Time After Time

The volcano had been dormant for living memory, but their stories tell of angry Gods casting the heavens charcoal for months. The rumbling anger was so loud that the sky fell down, almost kissing the earth that was starved of light and clean air. It's hard to imagine, if it weren't for the peak being a little sharper than most the egyptian temptress would just laugh it off. But according to the tales the death toll was high, taking everyone that couldn't flee quick enough. They pray that it never blows again, but what can they do? What could she do? She returned to those lands because she started long ago to consider them home, long ago when all of them where here.

But what can she do now? It is true not all of them where gone but she felt empty. Only an hour ago the blackness was absolute, but now the mist was visible, silvery. Against this backdrop the trees were silhouettes, still as an oil painting and darker than the ravens. Mile-long limbs were placed one in front of the other, calculating, greaceful like a ballerina on the grand stage; golden jewelry offering their melodious rings, announcing the nature of her descend from her den, a cavern situated deep within the mountain where the heat of the volcano can slightly reach through the walls. She was a cautionary predator that came at the edge of her den for the winter to observe a wilted world. A vagabond, she strays with acceptable trepidation, her characteristic confidence currently reserved as the earth's mouth widely gapes before her.

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