There was safety in the daylight. Warmth, pleasure and for a time comfort. We would diligently attempt to absorb it. We would feast upon it like royalty. But the tone of the sun changed. The shadows from the trees grew longer as a finger just before it curls to draw you near. Until at last we could do nothing but climb and hope for the safety the great ones offered. You see they were our salvation. Our armor against the terrors of the night. They were the only gods we knew. We did not worship but knew only too well of our symbiotic relationship. Night would fall too slowly. As if purposely dragging the dread slowly out to our witness. All there was was the wait. Until....a rustle....a groan. Subtle enough so you could question if it was one of you or the forrest breathing. Frequency and volume increases until it cannot be lied about internally. It is unmistakable. They are upon us - well more like below us but for the grace of these giants. And we wearily and warily face the absence of mother sun. I can hear something rustling. Something with gleaming eyes. Something hungry and dark. The rustle turns more consistent and now I smell something.....thats not a rustle its....
Posted on: Fri, 01 Nov 2013 10:00:27 +0000
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