The White Horse and the Dragon of Death

"And they worshipped the dragon which gave power unto the beast: and they worshipped the beast, saying, Who is like unto the beast? who is able to make war with him?" - Revelation

 

"Until one has loved an animal, a part of one's soul remains unawakened" ~ Anatole France

 

The White Horse and the Dragon of Death

 

 

                The boy loved the horse from the day it was born.

            Early one dew speckled morning the colt came into the world. Onto the grass by the barn it flopped, all wet and kicking. It was eager to participate in the spectacle of life, and so didn't take long to stand on its wobbling legs, knobby knees shivering. After it dried off everyone was very impressed by its snow-white coat. Remarkable indeed, taking into account his mother was a dark brown chestnut and the stallion who'd sired him an onyx charger.

            "It's a miracle" said the boy's mom as she set another towel over the colt's shoulders, "Perhaps he's a blessing for this country"

            The boy liked the sound of that. However, if it were true, the miracle proved to come at a costly and sorrowful price. Shortly after giving birth, the colt's mother died. The beloved mare who had been with them for years, had bestowed the white pony as her parting gift to the boy and his family.

            "He will be yours to care for" said Aesnar's mother, "Why don't you give him a name?"

            "I will call him Saffiros" said the boy, "Because he is like the sky"

            From that day forward the white colt was solely young Aesnar's responsibility. He would have cared for the horse whether or not it had been orphaned, for he felt a special connection to it, and enjoyed spending time with it. Aesnar did his best to take on the role of father and mother - and above all; most faithful guardian and friend.

            The boy set the kindness of his spirit into every aspect of caring for the colt. Since the horse was alone in the world, he stayed by its side as much as possible. At dawn he brought it breakfast, at midday lunch, and at dusk dinner. He served it fresh forage, with hay, apples, oats, and alfalfa, and as it munched away he brushed its coat. Day after day he mucked the stall and took the colt out of the paddock to get exercise. The white pony was very observant, and filled with wonder at the world, which in turn caused Aesnar to delight all the more in everything he showed it, as if he too were seeing it all for the first time. He guided it across the shire's rolling green expanses and diaphanous streams. Wherever they went they always ended up playing, dancing around each other in a sort of game similar to tag but with fluctuating rules, as well as competing in spontaneous races that Aesnar only won if Saffios allowed him to.

            The horse was only a few months old when the boy began to perceive something very strange and magical in regards to it. Others couldn't notice, and they probably wouldn't believe him if he tried to explain, but Aesnar knew it to be true. He and the pony could talk to one another.

            The boy had been petting the the horse the first time he sensed the communicative ability. He was whispering kind words to the white pony when suddenly Aesnar realized it understood him word for word. He didn't owe it to the sentient gleam in its eyes, or body language. Saffiros truly spoke, howbeit without words. The boy sensed the impressions of what the horse meant to say, conveyed to him in an invisible sunlit mist of telepathy.

            There were times when Aesnar was away, inside his house, or off in the village for an errand, and from one moment to the next he felt the white horse calling to him. What was this kindred spirit they shared? He felt the pony's needs almost as if they were his own. During winter nights he shivered with the cold Saffiros endured, and thus brought a blanket and held the colt in his arms with it. Together they watched the stars.

            Often, before falling asleep in the hay next to the pony, he would whisper, "Don’t worry Saffiros my boy. I promise that I'll always be by your side”

 

            As the colt grew into equine adolescence, its energy increased correspondingly. If Aesnar tarried too long, Saffiros often jumped the stables and came to the house and stood outside the door or window until the boy came out. Never had Aesnar beheld a pony, or any horse, gallop across the highland pastures as swift and nimbly as his white steed. Saffiros leapt fearlessly over streams and hedges. Wherever the colt went however, it waited for the boy to catch up, so that they could continue roaming together.

            Children of neighboring farms and small villages watched in wonder when Aesnar brought his horse around the way.

            "Wow, I wish I could have a pony like that" said a little girl; a poor daughter of serfs, dressed in rags and stitched garments.

            "Saffiros says you can play with him if you like" said Aesnar.

            And so he lead the white colt from farm to farm, hamlet to fiefdom, so that everyone could see it, and so all children could play with it. The folk of that land grew accustomed to seeing the farmboy and his white horse. Ever their eyes brightened upon beholding the colt prancing near their fields, the sun shining on its immaculate coat, brilliant like the robe of an angel. Near and far, they claimed they had never seen such a beautiful creature.

            One day, as Aesnar's mother washed the crockery, through the kitchen window she saw her son run round and round with Saffiros amid the wheat and barley plots, laughing and calling to it as if it could understand what he said.

            "Do you think he spends too much time with the pony?" she asked her husband.

             "I don't know. But as long as he continues to get his chores done, I don't see any harm in it” he shrugged, “Besides, certain things are destined to be. He may very well make great knight and the horse be his mighty charger"

            "Oh, don't be silly" she said, and went back to her chores.

 

            The seasons passed pleasant and peaceful, the world turning without struggle or woe. When Saffiros reached a few years of age, Aesnar started letting him run unconfined of the stables, so he could go wherever he pleased, free as the highland wind. The boy saw no need to house the white colt in the barn. Had it been any other horse, he would have worried, but he knew Saffiros wouldn't get lost and would always return to him, as sure as the arc of the daystar above. Besides, if the colt was free, Aesnar felt freer for it too. The white horse particularly liked to roam and frolic during the night under a full moon, or when the moon was at its thinnest crescent, and one could see the depth of galaxies splayed over the dreaming countryside. The boy often joined Saffiros for his galloping adventures on nights like those, and wished he could run as the horse did.

            The legend of the white pony traveled throughout the lands for leagues and league. Farmers in shires afar saw the horse whoosh past their fields, through dells and over hillocks, its neighs piercing the stillness. More than once someone woke up in the middle of the night and espied the white steed, and wondered if it were perhaps not a spirit, or descended from the cosmos.

            The white horse, so the rumors purported, could run a hundred leagues in a single night. Whether that was true or not, and wherever it was Saffiros explored in his journeys, in the morning he always waited for Aesnar to step outside and greet the day. Now and then when the boy couldn't find the pony by the barn, he strode to high pastures by the forests. There he whispered the colt's name into the breeze. It was never long before a distant whinny called back to him, and he saw his beloved horse cresting the hills, rushing back.

 

            The first time Aesnar rode the white horse it was three years old. He knew a horse shouldn't be ridden until fully grown, but Safirros had never been like other common stock. The colt was still transitioning through adolescence, but had already surpassed his equine counterparts in speed and strength, and with a few years to go before reaching complete maturation, he continued to get bigger and stronger.

