- Joined
- Sep 20, 2018
- Messages
- 9
- Reaction score
- 1
It was dark. The stars speckled inky-blue skies and the sounds of insects and early-morning birds softly thrilled through the dewey grasses. It was still. A peace was on the land.
But the sun’s rays then cut through the coolness with illuminations of reds, golds, purples, and blues. Life awoken. Early morning hunts began. Herds shifted and moved. The great mammoths began their continuous march, shaping the landscape with their mass and herds. Their trumpets echoing through the air to announce their movements.
Fog rose, dispersing moisture for thirsty vegetation. Where trees grew, rows of insects trailed to deliver the morning grains for storage. Many would get caught in sticky sap or eaten by vibrantly colored birds who needed to feed their chicks.
It was Life. It worked in circles and tandems. It pulsed with breath from the microscopic algae to the bipedal sentients that forged their living from the lands. Ignorant of life beyond the stars, knowing only of the sun, the moon, and the ground.
The rabbity Lapinota only needed to know of their world, and the balance of their world. They busied themselves with birth, life, and death. They knew their place, but it was only a fragment of context.
It was about to literally come crashing down.
One Lapinota, a handsome buck, was lazily stretched out on his horse. He had already completed his morning chores, and felt like staring at a herd of bison that had wandered too close for the village’s comfort. He would keep an eye on it, but the bulls and cows seemed as lackadaisical as he was.
He was bored, certainly, but happy. He was left alone when he went on scout duty. His gifts afforded him the luxury of not needing another scouting companion. He heard a cucking below him. The lapinota looked down and saw that his favorite hen, half-a-feather, had dutifully followed him.
The bird flapped up to join the rider on his horse.
“Half-a-feather, you know you’re supposed to stay home. When will you brood? You need to find yourself a rooster! I can not do what you wish of me!” The lapinota sat up on his horse and looked behind him at the hen. The bird picked at a fly.
Manstin laughed, returning his attention to the heard. The bison were now acting strange. They had all stood up.
Their ancient, heavy faces were now pointed skyward. When did bison care about the sky? The rabbit tried to decipher what was happening. What were they looking at?
But the sun’s rays then cut through the coolness with illuminations of reds, golds, purples, and blues. Life awoken. Early morning hunts began. Herds shifted and moved. The great mammoths began their continuous march, shaping the landscape with their mass and herds. Their trumpets echoing through the air to announce their movements.
Fog rose, dispersing moisture for thirsty vegetation. Where trees grew, rows of insects trailed to deliver the morning grains for storage. Many would get caught in sticky sap or eaten by vibrantly colored birds who needed to feed their chicks.
It was Life. It worked in circles and tandems. It pulsed with breath from the microscopic algae to the bipedal sentients that forged their living from the lands. Ignorant of life beyond the stars, knowing only of the sun, the moon, and the ground.
The rabbity Lapinota only needed to know of their world, and the balance of their world. They busied themselves with birth, life, and death. They knew their place, but it was only a fragment of context.
It was about to literally come crashing down.
One Lapinota, a handsome buck, was lazily stretched out on his horse. He had already completed his morning chores, and felt like staring at a herd of bison that had wandered too close for the village’s comfort. He would keep an eye on it, but the bulls and cows seemed as lackadaisical as he was.
He was bored, certainly, but happy. He was left alone when he went on scout duty. His gifts afforded him the luxury of not needing another scouting companion. He heard a cucking below him. The lapinota looked down and saw that his favorite hen, half-a-feather, had dutifully followed him.
The bird flapped up to join the rider on his horse.
“Half-a-feather, you know you’re supposed to stay home. When will you brood? You need to find yourself a rooster! I can not do what you wish of me!” The lapinota sat up on his horse and looked behind him at the hen. The bird picked at a fly.
Manstin laughed, returning his attention to the heard. The bison were now acting strange. They had all stood up.
Their ancient, heavy faces were now pointed skyward. When did bison care about the sky? The rabbit tried to decipher what was happening. What were they looking at?