Chapter Text
The white crown of the northern peaks were flanked by a glaring shine of blaze, defiled by the growing tumor of the norathun world. Nearing upon the Baramkal hilltops were figures of large stature, cloaked by the grey of snow and night as they marched southward, down the land.
Myria’s eyes obsessed the view, struck by a greatening fear of death. She kept a keen sight from where she grappled, up the tip of an olden tree where she stayed to guard. As below, her younger brother rests deeply through a developing pain.
The fronts of the great hand enveloped across all of Baramkal, east to west and guided by piercing tips of grand monsters. Monsters of imperious stature trudged heavily; with their patchy man-skin, stapled by hooks. Limbs tightened by ropes, harshly reddening the wrinkled skin of the animal, as it bore high towers of wood and stone upon their sunken backs.
She frowned, as the memories of peace and nature slowly withered, stained by the grey of war. Now the soil rhythmed, thumping drums from the distance consuming even the sound of storm. They continue plunging through the dirt with no hesitation nor stutter. Roars boasting to the land its new master, Tarka would soon be tamed.
Myria’s attention blurred to the sight of a black storm sent from the west. The veil of the autumn sun dimmed upon its kiss with the horizon. She continued her night upon the high top of the pine tree. And when it was assumed the storm would cease the march, she continued the rest of hours in the burrow along with Freid.
A long curtain of grass and moss strung up and knotted, curtained the opening of the burrow was lightly torn and shone the yellow light of morning.
Myria sat against the curve of the burrow opposite of the entrance. Freid laid beside her in a cautious slumber, his eyes would open slightly to the sound of cracking and chirping. But Myria kept her hand lain upon his forehead to close his eyes, letting him rest undisturbed for a few more minutes.