            Aesnar hadn't planned on riding the white horse, but the horse had bade him " speaking without words into his soul - come, let me show you how strong I am, let me show you what it feels like to run with the wind.

            Without saddle, Aesnar mounted up. Saffiros surged forth, proving it could gallop like a gale indeed, carrying the boy across rolling landscapes, swift and secure, like the hand of a god.

            "Saffiios!" shouted the boy as the air sibilated passed his ears, "You truly are great! One day you shall fly!"           

 

            Perhaps the white horse took the boy's faith to heart. On a dewy morning a few weeks later, Aesnar found Saffiros by the barn, engaged in unusual, acrobatic like exertions. Had the horse lost its mind? The colt ran from one side of the farm yard to the other, gathering momentum, then launching itself up as if attempting to free itself from the grip of gravity. During many hours that morning, Saffiros repeated these efforts over and again - the whole while largely ignoring Aesnar's entreaties to reason. Every time, at the zenith of his leaps, Saffiros bucked wildly, attaining impressive height, - but for all his essaying, did not succeed in taking to the sky.

            Aesnar had laughed a good deal. When the horse finally gave up, he patted it on the shoulders. His eyes widened in astonishment.

            "What's this?"

            His hand had run across a protuberance. From the upper chest and around to the shoulder-blades, a muscular bulge had formed. Aesnar studied the peculiarity for a good while. The protrusions ran on either side and twitched under the skin, bundled with developing power stirring in sleep.

            "Could it be?" muttered Aesnar, "Wings?"

            Preposterous, surely, but other explanations were remote and far between.

 

            The jumping around and the enlarging bulges under Saffiros' coat were the only bizarre changes until a couple months later, when something far more startling happened. One morning the boy went to look for the white horse and it was gone. This had never happened before. When he called, it did not return. Aesnar grew gravely worried. He wandered the croplands and far ranges and hills in search of his beloved friend, asking neighbors near and far if they'd seen him. No one had.

            Days turned into weeks and Aesnar prayed and cried as he continued his search for Saffiros.

            “Maybe it's time that you give this up” said his father with grudging difficulty, “You've been at it everyday. Maybe this time Saffiros isn't coming back”

            "No," said Aesnar, tears in his eyes, "I can't ever stop. I'm all he has ever had"

            His parents said no more. They knew how he loved the white steed.

            A month passed and Aesnar's hope waned but would not be put out. What if some forest beast, one of the giant wolven monstrosities, had mauled and eaten his beloved friend? Not knowing what else to do, Aesnar ventured into the forbidden forests. Here there were no more houses, no farmsteads. The treeline marked the limit of where mankind's world ended and the vast domain of the wilds began. Beyond leagues of foliage and forest, giant snow-crowned peaks rose into the cerulean sky. Some said that spirits, and gods dwelt in high passes of those mountains.

            For hours Aesnar wandered the cool, dappled woods, calling out to his friend. Searching such a boundless land seemed utterly futile. By and by he came to a high hill that rose above the treetops. The vista he attained caused his hope to ebb. There was seemingly no end to the forests. Then, in the distance, from above the timbered canyons, a whinny echoed.

            Aesnar stood atop the crest of the hill and at the top of his lungs and with wild desperation conmingled with elation, he cried out his horse's name. The echoes of the whinny faded and he received no further response despite his frantic bellows. Where had it come from? He scanned the lay of the land. From the glimmering ridges of the icebound escarpments, a bird of white wings flew forth. Aesnar squinted as he peered through the azure atmosphere. The wind carried a whinny. That's no bird! But, how,...what,...?

            A white horse approached through the sky, flapping its huge, white-feathered wings a few times before gliding down to land beside Aesnar atop the knoll's summit.

            "Saffiros?"

            The mighty steed was more beautiful than ever. A soft, heavenly aura radiated from its snow-white coat and wings. The horse snorted and nudged its head towards the boy. Aesnar still couldn't quite believe his eyes, but he had no doubt this majestic creature was the very same horse he'd raised since birth.

            "Saffiros, what in the world has happened?" he referred more to the wings than the overlong disappearance.

            The white horse puffed up his chest and beat his enormous wings. Aesnar touched the shimmering feathers in wonder. Saffiros didn't tell him why he had disappeared for so long, nor how he'd come by such a magnificent pair of wings. Perhaps the white horse didn't rightly understand what had happened. Aesnar knew however, that a mysterious and profoundly miraculous event had taken place amid those snowy peaks. His white horse had made the pilgrimage to those white pinnacles, and in the manner in which a squire is knighted, had been blessed by a power from above the earth.

            Come on - whispered Saffiros into Aesnar's thoughts " Let me show you what it feels like to fly with the wind.

            The idea of flying frightened Aesnar, but he trusted the white horse. He climbed up and held on tight. Saffiros tore forth at full tilt towards the brim of the hill's steepest slope that overlooked a deep wooded vale. As the white horse leapt over the dale, Aesnar stifled a scream that became an awkward gasp.  He didn't want to look down, so he pressed his face into the powerful neck and closed his eyes. They were falling. I'm weighing him down - he thought - we're going to plummet " but then they dipped, and he felt the huge wings expel swooshes of wind, and with each push, lifting them back aloft, up into the sky.

            "Dear gods!" Aesnar exclaimed after he dared open his eyes. The ground receded below, the trees and rocks shrinking into miniature details. They ascended up toward a low bank of white cummulus clouds.

            "You did it Saffiros! By god! We're flying!"

            They broke through the vaporous border. For the first time in his life Aesnar beheld the uppermost surface of the clouds. It was a silent, a drifting continent, soft, effulgent with sunlight, a place where angels and deities could rest and sojourn above the world on sleeping ships of white nebula. How quiet, how beautiful. He felt a familiarity with these skyward scapes, as if he'd been here before, in another life.

            Then they were descending toward the earth. Saffiros couldn't maintain the altitude without the proper current to soar upon. The white horse flapped and veered in a wide circling descent.

            Once on the grassy ground, Aesnar said, “Don't you worry boy. You've only just begun to learn. You're wings are going to get bigger and stronger, and then you'll be able to fly over mountains, across the oceans, to the other isles and continents, why, touch the very moon"

            Saffiros raised his head and snorted in accord.

 

            Word spread of the farmboy and the sky-horse. At first people didn't realize it was the same lad and colt, they thought the steed had surely come from another realm. The boy atop his winged-horse was spotted gliding over hills and valleys, ascending for a league or two before landing again, sometimes further, and then taking off anew. Children raced down the village lanes and across fields to behold the extraordinary sight. Aesnar waved from afar. On a number of occasions, Saffiros flew over an entire town. The folk in the streets and main square pointed up and exclaimed in wonder. In less than a week, the entire population in the surrounding hamlets, and even the king's faraway castle to the west, had heard of the white sky-horse.

