Header image by Kaukor under Creative Commons 3.0.
Aeons in flight, its wings blanketing over the land and protecting the very earth itself with only its presence; the creature once a myth passing over the hills and the towers sheared through the skies, cleansing the corruption born of desolation brought on by years upon years of damage caused by its supposed native species.
The travellers below unsure of what to look at first, they stared in equal parts disbelief, awe, nervousness at the four-winged shape casting its shadow over the clearing, wondering if this was the end for them. They saw the blossoms’ revival, wondering if this was natural or unnatural, for they’d only recognised it as words in a storybook until now when they themselves became several more in a long line of witnesses, surely to become part of later iterations of this story.
It flew so silent yet appeared so striking against the near-cloudless sky, as if it wished for or even willed those who saw it to remember it like the warmest of summer days or the brightest of spring celebrations. Its form was barely visible and despite this, its identity was undeniable. No pretender could rise up to this, nor could they even try.
A noticeable silence fell for just a few seconds after the event. Whether this was coincidence or response would never be truly known or even considered for more than a moment, the end of the sight of a lifetime was sounded by the faint sound of wings beating harder as the creature disappeared over the highest peak in the eyes of the travellers.
The water cleaned, the flora brought to life, it continued its cleansing to the west towards the ocean – the wildlife mostly none the wiser and human witnesses with an experience to accompany them for the rest of their lives, the valleys felt alive again.
Whether this would ever happen again and for how long this would last was up to time.