Lore, Sagas, Scenic, Short story, Weekend

Beneath the ledge.

The horizon shows its majesty in the light of day. The clouds below make their way between the mountains as though following the paths so they might fly above the valleys.

There is wind within this place, a wind which whistles and whips its way about the edges of cliffs and peaks alike.

There is no rain here, no relent from sun or cold here in the mountains above the world. None save for my place beneath the ledge of this great mountain.

Alone with my supplies, my books and tools of esoteric origin. For the silence and place without the sight of another I came.

It’s the stars within the heavens which keeps me here. Like letters, runes and symbols written by the very Gods themselves they are as they dance above in the darkness.

With a subtle fire behind me I sit, to cook and keep my warmth. Yet high above I keep my gaze. One day to read and know the thoughts and secrets the Gods keep in the sky.

I will be the first to know what they say. And if none should ever learn, if I should never know, I will at least know that silence so sweet and make familiar peace with the stars I hold in my eyes.

 

 

 

 

A prompt response.

3 thoughts on “Beneath the ledge.”

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