 

            On the lord of the land's request, Aesnar flew to the castle and presented himself before the court. With his winged steed beside him, Aesnar knelt before the throne and paid homage.

            "I proclaim this horse to be a wonder of the land" said the king, "Verily, I may have to add its symbol to the banner, or coat of arms, or both"

            "Thank you my lord"

            "Stand lad. Today I am believer not in reverential decorum, but in the impossible" said the king, "In all my years I had never imagined such a beautiful creature could exist. You and your horse have my blessings in fullest"

            Aesnar was relieved. He had been worried the king might want to keep Saffiros for himself.

            "This is for you" said the king, bestowing Aesnar with a gleaming sword with jeweled hilt. "A blade of the guardian knights. If ever the need arises, use it wisely, my young, flying paladin"

            The king's generous smile remained etched in Aesnar's memory henceforth. He was a man of great burdens. If ever an opportunity presented itself for Aesnar to be of aid in helping alleviate those heavy charges, he swore that he would act upon it

 

            From far and wide people made the journey to the farm where the boy and his family lived, to  behold and pay homage to the celestial creature.

            "It is a miracle" - they said time and time again.

            "A message from God!"

            "A gift from the heavens"

            Many were moved to tears, for they never believed such a majestic and mythical being could actually exist. They interpreted it as evidence that heaven existed, and that they would see their lost loved ones again when they the left this world. That no one was ever truly alone.

            And thus, the white horse became a living symbol of faith manifested. Saffiros seemed to increase in prowess because of the land's belief in him. He feared nothing. The wolves of the forbidden forests fled before the white horse, as did the big mountain cats and other giant beasts that the farmers and country folk had long lived in fear of. At long last, the land and its livestock, as well as its children and wayfarers, were safe.

            Aesnar noticed that Saffiros was quite proud of this newfound renown. Aesnar didn't deny that he couldn't of been prouder of his steed either. This mysterious white horse had caused his own faith in the sacred and eternal to (grow).

 

            "Will you come with me Embla? I wish to show you something" said Aesnar to the beautiful young lass whom he had long been in love with.

            "Aye, I will go with you" said Embla.

            Together, they walked beside the white horse, deep into the forbidden woods, and hiked into the mountains. Since Saffiros wasn't yet strong enough to fly free as a bird, and would be carrying the weight of the two of them, Aesnar sought out a very high place from where they could embark. It took all day to get to the lofty cliff. The spot was not far below the snowpacks. By then night had spread its billowing robe, and the cold jewels of many stars were scattered across the depths.

            "I don't know if I can do it" said Embla. She recoiled and trembled after peering over the rim of the craggy rock to the precipitous drop thousands of feet below.

            "You can trust Saffiros" said Aesnar with a glint of mischievousness. "He is fearless, and can do anything. Just hold on tight"

            With Embla behind him and her arms wrapped around his torso, the white horse took a few agile strides and dove off the precipice. Embla screamed as they plunged into the yawning chasm, the wind blew her long hair up, and she held onto to Aesnar for dear life.

            In a sudden flourish Saffiros spread his wings and they swooped like a giant eagle into the starry heavens. There they found an immense calm which reigned, like that of a boat alone on a tranquil sea. The sky-horse carried them over the mountains' passes and its secret vales and hidden rivers which glimmered far, far below. They flew further, over the gleaming peaks, seemingly above where the moon raised its brow on the horizon, and under the stars, adrift in a enraptured dream, further, and further, for hours, free from everything. It was not until nigh midnight, that at last they descended by Embla's side of the village.

            She held Aenar's hands and looked into his eyes a good while. "Thank you so much" she said and kissed him on the mouth before she went her way.

            There could be no doubt. Day or night, this was the happiest hour of Aesnar's life. If he had keeled over and died right then and there, it would've been ok by him. However, he rested in the assurance of a long, wonderful life lying ahead, aside his magical white steed, a life verged by and interwoven with the promises of joy, love, and freedom unbounded.

            "You are the greatest friend I could have ever asked for" said Aesnar to Saffiros, "Together we can do anything. Together we cannot be bound by the world"          

            The white horse snorted in agreement.

 

*           *           *

 

            Towards the end of summer that year an unseasonably cold wind from the north began to blow, sending the clouds scuttling across the sky with an eerie urgency. With the boreal gales came rumor of a giant terror awakening to the desolate ice-bound mountains of the north. An ancient evil was astir, a shadow of a shadow; yet wielding immense, perhaps endless malice. Whatever this dark, ineffable thing was, reports claimed it had issued forth from its long slumber like a hurricane, and had begun to sweep across the lands, upturning and ripping life in all its forms from the earth, devouring everything in grinding chaos.

            The foremost who fled the northern reaches had come swiftest by mount. They passed through the countryside like wild heralds, imparting warning to all who would hearken - the monstrous evil advanced toward them and therefore they should abandon this land.

            "I don't understand" said Aesnar shaking his head, "What could it be?"

            "No one knows" said his mother, "Probably just a very severe storm" she patted him on the head even though he was already as tall as her, "Don't worry about it. You know how folk tell tall tales. Everything will be alright"

            Aesnar went outside. The summer sun shone warmly, but a fell, hyperborean wind continued to blow, gathering day to day. The fields of grain billowed like a turbulent sea. Although he longed to confide in the security his parents wished to afford, he knew he could do so no longer. He was old enough to have learned no adult existed who knew everything, or could offer protection from all dangers. Grownups were just as vulnerable. He had a sinking feeling that in the end, in many respects, they knew less than children. What was certain was that no one, no thing, would last forever. And whatever this tempest was that pressed towards their land, it intended to quicken this mortal fate.

            While he stood in the strange, incessantly streaming currents from the north, Aesnar had a dire foreboding. A mournful voice moaned on this wind, murmuring of lamentation and sorrow unknowable. He clenched his fists in futile determination.

            In the days following, droves of people crossed through the countryside as they fled southwards or anywhere they could to get away from the pursuing maelstrom. He met many who attested to have seen the source of this evil. Written on their faces and affecting their voices was a kind of fear Aesnar had not seen in a long time, not since he' been a small child and war had ravaged the east. What he saw now however, was far more disquieting.

            One of the refugees claimed, "The crops are ripped from the ground by the whirlwind, and the trees broken and toppled"

            "Houses are being blown asunder. Cattle heaved into the maw of the hurricane" professed another. "People too have been taken up into its darkness"

            "But what in creation's name is it?" Aesnar asked one of the displaced; a woman whose gaze remained lost in oppressive gloom. He said to her again, as if to awaken her, "What is it you are all running from!?"

