the story teller page 3
The forest is dark and dead at this end, the trees are white the land is gray, the trees flutter with black feathers. Deep red eyes come into sight from high in the treetops. Corn hastens her children’s steps. Evil black birds descend upon them, their beaks of steel nip at the children’s necks. Mother Corn throws herself at the birds protecting them with the utmost of affection. The birds fall from the trees like armies of the dead. A claw grips Corn’s wrist and a beak tacks her thigh, the evil birds cry out in victory as the mouse maiden falls to her back, vampearicly they drink form her wounds.
Boldly the boy called Pepper reaches into the mud and draws out a hefty bit of wood. With all the force he can muster he pulls the stick overhead and cleaves down at the winged devil on his mother’s lag, the girl called Cream fallows her twins lead gripping another by its wings she bites the crow. Frightened by the assault the birds fly up into the trees to regroup for yet another strike.
Butter and Garlic (the youngest of the group) take Corn by the arms pulling her to her feet. Limping they family fumbles through the trees. blackbirds taunt them from behind the scent of fresh blood filling their harts with fire and their veins with lust. Ahead the trees turn greener and the voice of the trees beckon them onwards as does a soft voice awaiting them in the grotto. “Come forth darlings, and make all haste.”
Boldly the boy called Pepper reaches into the mud and draws out a hefty bit of wood. With all the force he can muster he pulls the stick overhead and cleaves down at the winged devil on his mother’s lag, the girl called Cream fallows her twins lead gripping another by its wings she bites the crow. Frightened by the assault the birds fly up into the trees to regroup for yet another strike.
Butter and Garlic (the youngest of the group) take Corn by the arms pulling her to her feet. Limping they family fumbles through the trees. blackbirds taunt them from behind the scent of fresh blood filling their harts with fire and their veins with lust. Ahead the trees turn greener and the voice of the trees beckon them onwards as does a soft voice awaiting them in the grotto. “Come forth darlings, and make all haste.”
9 years ago
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