floating

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Aristeia took shape in the night, disillusioning reality, brightening the glint of moonlight dripping down the glossy leaves of towering palm trees. And though those green feathers were dancing in the sea breeze that was sweeping up the face of Mt. Rosa – casually swaying back and forth and back again – the fluidity that was dripping moonlight did not sway with them, and instead began to puddle on nocturnal ants scurrying about the jungle floor. Flying dragon lizards no bigger than a few centimeters in the length were called forth by some vestigial instinct that still lingered in the dark side of the moon. Flashing! – they took charge of the sky. Dozens of colossal flying dragon lizards glided into the moonlight, and dipped with it, too. Their wingspans were nurtured by the emphatic moonlight, growing, and growing until they were spreading across acres of pale jungle. And those wings, which had become the night itself, were flying towards a cave in which a community of mondoro stripe-faced bats were hanging from the ceiling, stationary, unwilling to move, deceived by the bright moonlight that was mimicking the sun. Blinking from the hollow of their cave, they waited. A hundred thousand eyes focused so intently on that fast approaching dragon, knowing that when it arrived so did the night. It was time to fly, too, all at once, as is the practice of the mondoro striped-faced bat. A cacophony of chirping echoed the satisfaction of hungry bats, but that individualistic chirping of a full belly soon changed. The hundreds of thousands of chirping mondoro stripe-faced bats soon migrated towards unison until all of them were singing the same beat – articulating the majesty of the dragons in the sky by roaring for them. And with the roaring of forgotten creatures came the gurgling of those not yet forgotten – true dragons. And so the rivers were emptied of their crocodiles. They sunned themselves in the moonlight melting off the banks of the river and beat their tales in the mud in protest. With their heads raised proudly they showed the imposter roaring in the night how true dragons sound by gurgling and beating their tales…

About Connor Wilkins

Quickly, quickly... take your seat. Our storyteller is about to begin. Shhhh. Listen... His pipes are fluting emotions of myth and fable, but don't be fooled by fantasia for there are truths hidden within his unworldly tellings. We're drifting now... back in time to a world only he remembers.
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