            She turned to him as if he might have be a ghost, "Don't you know?" and her voice quailed, smothering an unbridled scream, "The Dragon of Death!"

            She said not another word to him and didn't look back as she guided her children on the road south.

           

            The cold breath of the wind threshed. The northern gusts had never held during as many consecutive days. Aesnar walked past the groves on the outskirts of the farmlands. The trees moaned, their boughs struggling like straggling sails against the brunt of the wind's force. From there he walked into the open green swards. The land seemed underwater, the air a great river, creating a steady hum, a rush. The flowing of wind swiftly churned through the bordering forests, inundating the woods with voices that sighed and urgently swooshed in the bobbing boughs - myriad vociferations that were in turn one vast seething voice.

            Atop the highland hillocks, Saffiros, mane whipping, gazed to the distant north horizon, searching for a sign, a manifestation of a presentment. For hours the white horse held this vigil, only broken by intermittent pacing challenging the gales.

            "What is it?" said Aesnar to his steed. He stood right beside the horse, but because of the wind he had to speak loudly. "What do you see?"

            Saffiros gave a defiant snort - I am not afraid.

            Aesnar couldn't say the same for himself. He knew why the winds could not stop weepinng. The Dragon of Death. The monstrous cyclone of darkness rushed toward their country.

 

            "The beast comes to obliterate these lands" said a farmer, an old weathered man who had abandoned his land and possessions in the northern country. "Every last one of you should take to the roads without delay"

            "But is there no manner of stopping it?" asked Aesnar.

            "Nay" the old man shook his shaggy head. "Many have tried. Great knights, champions, wizards, holy men. Fools to the last one. Whosoever has endeavored has failed to cause this doom to waver in the least. Instead, they were devoured by it. The Dragon will consume everything you know and see in oblivion. Take heed while you can lad and hotfoot it for dear life"

            People in the village debated what to do, but the majority of those Aesnar heard echoed the same sentiment of desperation, enfeebled by fear. He went home, profoundly worried. Later that day, as the sun diminished and twilight threatened, he and his parents spoke of what action to take.

            "We'll wait a while longer" said his father,"And if whatever it is keeps coming, and things worsen, then we'll abscond west"

            Later on, after dinner, when his parents had gone to sleep, Aesnar went outside to the fields to seek out Saffiros. The white horse continued to maintain a bearing of bravery and defiance. Howbeit, Aesnar noted an element forced to this demeanor. Maybe the horse was apprehensive? Saffiros had hardly flown at all in recent days, and when he did he had not roamed as far, nor flown as high, as if distrusting the extraneous, precipitating winds.

            The next day the blustering weather intensified and multiplied in urgency, like a flight of hordes of amorphous, zephyr enrobed spirits. The clouds sped from one horizon to the other, as if the wheeling of time had quickened. Astounded and increasingly alarmed, the people of the village and surrounding shires beheld the skies, looked to the north, uncertain what to do, waiting for the downfall of judgment in the form of the unspeakable slayer of creation to eclipse the heavens and sweep away their transient lives along with every last shred and fragment they had ever worked to achieve.

 

            "Me and my family, we are going to leave tomorrow" said Embla.

            Aesnar didn't want her to go, but he knew she must. No one could be asked to remain. he nodded in surrender. She embraced him. The way they held each other, Aesnar sensed they wanted to eternalize the moment, so they could take it with them wherever they went and never feel completely apart.

            That night, as the winds screamed over over the farm's rooftop, Aesnar woke with a start. He tried to remember the bad dream but could not. Was Saffiros ok? He slipped out of bed and went outside and crossed the yard to the barn. Inside he saw his beloved white horse sleeping, quivering now and then, as if troubled by an incubus of his own. Usually Saffiros slept standing up, but tonight the steed lay on his side, as he had done when he was a pony, as if searching for his lost mother's warmth by huddling against the hay, wings folded like beautiful armor. Aesnar lay down beside the horse and caressed its mane to reassure its dreams. The framework of the barn creaked and protested under the straining heave and ho of the swooshing and crashing night currents.

            After he was certain the white horse slept soundly, Aesnar got up to leave. As he walked towards the barn's big square entrance, a dark silhouette appeared, fringed by the faint light of the moon and the stars.

            "Who goes there?" said Aesnar, reaching for a hoe.

            "Just an old man" responded the stranger who stood in the threshold. Aesnar descried a man somewhat hunched over a walking staff. The gleam of the galaxy shone faintly on the newcomer's wispy white hair and scruffy beard. And what was this? Aesnar squinted. On the old man's very robes, he perceived what seemed to be many tiny stars glittering.

            "Who are you?" asked Aesnar with suspicion and wonder.

            "Tenthrandir is my name"

            "Are you a wizard?"

            "You may call me that, if it be your wish, though I wield no special powers, less you count the seeking out of knowledge, and truth in all things and behind all things a magic"

            "Sounds like wizard talk to me" said Aesnar. "What do you want?"

            "I have come very far to find you. You are the boy with the white winged-horse, are you not?"

            "Aye," Aesbiorn replied hesitantly, "I am"

            The old man released a sigh of immense relief, "Would it be ok if I took a look at your horse?"

            "Hmm, I don't see why not" after being initially startled, Aesnar lowered his guard a bit. He sensed no ill intent, and the old man looked harmless enough. He lead Tenthrandir to the back of the barn where Saffiros slept.

            "It is true" whispered the old man when he laid eyes on the white horse. "Oh, this is a most joyous occasion"

            Tenthrandir sounded like he was on the verge of tears, "For years and years I have journeyed, across charred deserts and frozen, blighted wastes, though towns, cities, in countries afar. I had all but given up hope I would ever find a real sky-horse"

            Seeing how genuinely mesmerized the old man was at the sight of the horse, Aesnar relaxed further. It made him right proud to see how impressed the stranger was.

            The old man beheld the sleeping steed, still not quite able to believe his eyes. After awhile Aesnar asked, "But why did you want to see him now? Wouldn't it be better to come in the morning when he is awake?"

            The wind bawled its melancholy. The old man regarded Aesnar in the shadows, "Because we are running out of time"

            "How do you mean?" 

            "This very moment the Dragon of Death approaches, churning up the world mile by murderous mile" said Tenthrandir, "This blessed horse of yours may very well be the one thing on this earth that can bring a halt to its sweeping path of ruin"

            "So the Dragon of Death really exists?" said Aesnar. He had a hunch the old man knew more about such things than the average clodhopper. "It is not mere myth, created by people's fears?"

