The Flute Begins rowan-fixion.blogspot.com
Moisture trickled through every crevice and crack inthe ever present darkness of
swamp; its wetness fedby a thick mist snooped close to the ground. Above themist black trees stooped low over the mud, their branchesthick white with spider webs. It was as if the mistflowed from their branches to seep into the muck below.Huddled to the base of each tree thorny leaflessbushes sagged with the weight of slick insects. Worms,maggots, roaches all found their homes here where theycould leisurely sip at the soup of decomposing mire. Inturn strange ancient creatures fed on them, palecreatures with big eyes and long skeletal limbs. Ghostlycreatures, quiet as the night, shadows between the trees.Big ears pitched this way and that to follow noises farof or near by.
. Silence speaks.From late dusk theyd perch on high branches or sitdeep in hollow trees, unmoving, listening for hours,before flitting through the forest checking territoriesand signs of intrusion. The slightest sign of an animaldiverting its normal routine would attract theirattention, the lore of the forest their own, engraved,etched into their purpose. Every animal, every plant hadits place in their consciousness, a map of memoriescarried in the dreams which filled their stone dead days.The moon floated full overhead amongst high cloudsstreaking over the emptiness below. Owls hooted theirterritories and badgers scurried, nose to floor, looking