One never expects the fanciful and fantastic to occur anywhere outside of stories. Only in legends and half forgotten memories do Gods ride upon the elements and heroes roam the world. So many places hold a relic, or even a spirit from ages past, it would be hard to believe any claims of authenticity, even if the fruits of those words stared one straight in the face.
I had a dream last night. Onw which woke me from a deepened sleep that had been started with a soft and subtle flame across the room from where I slept.
The wind started to pick up in the early afternoon. The sky was red at dawn, so I hastily finished all I had needed to in that day.
She was always strange, that woman on the hill. A mother of many, she guarded her children behind the walls and hedges she’d grown and built for years.
Certainty is a luxury, held captive by fate, dreams and reality.