            The old man's voice took on an eerie tone, "Perhaps it cannot be seen, but it exists sure as the beating of the winds out there, sure as the shadows that usher the night, and the grief it engenders, well that is unparalleled"

            "Morker ondska is another name by which it has been known. It matters not. You've seen the people, how they run from the fore of its advance? It gorges on their fear and waxes in power" the old man gestured with his staff, "For myriad millenniums, verily, since the dawn of mortality, the accursed beast has been unleashed upon these cyclical reigns of terror. Untold numbers have sought the way to defeat the supreme adversary, to find the lost key, vision seekers and great warriors, but down to the last they have failed, fallen into dust of the past. For hundreds of years I have striven and quested for the mystic secret, the hidden weapon and elixir, but I too have have failed time and again"

            "Is the Dragon so powerful?" Aesnar swallowed nervously and forced his voice to not quaver. Without, the gales supplicated stridently, creating a heavy and portentous atmosphere that Aesnar sensed pressing around him, making him feel small and lost.

            "Aye. It is the very nemesis of mortal man, and of the earth. Albeit, that doesn't mean we should give in and accept such an unjust fate" the mysterious wizard looked at Aesnar, "This hurricane of the void must be stopped. Until it has, it will continue meting out unspeakable dissolution and despair to generation upon generation, until time eventually goes blind"

            Aesnar considered the apocalyptic words, "But what does my horse have to do with any of this? What could Saffiros possibly do?"

            "That is a an enigma I cannot rightly foresee. However, I do have faith" he pointed a gnarled hand at the sleeping steed, "You have always sensed it, have you not? That your white horse is different? That a spirit moves it unlike unlike other animals? Aye, and you were right to suspect so. Where do you think he came by those wings? A mere coincidence? Nay" the old man laughed, "I will tell you lad - the sky-horse if from another, a far better world, than this purgatorial crossroads we inhabit"

            The old man chuckled, "This magnificent creature is not bound by this realm and its enchained laws. That is why I believe, that if he faces the enemy, by virtue of the spirit of fearlessness and truth that resides within him, the storm can be turned back. What is more; I believe it is the sky-horse's very purpose in coming to this world to bring an end to the Dragon of Death's reign"

            Aesnar pondered in silence. He gazed at his steed. The white horse looked small in the night-shadows within the barn, as vulnerable as any other mortal creature as it slept.

            "But is he ready?" asked Aesnar, "I mean, Saffiros is not even fully grown yet. He's only just begun to learn to fly"

            "I don't know" admitted Tenthrandir with a sigh. He gave Aesnar a studied look, "We can learn if he is the one only by confronting the murderer of mankind, and, if you too are willing. The sky-horse would need you to lead him against the Dragon"

            "Me?"

            "Aye" said the old man, gripping Aesnar's arm to offer fortitude, and imbue him with all the determination and faith that had driven him for centuries, "What say you lad?"

            Aesnar frowned as he wondered, then shook his head, "I don't know"

            The words were as weak as a candle flame being whipped by the wind.

            "You must know soon. The sands of time are thinning fast. I fear the nightmare will reach the village here the day after the morrow. You have until then to decide" Tenthrandir stood up. Before going his way he left Aesnar with a few final words, "I know not what will happen if you face it, but I know very well what shall befall us if you flee. The beast will multiply mightier, and it will make you, and the people of this good land, its thralls in the terrors of hell"

 

*          *          *

 

            Sleep was a hard foe to conquer that night. Beyond the window of his room the trees screamed like witches in the throes of damnation. Aesnar tossed and turned on a turbulent sea, and stumbled down labyrinths of illusion, torment, and hidden dangers. Eventually he sank into an exhausted, thoughtless slumber.

            When he awoke the sun had already risen. The skies were clear, but the winds shouted with warlike vigor. His parents spoke again of possibly abandoning their homestead. Confused, Aesnar went out to a green ridge and watched as more refugees from the north poured down the roads and traversed the fields. The commotion in the village had devolved to a state of turmoil.

            It was late noon when he found Saffiros keeping guard on lonely hill overlooking the forests and snowcapped mountains northwards. Aesnar went to stand beside his white steed. His hair blew, as did the horse's mane. They gazed unto the horizon of the hidden, mysterious menace.

            "What do you say boy? Would you challenge the Dragon?"

            There was no indication Saffiros had understood. Then the horse straightened his posture, puffed his chest and tossed his head as he neighed with conviction - Of course. I am not afraid of anything.

            "Very well" Aesnar put an arm over the horse's shoulders, "If you're willing to fight it, then so am I. I want you to know that no matter what happens, I won't ever abandon you"

            As the boy and the white horse crossed back over the highland meadows, they were met by the scruffy wizard. The colors of the sky reflected in his robes.

            "Good" said Tenthrandir, giving a grave grin, "I see you have decided to meet the enemy of mortal man" as he walked with them he imparted his advice concerning the showdown, "When the Dragon of Death comes, one thing you must never do, no matter how afraid you are, is turn and run from it. If you do, it will devour you in its abysmal maw. So remember, at all costs - stand your ground"

            "Is that all?" asked Aesnar, "But what must we do to defeat it?"

            The old man regarded him sternly, as if to weigh what his reaction would be, "You must fly into it. I know, I know, it sounds crazy, but that is the one thing it will never expect. You see, everyone is so afraid of it, it has grown accustomed to soley having its way"

            Aesnar stared at the old man, his mouth slightly agape, "Fly into it?"

            "Aye, but hark lad - the Dragon o Death is very, very big, and so you will have to fly higher than you've ever flown. Yes, I understand that your horse has not yet reached his full prowess, but we have been left with no choice but to trust in what strength he has achieved already"

            Aesnar had no rebuttal. The plan sounded impossibly absurd, profoundly mental, yet for some reason he trusted the old sage. He nodded, "Very well. Fly into it we shall"

 

            The western horizon was aflame and the eastern skyline softened to open way for the goddess of eventide. Aesnar had gone outside to roam the high meadows and find peace. There he saw Embla, her dress blowing with the pink clouds behind her.

            "I thought you had left" he said.

            "Aye, we were going to" she said, "But in the end my parents decided it was worse to run. And then, when they heard that you and your sky-horse would face the Dragon, it gave them hope enough to remain, as it has many"

            Aesnar didn't know what to say. So the old man had already gone off announcing the impending showdown? That didn't help things. The responsibility of so many people's hopes placed on his shoulders was a burden he feared himself unprepared to bare.

            "Then, is it true?" asked Embla with expectation and deep concern, "Do you really mean to battle the Dragon?"

            "Aye" as if transfixed, he gazed at the departing blaze of the sun, "Me and my good Saffiros"

            Word continued to spread until all ears had heard that the farmboy and his renowned white horse were to challenge the oncoming tidal wave of darkness. Suddenly, every peasant, baron, even the king, looked to the sky-horse and his master with rekindled hope. Most of the people that had been on the brink of exodus decided to remain, even a number of the refugees from other countries stayed.           

