A Tale of Giants
Sit and listen, small giants,
for the endtimes have found us,
and I’ve one final story to tell.
Autumn falls upon The Sticks like the corpse of a starved gull into the murky drink, and more hawks are seen with each passing shinecycle. Lord Hilaetos must take action, the mystics demand it, and as Lord of The Sticks he must bend to his subjects’ whims… but what can really be done? For every red-tail chased into the forest, two more flock to Monksville the next day. Chasing geese is one thing, but chasing after hawks? They’re Birds of Prey, have they not the same right to reside in The Sticks as those who currently roost amongst these hallowed swamplands?
As the great shine rises, the witch doctor rattles the air with a shrill screech like talons scraping rock. They shall meet tonight then, the owl and the osprey, under the glow of the rising moon, and they shall hold their silent palaver to discuss whatever it is the strange owl means to discuss. For one heavenly body to rise into the starpool, one must first set and pull the blue mantle of the diurne sky down below the mountains; until then, Lord Hilaetos will find a suitable branch and hold perch over his keep.
This has been the last subchapter of the first chapter of The Monksville Chronicles. Here is everything you need to know about it:
I’ve written a few other books, too. Click here to see the list.
The Hillside Commons has a Facebook page. Here’s that.
If you’re there, hypothetical reader, thank you for being there. From this day on, we move forever forward~