Prologue

A Chapter by TheBubbleGupFish

Halo.

Thank you for coming here. I'd just like to say that this story is based on a dream I had.

So if you are reading this, it means you have discovered the subconcious corner of my mind. Read at own risk.

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Prologue

"Shall I start?"

Soft footsteps. The creak of the leather chair as he sits. His tender voice, whispering, lilting. The creases of his smile.

"Yes Gramps, please do,"

The candle's lit and the shadows dance around the walls of my room. I imagine they are the Whiskies, laughing and playing around mischievously.

"Alright,"

His worn hands gently open the leather bound book. The papers rustling, seemingly whispering secrets to ears that listen. To mine. To Gramp's.

Then Gramps began to read.

"He speaks of a land where the fields bloom gold. He speaks of a land where swamps and marshes dot the ground. He speaks of a land where the Whiskies roam.

He speaks of the land of the Lithra reeds. They spring up everywhere, in every corner no matter how dark or damp. Their golden heads sway in time to the fragrant breeze. They grow tall and mighty, hiding secrets no one has seen. The Whiskies play amongst them in the swamps and marshes. Ah, the Whiskies. Strange little creatures.

Always hiding from prying eyes and gossiping lips. Look closely at the Lithra reeds, you may see a little blue face, pointy with sharp eyes. You may see a elfin ear or two. You may see lithe bodies covered with metallic scales. Some people see their hair, but mistake them for the moonlight. So silvery and silky their locks be, they might as well be the moonlight.

They are mischievous. You must watch out for them. They play little tricks all the time. Cooling the tea, souring the berries. You must watch out whenever you pass through the land of the Lithra reeds. The Whiskies, they think it's their land.

Some say the reeds are to mark their place. Once a passer sets foot on the ground, the Whiskies will come. Legend says the Whiskies will whisk them away. No one will ever see them again.

That is the land of the Lithra reeds. Where the Whiskies roam. Whatever you do, there you must never go," Gramp's voice faded away into the night. He sat there for a moment before shutting the book with a light thump and a sigh.

"Is there more Gramps? About the Whiskies?"

"So much more. But I think it's enough for one night. Sleep well," Gramps kissed my forehead and blew out the candle. I listened to his footsteps leaving. I listened to the gentle bump of the door closing. I stared into the sweet darkness.

And that night, I dreamt of the Whiskies.