            How foolish, thought Aesnar, that they would dare believe thus in him. They had no idea of the fear in him, that his faith in this whole insane endeavor was as small as a wheat seed. Perhaps the old wizard was nothing but a crisp-brain madman? And yet it was on his ravings they all hinged their lives. When he and Saffiros stood before the Dragon, surely they would be swept away by the storm like dry leaves and chaff. Nonetheless, Aesnar couldn't bring himself to back out, not now, when doing so would snuff out everyone's faltering faith. In the end, what more did they have?

            The white horse, they believed, was the one creature with the divine power in it to counter the giant destroyer. Well, let us hope they're right.

 

            The next day the sun shone anew and the wind blew in a steady, bellicose barrage. Dispersed ships of cloud, routed from the north, flew across the skies, shifting and elongating in disorderly retreat. The wind ululated and clamored, and bit with a boreal chill.

            Aesnar had been up before dawn. The moment he stepped outside he knew today the Dragon would come.

            Even though he didn't believe it would do a jot of good, he took up the sword the king had bestowed him, and then went to the barn. It was mid-morning. Saffiros waited for him there. Aesnar's mother tried to stop him, begging him to come back inside the house. The wind whistled shrilly, making it difficult to hear each other clearly though they shouted.

            "No! I won't allow it!" she cried, "You'll get yourself killed!"

            "But what will happen if I don't even try?"

            "How can you believe in what that old rambler says! Can't you see he's a crazed fool!"

            "Aye, perhaps. Then again, maybe he knows things the rest of us don't" and he shook his head, "There is no alternative. I am must go to face the Dragon"

            Desperate, his mother looked to Aesnar's father, "Do something! You have to stop him!"

            "I don't want him to go either" said his father, "But perhaps there is no other way. Saffiros is unlike any other horse the world has known, and Aesnar is linked to him in some way we cannot see. Remember, certain things are destined to be"

            His mother was crying. Aesnar hugged her to calm her down, and also, because he was afraid.        

            A great number of people had gathered by the fields near the barn. They dared believe that what humanity dreaded most could be overcome. Aesnar's parents took solace in the thought that if there son was to perish this day, that at least he would be remembered as a hero. This afforded them a meager measure of pride to assuage their angst.

            From among the crowds, Embla came forward to wish Aesnar good luck. Then he raised the paladin sword. A raucous cheer was evoked from the multitudes, which in turn spurred Saffiros to stand on his hind legs and neigh and flap his wings. With prayers and blessings showered on them, the boy and the white horse made their way across the hills and towards the north.

            They wove past the outlying groves where the trees wailed and whipped, ancient wood creaking. Many branches, like torn limbs, as well as entire trunks, had fallen. From here they came to a great plain that opened as far as the eye could see unto the horizon - the fields of Ode-fora.

            As they traversed the seemingly endless plain, Aesnar looked back toward the straggling crowd of people that had followed. They stood a few miles back, not willing to go beyond the final plowlands that marked the furthest reach of their country's domain.

            One onlooker did however come forth. An old man walked through the tall grass of Ode-fora, and with staff in hand, came to stand at Aesnar's side.

            "I'm the one that got you into this" said Tenthrandir, "It is only right that I should see it out with you. Besides, when this spectacle gets underway, perhaps I can be of aid"

            The boy, the white horse, and the old man, forced to squint, marched out into the driving wind. They advanced nigh a mile across the plains before coming to a halt. The hour approached sunset, and the frigid gales charged southwards.

            "It will come from over there" said the old man, pointing his staff toward the boreal borders.

            They waited, alone, infinitesimal amid the emptiness of the untamed fields. Aesnar could see no sign of the beast yonder, but there was a marked change in the winds. The currents rushed forth angrily, like crazed spirits loosened from frozen dungeons beneath the earth, harbingers of doom. The sound of the wind enveloped them, swimming in their ears, carrying away all other sounds, making their very thoughts feel distant, muted, as if they couldn't quite be reached and were in danger of being lost as drops are lost in a river and then an ocean. Aesnar felt his life streaming before him as he tried to retain a centered sense of himself.

            "Look alive lad! Morker-ondska is coming!" the old man had to shout though he stood shoulder to shoulder with Aesnar. "Any moment now! Remember what I said lad! Do not run from the Dragon, less it be the last thing you do!"

            A sudden gust hurtled and the fields of Oda-fora thrashed and nearly flattened in a rippling shimmering sea. They had to lean into the wind so as not to be pushed back or be blown over entirely.

            Monstrous thunderclouds appeared, roiling and churning where the earth met the sky, belching canyonous, deafening booms. Tendrils of brume reached over the plain like hungry fingers as the fiery disc of the sinking sun lit the bottom of the windstorm aflame like a world shattered and turned over and loosened to drift and roil in the cataclysmic heavens.

            "Steadfast lad!" cried Tenthrandir, then motioned with his staff, mouth wide. "Lo! The beast!"

            Aesbiron strove with his sight but could not see the enemy. Amid the erupting madness of cloud and wind was a cyclone like force that battered and pounded, steering and driving everything before it. The supernatural tornado towered miles into the sky, writhing into the upper reaches and beyond fathoming, creating a violent vortex. Aside from the earth and the sky, which could not be measured, the oncoming storm was the biggest thing any of them had ever seen.

            The old man anchored himself in place by wedging his staff into the ground and pressing  forward against it. Aesnar clenched his fists and bore into the gale with his shoulders. Saffiros neighed, tossing his head and prancing nervously.

            It's too big. Never in my life could I have imagined this. Aesnar prayed, but felt the furious wind stripped his supplications away as the tufts of grass and other dust and debris that shot through the air. His vision was reduced considerably looking ahead, so he scrunched his eyes and shielded them, to little amelioration.

            "Where is it!" he shouted, but the sound of his voice was torn asunder like a thin page of parchment shredded and lost in the maelstrom.

            The old man's mouth spoke, but Aesnar could not hear a word except something about the sky-horse must fly. Other than that, it was all wind-screams in his ears, like condemned souls accusing the living of their odious fate.

            Then, above the whirling din, Aesnar heard the Dragon's abominable voice. He grimaced as if he had been struck and he covered his ears but could not shut out the bestial roar. The sound was umanning, as if the skies and earth were made of metal and being ground and rent apart in an inexpressible scream of pain and blood-boiling hatred.

