Prologue

My goodness this is it! The very first thing in the book I have yet to name>

“Should any of the old tales I spout be true, the creation of life as we know it began very slowly. Not with the broad, sweeping motions that the New Gods claim to have made, but little acts. First came a single blade of grass. Just one, with roots that would find a small square of soil. One no bigger than the one you sit on now!” Gallin paused for dramatic effect, and allowed for the children’s eyes to widen. In the back his lovely wife gave a slight giggle, as she would always enjoy these stories. He gave a quick wink, then continued with renewed fervor.

“Each moment she would add just one more square of soil, one more blade of grass, until after more time than even I’ve been alive,” here he let the children have a good laugh,”it would finally be finished. One massive, sweeping ocean of the greenest grass you’ve ever seen! Stretching outwards, farther than any eye could see save hers. Yet there was a problem. The land was glorious, but still. For, with no wind her ocean seemed flat. Lifeless. Thus, she took in a mighty breath!” He took in one big gulp of air to simulate the Goddess, and a few kids laughed at how silly he looked. With one mighty blast he released the air into the crowd. Even more laughter from the children with a few leaning closer to hear the end of the tale.

“There it was at last. A powerful gale which whipped the grass into a living sea. One that would become the many different lands that we enjoy today. If you ask me, the goddess gave us a special piece of land. Very close to her heart.” From the crowd a little girl with rosy cheeks, and a small pile of near white hair pipped up.

“Why is that Master Gallen? I mean, my daddy told me that we get--” He gently hushed the child, and explained in a gruff whisper.

“Have you ever noticed that the wind always blows here? In the dead of night, or at dawn’s early light--” He and his wife finished together,

“The wind will always blow on Mora’s Rest!” At that, the children dispersed from the

Grand Fireplace. Each one was a blessing in Gallen’s old eyes. Even know the people were still on somewhat hard times, and with birth being so difficult for even the youngest of mothers it all seemed impossible. Yet here they were, with vibrant faces full of joy at a simple story. Tomorrow he would treat them to his personal favorite, how the village got its name. For a moment he made sure that all of his details were correct, with the proper pauses for the children’s sake, and plenty of places for them to marvel at the idea of it all. He sighed, slowly getting up from the chair he had seen his father tell tales in. With a solitary hand placed on its worn edges, he shed a single tear on his only inheritance.

Silently they moved back to the bedroom which they had shared for quite some time now. It was a room decorated with plenty of bookshelves chock full of stories from every era. Some of his favorites were stacked neatly at the door. At the very top was an ancient leather bound monster. There were some pages sticking out of its massive collection, almost haphazardly thrown in on a whim. Gallen’s wife noted this, and commented from the bed.

“The village’s name is not one to be taken lightly, and certainly not by children.” He turned, with shoulders that no longer seemed as if they could carry the world as they did during story time. Now they sagged slightly downward, along with his eyes. It aged him quite significantly.

“Aye, but they are no longer babes my dear.” Her reply was sharp, yet concerned as always.

“So barely old enough to hear stories from a crazed old man is old enough now? I see.” His smile grew as he placed a single kiss upon her forehead.

“If I am to be a crazed old man, then you must be my crazed witch. I will tell them something else tomorrow.” Together they shared one final laugh before sleep.

Gallen awoke to the sound of faint screaming. At first, he dismissed it as a child who must have gotten lost after the story, but as it persisted he gently made his his way to the window. Outside he saw his village get torn in half by the ground splitting in various positions. People were sprinting in every direction looking for safety, with some tragically plummeting into the fresh chasms. Adrenaline began to surge its way through his body, and he shook his wife awake. She stirred slowly, seeing him frantically grab books from off the shelves. Confused, and terrified her voice was frantic.

“Gallen, what are you--” He turned quickly, just in time to see his home split in half. The wife he had loved for all these years clawed at the air to try to desperately regain solid ground. It was a futile effort, and just like that she was gone. Shock and adrenaline refused to register the pain he would feel until the end of his days as he tried to exit his house as quickly as possible. Yet just as his hand had been placed on the door to the hallway, and freedom, a stray novel fell squarely on his head. The weight of the epic nearly crushed his skull, making him black out instantly.

For the second time, Gallen awoke to screaming. Only it was much closer, with much more desperation behind it. His vision came back slowly from the rubble that had nearly buried him. A large beam appeared to be crushing his side, making breathing quite impossible. Blood was beginning to fill his lungs when his eyesight came back entirely. There, weeping desperately, stood the nearly white haired girl. She appeared to be clutching some sort of small trinket very closely to her chest. Her hair was a small halo of frizz which created a gentle circle around her face. Even when weeping there was still an air of beauty about her. Gallen noted with much dismay that she would become a fine young women one day. He attempted to call out to her just so she knew that it wasn’t going to be all bad.

The back of his throat started to feel scratchy, and no sound would come out. At an agonizing few steps away he could not call out to the girl. He put the last of his energy into trying to lift the beam.

“Just one last effort old man, just one last sentence to our story!” But nothing came. The girl wept on against a broken landscape.

So marks the end of one era, and the start of another. As a wise man once said, time will always work in cycles, and ages will be repeated until there are none left to be had. Forgiveness will fade to hate, love to anger, and life will slip into death. All things are inevitable in the cycle of time. Yet it will not dictate the hearts of man. Courage can still conquer great fear, should the heart be willing to rise to the occasion. Our only hope to to continue to tell these tales of great courage. Igniting the flame of a higher calling may be a difficult task, but it provides with the only defense mankind has against hate, anger, or fear. A hero.

Author's Note

Hello! I actually wanted to thank you for reading this one (it's close to my heart, but not as close as Bison) in particular. I would love it if you could give me any spelling or grammar issues that I made. In particular I'd like the following...
1) Pacing, is this one going too fast or too slow?
2) Names, it is hard to name things, but if I make some that are super stupid or hard to pronounce let me know.
3) Word choice, was my word choice redundant in any way?
4) That last part...too cheesy?

Thanks for reading (and reviewing if your super AWESOME).

Reviews

[Peach]

It's splendid. The way you portray the story's danger is really splendid. I hope you can make more pf these wonderful works.

[A Watcher In Time]

I'm flattered. Thank you very much for the review.