August 11th, 2003

The Wreck of You

Flirting with Death

The continents looked different then. Life, as we know it, had not walked, crept, or even dreamt upon that surface yet. The land was still the territory of the forces that shaped the Earth, were shaping, still shape... and will some day fashion its destruction.

Rive walked from ocean to ocean, in his bare feet. His step was light and springy, and each time his foot lifted the ground burst with a violent bloom of green. His breath was pollen and his sweat, under the young Sun, was saltless. Rive was joyful; he could see the nascent world, one step at a time. He stopped to admire the view, his eyes carressing the azure skies, seeding the very clouds. He could certainly afford a moment's rest; he had almost all the time in the world.

From the other direction came one on a journey equivalent in scope, but little else. Crossing the barren dust as fast as his mount would carry him was Eddigan, the Rider. If we had seen him then, it would have appeared as if he rode a horse. Of course, there were no horses then, but then there were also no people, so we would have no perceptual reference. Let's call it a steed and be done with it; never mind what it later became.

Eddigan's steed bore down, kicking up clouds that roiled in the windless sky. The clods of dirt it kicked up flew for miles, themselves kicking up dust upon impact. It would have been a fearsome approach, had Fear been there to herald it. But there was nothing of the sort; indeed, it was rather unceremoniously that Rive was run down.

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