This is a intro to a story/short little blurb I was inspired to write (thank you to WriteWorld on tumblr), but it's obviously not finished yet.
The
raven flew over the fields of Arasta, it's black wings
gleaming in the wake of the rising sun and his shadow stretching over
the grass. He seemed to be flying in a known direction. One that was
already charted in the bird's mind. It didn't stray in it's flight
even as others of its kind flocked around him and raised their voices
in a screeching sound. The raven did not stop to eat and drink or to
rest. He did not stop as the temperature dropped as the fields ended
and the mountains began. He knew his destination and he knew his
master would be waiting for him. He had made it over the top of the
mountain ; his black eyes now scanned the side of the mountain for
any sign of friend or foe, but nothing could be seen through the fog
that coated everything.
Before
his eyes saw anything he was overwhelmed by a sweetly thick aroma.
His heart clenched and a startled caw almost erupted from his throat.
He was stunned with a sudden feeling he had never felt. A feeling of
dread and fear. Every muscle in his body told him to fly back the way
he had come, to flee and warn his kind of a danger he could not yet
see. But that was against his genetic code, he was bred to withstand
fear. So why had this sudden feeling gripped him? Why did it refuse
to release him? The raven's strong wings kept him going, up and down
with the wind. But as he began his descent the stench only grew
stronger and that was when the scene unfolded before his eyes. The
stench belonged to what was left of a battlefield. The stench was
that of blood and death.
-The Mad Hatter
-The Mad Hatter
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