Glacier Paralix
Toccata
Never kill the black birds.
Never touch the crows.
Never break their bones and
Never hunt them down.
Dragons have always been sacred creatures. They had been there for as long as one could remember, and would be there still when all the other living creatures would long be gone. They are a rare sight, and many legends and tales sing of them and of their wisdom, their pride and their strength. They are said to live forever unless someone takes them down, and spend most of their time soaring through the skies between the frozen peaks high around the valleys, only coming down to hunt.
They are, legend says, the pets and favorites of the Gods, with their slender bodies and silver scales, and these let them live however they please.
There is only one thing, it seems, that dragons should truly fear: the crows. Nobody knows when and how this came to be, and no one can explain why a creature as majestic and powerful as them would have to be wary of something as small as a black scavenging bird, insignificant and small in every aspect.
But for generations dragons have been warned that, in all their beauty and grace, their strength and their power, there is one thing they should never even think of killing, and that would be the crows.
Never kill the black birds.
Never touch the crows.
Never break their bones and
Never hunt them down.
Eol, like most youngsters tend to be, was unruly and proud. Wisdom is something you only gain through decades of being alive and watching the world go by, learning from the mistakes of others. It is not something you are born with, not even as a dragon, and it is this lack of wisdom that caused him to burn his wings when flying to close to the sun.
Winter had settled once again, letting the snow creep low into the valleys and chasing the preys further down into the hills and plains. Food had gotten scarce in the mountains, and hunger clawed at the great, sacred inhabitants of the frozen mountain ranges.
The young dragon had been searching the barren rocks and snowy peaks for days, growing angry and tired at the lack of food. Not a single flash of a white bunny tail, not a hint of a rat or mouse, no frozen tracks of mountain goats. Nothing, save for the occasional flash of black when a crow would fly across the the deserted scenery, seemingly unaffected by the cold and hunger.
A low, angry growl escaped Eols throat. Why was it that even in the deepest of winter, the crows would always be plump and fat. Why was it they could always fly endlessly, why were they allowed to laugh and cackle at the starved form of the dragons, mocking their weaknesses and bony frames. Because of some old, broken prophecy? Because of a rumour, a whisper of fear who's origin had long been forgotten? This couldn't be right.
The black bird circled over the young dragon, laughing as it came closer, tearing at his pride with it's gracious flight and cackling. No, he was not going to let some irritating rumours freeze him in fear. He was not going to let them dictate his action, make him starve for half of the year, and he was not going to let such a weak, irritating bird mock him, him, favoured creature of the Gods and most powerful of those who roam the earth.
With a twist of his long, slender body, the dragon shot upwards, his sharp fangs closing on the crows body with a satisfying crunch. He fell to the ground, feeling the bird struggle, it's wings batting at his face, it's piercing cries drilling into his ears, it's claws lashing at his tongue. He could taste blood flowing into his mouth, a muddy mix of his own and the birds. For a second, he was blind to the world, the angry flapping covering his ears and eyes in a whirl of angry black feathers.
Cold dread enveloped him when the wings finally stopped lashing at his face, falling limp and broken off the sides of his jaws. Blood dripped into the snow, leaving bright red spots on feathers and snow.
Something had gone horribly wrong.
Never kill the black birds.
Never touch the crows.
Never break their bones and
Never hunt them down.
A small snow rabbit, almost invisible against the white background, digging around for whatever could be found under the frozen layer. A flash of its white tail, twitching happily as it moved around, unsuspecting as the crouched form of a young dragon slowly snaked it's way toward it, silent and deadly and perfect. And suddenly the shadow was over it, great and tall and jaws wide open, locked onto it's pray, closing in, leaving no chance for escape.
But, just as they were about to crush into the small, horrified prey, a screeching sound pierced the air. There was a whirl of black feathers, then a loud thump as the bony form of the hunter crashed into the snow, trashing around as a pair of wings lashed out from the corners of it's mouth, flapping angrily at his face. Blood surged from it's gums and tongue, and it roared in pain, eyes rolling back and tears staining it's face.
The rabbit darted away.
Eol couldn't hunt. He couldn't kill, the wings trashing at him just before he could get his prey, every time, throwing him off, tearing at his tongue, batting at his eyes, blinding him until his food had run to safety.
The other dragons avoided him like the plague. He had sinned, had done the one thing they were forbidden to, carried the curse with him wherever he went.
The hunger, the clawing, howling hunger he had hated so much, it now followed him everywhere he went, pulling at his bones and tearing at his stomach.
His pride was shattered, reduced to picking at the little food he could find, carcasses and rotting remains of another's hunt. The food of crows.
Never kill the black birds.
Never touch the crows.
Never break their bones and
They won't hunt you down.