            Aesnar closed his eyes to try and escape the infernal blustering if only for a moment. When he did, he was confronted by a far greater horror. Before him, above the plains, was a storm unlike anything envisioned, yet he had not been able to see the enemy of mankind. When he closed his eyes however, he beheld the Dragon of Death in all its staggering proportions.

            The blasphemous hellion was as colossal as the maelstrom. The thing was a tortured, raging demon, fluctuating in its stygian dimensions as it loomed over the earth. It was not just here, its shadow extended throughout the world, causing things to wither, wilt, go mad and die. The serpentine spirit, jet black, scintillated in contours of bladed metal scales, spikes, and plates, grinding together, coruscating and creating showers of sparks and forks of lightening that flickered and cracked up and down the length of its undefinable warped, twisting, and screaming body.

            When Aesnar opened his eyes, he no longer saw the diabolic monstrosity, though a part of him, his spirit eye perhaps, still could. Aye, he sensed it there, as sure as the ground beneath him. How could they fight such a thing? Both real and unreal? How could God allow it to exist? The storm did not even begin to contain its full power; indeed, Aesnar feared its malice had no measuring. What was it? What convergence of illusion and destruction? He knew not, and it was too late to turn back.

            The old man and the white horse perceived the black serpentine giant as well. Tenthrandir crouched, pronouncing spells and invocations with such intensity that his features contorted in a gritty grimace as if he were summoning all his might to take a s**t the size of a boulder.

            Saffiros neighed and bucked to and fro, his nostrils flaring. It was the first time Aesnar had seen the white horse stricken by fear. The madness of the spinning cyclone reflected in the dark mirrors of the horse's panicked eyes, threatening to turn into unthinking terror.

            The Dragon of Death hissed above the ant like figures on the plains of Oda-fora. It reared its long armored neck up and back like a venomous snake poised to strike. During those moments, as it coiled its strength, the storm paused, desisting in its ruthless advance. Aesnar sensed this to be the opportunity it gave them to flee like everyone else.

            "Stand-fast boy!" Aesnar shouted to Saffiros. This was it, the raging and insane test the old man had warned him of. They braced themselves to go under the tempestuous tidal wave.

            Seeing that they would not retreat, the Dragon hissed and loosened an avalanching deluge of howling, thundering gales. The old man lay flat on the ground, and indicated the others to do likewise. Aesnar could not bring Saffiros under control. The white horse bucked, kicked, and whinnied in a screaming manner as its eyes bulged. The steed would surely have bolted had Aesnar not been there.

            "Don't let him turn away!" cried the old man - Aesnar heard the words like a whisper amid a turbulent, plunging dream, "The beast will devour us if he does!"

            The Dragon of Death rumbled forth, hovering closer and closer until it was nearly on top of them. Again the old man's faint voice reached Aesnar's ears, or mind, as if conveyed by a spell, "Hold! Hold!"

            All intentions of flying into the storm had been abandoned. Aesnar prayed Saffiros would not attempt to take flight. The force of the wind would send the horse cartwheeling uncontrollably for miles and miles until it crashed into a mountainside somewhere.

            They had stepped over the brink and into the unknown. They had no choice but to hold onto the dear earth and try to brave the chaos.

            The white horse's poise came utterly unraveled. It stood on its hind legs and kicked wildly at the swooshing air and barred its teeth. Its unblinking eyes were open so wide that the white periphery was visible. Aesnar watched helpless. His horse was more terrified than a child threatened by giant growling monsters in the pitch dark. Never had he seen a creature in such a panicked, almost frenzied state of fear, as that which besieged his beloved horse. Yet Saffiros held his ground, and what remained of common sense and sanity, howbeit as precariously as one who shields a guttering candle as they walk into a stormy night.

            God, make it stop, don't let it take us! Please save us! - prayed Aesnar. He couldn't bare it. The white horse was undergoing the full extent of the Dragon of Death's power, and above all else that was pure fear - lawless, devourer of all things.

            The storm ripped at the plains like invisible claws and talons. The beating of the beast's wings created tides of juddering atmosphere. Above it all, issuing from the spinning vortex, droned an ungodly voice in a language of the deep underworld.

            Saffiros!" Aesnar wailed, "Please! You mustn't run!"

            The white horse could hear nothing. Unable to face the Dragon of Death any longer, the horse turned. The demon's roar quaked and thundered as if the apocalypse had come and the earth were caving in on itself.

            He had to do something. Saffiros couldn't endure much more. Any moment the white horse would break and lose the ability to think for himself and become as the lowliest of creatures, ruled by instinct and fear, and when it succumbed to that, the Dragon would seize it in the way a giant hawk snatches up a small ground squirrel.

            Aesnar got up and tried to reach his horse. More than once the winds knocked him to the ground. He crawled and clawed his way to the terror-stricken steed.

            "I'm here! I've got you!" cried Aesnar as he threw his arms around Saffiros, holding onto the horse's neck and shoulders so the storm would not take him away. The horse continued to buck, but Aesnar hugged tightly, "I won't let you go! I told you I wouldn't ever abandon you!"

            In the moments that followed the axis of chaos came over them and enveloped them. This was the moment they had dreaded, what people for ages had so desperately fled from - the supreme test of their spirits. Saffiros neighed uncontrollably, as if fighting not to drown. Aesnar closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around the white horse with all his might. Their thoughts were overcome by darkness as the Dragon of Death eclipsed their hopes and dreams. Suddenly, they were lost in the beast's belly, a blind oblivion of falling, ineffable terror.

            Through it all Aesnar cried over and over to his white horse, "Hold on boy! I'm right here! You got to believe me! I've always been right by your side! I won't ever let you go!"

            The words permeated between them - I love you with all my heart. Forever. I love you with all my heart. Forever.

            The words echoed back and forth between the boy and his horse. And as he held the white horse, deep down, he felt the steed's pure soul, that it was holding him as well, as if though they were separate, they were also one and the same.

            Then Aesnar realized - these winds, they should have blown us to kingdom come by now. But we are still standing here. Something gives us strength, something stronger than the Dragon. Got to keep fighting, we can do it!

            They held on, as if to the foremast of a ship riding crashing tides. By and by the winds slackened, the waves abated, the roaring faded, and little by little, the storm passed over and beyond. In its wake the winds sighed, and the sea they had ridden tempered to a place of tranquility.

            As if cautiously emerging from a bad dream, Aesnar opened his eyes. The last smoldering trace of the sun had departed over the rim of the earth. In the exhaling aftermath, twilight stretched its silken cloak. They had survived, and the violent tempest had largely dissipated, no more than a shadow of its original power remained, as this too hastened away, beyond their country, to some far off haunt.

