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Follow the journey of a feather that falls from the wing of a rare crow monster. What becomes of the feather?
That’s a tragic end. I didn’t know we were writing tragedies for this poor feather.Feather feather, flutter in the breeze of cool sunlight hours
Carried along
Over shining snow capped mountains
Down the valley of gently chattering trees
By the smooth flowing creek
The cave mouth swallows both so readily
Dragon snoring the sound of whispers the feather comes
Ever so dainty it rests upon his snout
A-choo!
The feather is no more.
Rip feather…Feather feather, flutter in the breeze of cool sunlight hours
Carried along
Over shining snow capped mountains
Down the valley of gently chattering trees
By the smooth flowing creek
The cave mouth swallows both so readily
Dragon snoring the sound of whispers the feather comes
Ever so dainty it rests upon his snout
A-choo!
The feather is no more.
It falls, while it is blown about. Until falling in the sea, where it gradually sinks until it can’t sink anymore. Eventually the ocean degrades it into nothing.Follow the journey of a feather that falls from the wing of a rare crow monster. What becomes of the feather?
Made me want to say "My precious"A feather drifts along the wind, flowing and winding through the trees.
Suddenly a hand grasps it!!!
Out from the shadows a fox girl clad in dark ninja attire steps out.
The girl studies the feather for a few moments, twirling it in between her finger and thumb, admiring the rainbow shimmer it produces in the sunlight.
Taking off her mask, the girl slowly brushes the feather along her cheek.
Gasping in delight, the girl quickly comes to a decision-
This feather must become a part of her collection.
Looking around warrily, she reaches into the pouch behind her back and pulls out a spherical object, and tosses it onto the ground.
*poof!!!*
A cloud of smoke arises.
Once the smoke clears, no signs of the fox girl can be seen, having vanished into thin air~
Leave it up to hound to ravage a helpless bird-monster.Falling, flittering, falling further the feather falls away from that fluttering freak of a monster as it flees from the furious furred fiduciary of a minor hell that the bird trespassed unwisely into, perhaps assuming it was empty only to meet the displeased visage of the three-headed canine.
The beast leaps up with explosive force, all three heads intending to bite down with all the rage inside of their mighty body. Two grab onto the tasteless crow monster- a wing and a leg caught. The third gnashes her teeth against the unfortunate feather of the equally unlucky crow
bird monster shouldn't have entered my little hellLeave it up to hound to ravage a helpless bird-monster.
That somebody is this great witch.Somebody picked it up and turned it into a quill, enchanted it and made it into a legendary magic tool that developed sapience and continued to evolve until it became fantasy skynet
?Feather's Journey
The monster flapped its obsidian wings. The magical breeze created a ruffling, echoing a chorus for the attached little pieces. With another flap, one was sent away.
Darker than night and jagged at the edges, the feather began its descent. It swayed to and fro with currents which lifted it from under. It glided down slowly. Softly, it landed on the edge of a branch.
The small piece of crow sat there. And, the feather could not know of the tree, but the tree knew of the feather, for the tree belonged to the dryads. A flash of green tried to cleanse, but it accomplished nothing—nothing aside from pushing the tiny fleck further.
On the ground beneath it, a striped bear caught the thing on its snout. The bear gave a huff and a sneeze, the feather blowing further still.
A blade of grass caught it for but a moment. A moment after, it was blown once more, sent tumbling from a cliff’s edge, almost falling into a pit of honey. The bee prevented it. The bee knew of the feather, but the feather could not know of the buzzer. The yellow and black monster gave a loud hum, attempting to smite it with yellow arcs of lighting.
But the feather was ever resilient. It did not shatter to the electric pulse. Still, it was sent even further beyond its lord, beyond the domain of the skies above.
It touched a river below, a gentle rippling in the swift current. The dark appendage still resisted the touch of cold water. The make-up of the feather did not allow passage into its core. But the stream sent it even further.
The current inevitably slowed down to a crawl. Something wicker caught the feather. A basket was plunged into the shallow depths. The black appendage became a prisoner.
A human plucked it, examining it, turning it over and over. The feather could not know of people, but people knew of the feather.
Gently, it sat on the mantle of a fireplace. The hut surrounding it became the feather’s home. Even if the feather could not know, could not feel, This was a home. A home that was real.
However, good homes are homes that last. They disappear, and they disappear fast. Not even a century had passed. When the village felt the blast.
A quake of pure fire sent the place into embers, but the feather lived through the cinders.
The crimson-eyed witch plucked it and gazed at it over and over. She grinned with a toothy smile like she had found a four-leaf clover. She knew what the feather was, but the feather could not know her. Yet, within its being, it knew. It knew that its journey was over.