocations were in his bursting head. He was coming out, soaking wet, he ran as fast as the feet could take him. Nothing else he deemed. Merely escapement. This was some blasted hex, he is to be jinxed, it was slowing him down, and it was done on purpose, until they reach him, and get him, made them theirs. No, no, no, the portraying profiles were distinguished, and he could even position his advances, but without any of his implements and tools, no weapon of his, he was the sitting fucking duck. He hears in his crying soul, those flapping wings, they loom and they hover. They were levitating around, hiding in the clouds, so that was it. The grayed clouds. Oh, you stupid man.
They were suspended and then ever higher hanging out. Around he got, beside one of the dune barrows, this is where he shall delve himself into. While the danger didn’t go away then.
What in the name this was. When something so immense, as it was this dragon, for there are even larger than this one, is enormously endeavoring to have you, along with his Dragon Lord, for it was the boy, lucky him, how is it even practical to have them without even knowing that they were near? It was beyond him, were they preying upon him or they were waiting the chance or as soon as he was discerned, they were there to capture him? Was this the game? Did they let him go around in all directions, from all sides, this is an adversity. He did come into contact with everything, but this was something he couldn’t ever foreshadow. Or forebode. For the first time in his life, feeling disreputable, he feels the fear. And it was the prehistoric trepidation, the one from the lore. The consternation. The apprehension and the agitation. Oh, God. Cool down. You have to ease yourself. Just gentle yourself. Quell your fears, breathe, you have got this, that is.
*
- That was close. We had him, my Lady Beauty. – My young Dragon Prince, Exalior. Let me have this one more chance. – It is for the best that I have him first, then, you to come after, alone.
A mission complete, you have nowhere to hide, nowhere to go.
*
Even Golden and Silver of Fountain House, were of the 7 Gates, the Praetorians who were protecting with the First Mate and beloved daughter, the second queen, or the Queen of Gondolin, once she was little lady and the silver princess, now, inspiring delight and the heart, were inspirited by the capital of Undying Lands, Tirion upon Tuna, where the blessed are lands in the Island Aman, for Valinor had the first light and the first night, in times of Lamps!