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Flight of the Hawk


Hephaestus
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A depiction of Sleeping Hawk’s journey through the Arcasian frontier, circa. 1777

 

       Wherever the wind went, Sleeping Hawk followed; such was the way of life he’d grown accustomed to, a way of life which hadn’t done him wrong. Not now, nor ever. If the wind trailed along a shallow creek, the Hawk followed; if it guided him to a desolate mountain, he followed.

 

       And yet, now, it seemed, the wind had taken him beyond the fields of Athera, and perhaps many frontiers following it. The last he could remember was waking from his slumber, of which he’d been trapped in for years, or centuries, as far as he was concerned. It wasn’t long before darkness came, once more, in the form of slumber: inescapable sleep that he’d been doomed to withstand. But by Igne’Acaela, Sleeping Hawk refused to allow this to hinder his wanderlust for, wherever the water flowed freely, he followed.

 

       Sandy, the shores of this ’New Malinor’ were. Was it called Siramenor? Only Lyes could tell, for these large trees were not similar to the ones he’d grown close to; those of the bayou. No, these were larger, and mightier, and alien to Sleeping Hawk’s naïvete. Had it been one year, or one aeon? And yet, only word of Arcas was muttered. Arcas? Sleeping Hawk thought to himself, scratching upon his hair without an inkling of an idea as to what had occurred prior to his awakening. He could not remember, nor identify any of what was around him. His own tribe; his family, the only thing he’d ever known, out of sight.

 

       But where there was darkness, there was light, in the form of fire, an element so holy to his people it protected their own realm. Igne’Acaela, a prophetic fire, similar to the divine water the Owynists would sip from, and bathe their cubs in. And for nights where he fasted from sleep, he took to staring at the fry, in pure admiration, with hopes that it may satisfy his wanderlust. But even three hundred years into the future was not enough to satisfy his primeval instinct to travel, and roam the wild frontier,

 

It was high time the Hawk took his flight.

 

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Edited by Hephaestus
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