            For some time Aesnar ontinued to hold the white horse and breathe heavily. In the absence of the storm the silence was quite amazing, a thing in of itself. Saffiros had calmed down significantly. Both of them were exhausted. He turned around but couldn't find the old man. He feared the giant tornado had flung him to a distant highland crags. Then, coughing up dust, the old man stood up, covered in snaggled foliage and brambles.

            "Well, that was something now wasn't it!" Tenthrandir laughed. The old man appeared to be exhilarated, as if he'd just jumped around the moon and back.

            "Did we defeat it?" asked Aesnar.

            The old man shook his head and hobbled over to the boy and his horse. "Nay. We could not, but behold - we were not defeated either" he raised his arms to either side to show that he was still in one piece as were they. Then he waved a finger, "It saw you two would not be turned back, and so ultimately the b*****d ran away. It will fly to some other part of the world, a pit somewhere, and lick its wounds until it grows stronger"

            Aesnar became a bit downcast. He hadn't expected they had vanquished the Dragon of Death, but still, he had held some hope that its shadow would not cast anywhere in the future of possibilities.

            "Cheer up lad!" the old man slapped Aesnar across the shoulders, "This day must be counted a great victory nonetheless! I know of no one else who has lived in thee past three millenniums who has managed to do what you and your horse did here today"

            Aesnar said nothing. The dreamy colors of twilight deepened. The stars shimmered like ethereal sands. A gentle breeze sighed and caressed.

            After a long silence, Aesnar said matter of factly, "We have to go after it"

            "Eh, what say you?" the old man had been smiling as he contemplated life.

            "We cannot be content with merely having saved our skins. The demonic shadow must be slain, for the sake of all that live, and every generation that is to come"

            Tenthrandir eyeballed the boy to make sure, then slapped his thigh and laughed, "Now that's the spirit lad! I like that, oh, I really do!" he shook his staff, "People have run from it for ages and ages, but we, we shall hunt the accursed devil down!"

            "We?"

            "Of course" said the old man, "I will accompany you and the sky-horse, and do what I can to help this destiny attain ripe fulfillment. Anyhow, I think that perhaps the Dragon of Death can only be defeated if we work in unison"

            "Very well" Aesnar nodded, "The three of us it'll be"

            "Uh, but what say you we stop in at the village first, get a good meal in us, have a proper pint or five to wash it down with, and start out tomorrow?"

            "Hmm, an excellent idea" said Aesnar. He hadn't been thinking of pursuing the enemy so soon anyhow, maybe not even for years, not until he felt more confident about the whole undertaking. He definitely didn't want to go through what he had today again.

            "And we need to come up with a plan" the old man announced as if the lamp of an epiphany had been lit,  "Prepare a foolproof strategy. But forget about all that for now lad. Tonight, you deserve a reward for your efforts. The best mutton-chops and ale money can purchase" he waved his staff around, "Blast it! I'll pay for everyone at the tavern!"

            "Sounds good" Aesnar gave a tired but genuine smile. "But lets not forget about Saffiros here"

            "Ha! That goes without saying. The sky-horse here will be pampered and treated to whatsoever his heart desires"

            "Good" said Aesnar. "Only the best for my dear horse"

            The old man had already started out, singing a merry tune.

            Aesnar patted his steed, "Come on boy. You did good today. And you'll do better yet. I know you might not believe me, but you'll see. You're so much stronger than you know. There truly is an eternal and divine power in you"

            The white horse gave a soft snort, already recuperating its habitual character of indomitability. Aesnar picked up his sword which had fallen in the grass. Then the boy, the old wizard, and the white horse, walked leisurely back towards the village, through groves and highland fields, following the clear, sparkling map of the stars.

Author's Note

Inspired by a dream. One of the very few short stories I've ever written.

Reviews

[Edwin-Nweze]

A long short story, but a good read. With such an open end, it could easily be built into a larger work... As a Christian, I found the verse from Revelation a bit of a distraction though. I had to force myself to forget it in order to enjoy the story as the link did not make sense to me and I kept waiting for it to make sense. Including such quotes can be a bit of a risk as they will mean nothing to some people and a lot to others... Otherwise, an intriguing, well-written story.

[Kuandio]

Hi, thanks for reading. Yeah, unfortunately it is a bit too long to be used as a short story for contests or whatever else. I put that revelation passage in there just because it sounds kind of like what is being dealt with in the dragon of death, but maybe not quite. Most of the things I write, like you I think, are inspired from dreams. This one totally was, and I wrote just to practice in between revisions of Sakura Dream

[Edwin-Nweze]

I think I have yet to write a story inspired by a dream actually! Though I have recorded a dream or two my husband has had for later books... Not sure I could pinpoint my main source of inspiration, though much of my book has been written based on visions during worship (How's that for a little different?)... As for the length, if that's what the story needed, then it really doesn't matter, especially if it is for practice rather than a competition or publishing. It's good that you're continuing to write while reviewing. Afraid my days of short stories have come to an end though. Too many books to begin and complete!

[Kuandio]

Hi, yeah, that is different, while worshipping/praying I mean, but I can understand. Some writers are kind of like vision seekers. Well, you can post your book on your profile and I'll check it out, or you can tell me what piece of your writing is the most important to you to be reviewed next.

You see that one can only get anything out of this site if one reads and reviews other people's work. The trick is to weed out the writers that aren't going to help, the ones that just send our requests and never read a thing, and narrow down to a handful that will actually reciprocate your time.

[Edwin-Nweze]

I've realised that. It's easier to find those who ask for reviews than those that give them though! For some reason, I'm a bit uneasy about uploading my work until it's nearer to the publication process. Perhaps because of the horror stories I've read about stolen works. Thinking I may upload a few 'deleted scenes' or linked short stories (the kind of stuff that would be 'extra' material on a website).

[Kuandio]

I don't think you have to worry about that. I think if you just send it to yourself in an email it might be copyrighted. I'm also a tiny, tiny bit worried about that, so that is why I am only uploading the first third or half of every book.

[Edwin-Nweze]

I have heard that. However, I already have a few amazing (and brutally honest) friends looking at it for me. You have got me thinking along new lines now though as far as the short stories for the website (still under construction for now). And as I am planning on making them available free of charge, it will just allow me the peace of mind. In the end, it's better safe than sorry.

[Sami Khalil]

A splendid write although too long. Dreams can inspire a lot...Bravo......................

[Kuandio]

Ha ha,, it's ok, you don't have to read it. I wasn't expecting you to. I like to read your poems whether or not you read my writing. You are one of the few exceptions in this regard

[Sami Khalil]

I like very short stories to be honest. Occasionally I read long ones. Cody William,s is just the right length. You are welcome. I prefer poetry of course too. Take care...:).........

[Cody Williams]

An classic fantasy write. Thanks for sharing it1

-CW