January 12, 2008

Toby on the rock

Toby slithered out onto the rock, belly down and head up. He grasped the edge with both hands and stuck his head out into space. The chasm below curled with fog and even here, as high as he was, he could smell the damp air. The rock was cool, but warming in the sun. A breeze kicked up, pushed his long hair out of his face, and then pushed it back again. He tied it in a tail behind his head as he regarded the valley below.

The clearing fog revealed a river snaking towards a clear lake, fields of grass rippled away. Whitecaps dotted the water’s surface. Here and there a rock jutted from the field, poking sharply through the green fabric of the valley floor. The sun poured into the valley lengthwise, flowing in the same direction as the river. Trees emerging from the grass became visible for the long black tooth shadows they cast upon the ground.

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