Where the wind blows and the hollows are cold.
While the pestilence breads and burns with the old, here rises a new day of happiness and hope.
The world a new with hope and light.
The grass curls, the night passes, the birds rise and sing to the sound of molasses. The windmills turn, the life abound, the dewdrops cover the ground.
The scene isn't something you'd be used to, this was a sight of a war waged by the many and the few. The war was seen by all as a tragedy that had written the history of this once great place.
The windmill of never been. For you see it was home to the Never was family, it was a quiet place of work and solid thought.
Something that has now been forgot, the sun still rose, though on this day stood amassed a foe, of many men, and saddled beasts. The manes of lions adorned there heads as a symbol of their pride. The world stopped to hold its breath as the crows prepared to rise and feast on the carrion of the dead.
This is where we could see the future of all to be, two armies stood blades held high, and heralded the light of a new age. The sorcerer stood at the ready, as winged animals filled the sky.
They effortlessly flew from end to end, side to side as they observed what was here and what had come to die.
They saw the sweat beading up on brows as swords were raised, and the ground began to rumble and sway under the masses of the world they saw. The charge had begun, yet in silence on this day as men with faces covered in grit, sought their prey. The ground now giving off a beat as though the earth itself possessed a heart, the thunder growing louder, piercing to the ears, as the scent of men's fears and high pitched screams overcame that which we could never be told.
Writing practice:9/11/2013
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