the golden age come and passed

The God King moved through the woods with ease, unhindered by the reaching scraggly branches that broke off as his gigantic body moved through the woods. The behemoth lifted his trunk and let his head rise back with a tired yawn as he lumbered on. Tired. Why was he tired? It seemed most of his days were spent sleeping and eating, was he bored? He reflected on the thought momentarily and decided that he was. His search for other gods had been fruitless; their numbers had already begun to dwindle when he was a little godling, but since leaving his mother’s herd and venturing out on his own meetings with other gods had become few and far between until they stopped entirely ten years ago. He groaned audibly at the thought. An entire decade without his own kind, forced to live among the lesser mortals.

He shook his head with a fierce grunt and lifted his trunk to trumpet furiously. It was a challenge cry; a summons to other kings to do battle, to meet someone to match his prowess and strength by the most archaic of motives; combat. He waited for a responding cry, knowing there would be none and slashed at the trunk of the closest tree with his tusks. Unthinkable.

speaking you