:3:

 

 

The smell of burned salt.

      The air tasted of gritty dirt.

      A giant sky’s blue and white, contrasted with the dirty brownness that was humanity. The horns’ last vestiges faded.

          Wedonkind massaged his temples.

Unnatural summer.

Sweat renewed itself under Winter Sun.

          Yes. Winter. Nothing made sense in this world anymore. Not even the Moon or the Sun. It truly was a surprise that the sky was still blue.

          All around, was the sound of panicked bustle. A few callous-fisted, impatient salutes greeted him as he made his way. Wedonkind didn’t know why they saluted. There were no ranks anymore. Ahead, trampled dirt gave way to long strands of grass.

      Unnatural grass.

      Hills that looked like mounds of green bodies obstructed the horizon, releasing their apron strings from the sun.

      Distant drums.

      Wedonkind ceased at the edge of the dirt, and gripped his war sword’s wire-handled hilt. He’d had to clean his own blood out of the handle the night before. Wedonkind ignored the stinging in his hands. His tattered leather armor had been a full shirt only last week. His shield became useless and broken days ago.

      When He came.

      The camp was nearly packed, now. Just in case. In case they had to flee at first sight of the enemy.

Unnatural war.

 

      What was the use of living, if it was only to live in fear? Wedonkind turned. The drums grew closer.

      The massive hill valley was filled to the very brim with tents and huts and horses, fires, weapons, food, children and women and men, dogs and wolves alike. Thousands, upon thousands of soldiers.

      And yet, the need to flee was still the only option. Unless they were against a skirmish party, or some small force. Soon, he feared, they would be fighting with their backs to the South, and not to the West. Or perhaps they would be facing the South. As they fled.

 

      Reldrin. It was he, who in a mere three days, split the realm of Men into two.

      Split the world into two, he did.

      Unnatural man.

 

      Wedonkind closed his tired eyes, and the vision of stone ruins flickered his mind. Again, he felt the cold fear in his dream. He hadn’t been able to take a step forward, then. Reluctantly, Wedonkind stepped forward, to prove he could. The event seemed to trigger some fate unknown. Or a doom.

 

      Find my name, the voice echoed.

      Wedonkind forced his eyes open. The dream world, and the world before him, he could not distinguish between. A deep breath.

      Unnatural dreams....

 

 

 

Next issue:

“WedonKIND!” The shout came as a surprise; which was itself, surprising; Wedonkind thought he’d lost the ability. Was it a fellow soldier or someone else who called his name?
        Like a cat, he whirled to face what was behind him, the sound of pounding feet making itself more than evident.
The drums ceased.

 

 

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Copyright 2004 Thomas “Artimus Bena” McInturf

 

-Feedback can be sent to ArdiaDrendalor@yahoo.com

or to “Artimus Bena” through Castle Paradox.

 

 

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