A great wall of ice rose up before me, a mighty glacier standing like a mountain. I wondered to myself what terrible age of ice had given birth to this prodigy; in what unwritten history had this monstrous wall been formed? And what terrible storms had done it? What had been buried under that snow so many uncounted centuries ago?
Softly, I could still hear something, something old, calling to me in whispered dreams. Somewhere, somewhere deep, somewhere in the heart of that darkness, trapped in the ice, was a mind drawing me with soft and gentle calls.
I feared to answer, for I knew what it might be. Gazing up, I found where the edge of the icy ridge met the white, clouded sky. If the monsters were waking, could not the gods, too, come down? If this modern world was about to be swallowed by chaos, could not, in the darkness of that sleep, there be good dreams as well? Why was it only horrid things that seemed to survive and crawl out of their long-forgotten graves?
Tale Told 
2 Comments