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The mortals liked the berries and cream. They are basically so easy to satisfy. One big, dumb, slob made a gloopy stain on a nineteenth century reproduction Louis XIV occasional chair. The chatelaine of this establishment managed to conjure up a bit of polite, well-bred concern, but inwardly she wanted to feed his entrails to the crows. Roland fixed things, though. He sublimated his hand down under the red splotch and pulled it back out real fast, bearing the stain with it. You see, it wasn't dry yet. When they dry, it's too late...... Another useful vampire talent. The vampires of Paris once made handsome livings drawing dog piss out of carpets. I know it's incredible, but it's true. Madam de Pompadour kept one on call at all times. Provided it was night, I mean. We may be a fastidious race, but we're not dumb.
Now, let me get back to the whales. Do you know they can live for more than two hundred years? And they might endure far longer than that. One was recently found to have a musket ball embedded deep in its rubbery tissue....... a two hundred year old musket ball, presumably fired by an impatient Ahab. Imagine the memories that beast has. So it is very possible that witnesses to Napoleon on St. Helena, or the eruption of Timor are still alive and breathing as we speak. Not as old as some of my people, but still very good by any yardstick.
They sensed my intelligence, for it was almost as keen as their own. I don't know what they made of the ...'magic.'....... Who knows? Perhaps they have some of that too? But they slowly moved me toward shore, traveling deep into the Mid Atlantic Mountains, via passes undiscovered til your own time. One would rise up to breathe and another would take his place, making me a baton in a giant relay race. There were times they left me for what I presumed to be days and days. The feeding cycle, you know. But I could always hear their songs....
My spirit swam out every now and then. Once, I almost made it to the surface. Once, I almost saw the sun. Not with my actual eyes, of course. But with the ghostly ones.
I know what you're thinking. You want to know about my body. You want to know what it looked like, sealed inside that casket for so long. And the bones...the bones of my neck..... the bones of my spine.... my hips.... my joints.... How did they possibly come through it all? But your thoughts are mortal thoughts. And your flesh is mortal flesh, while I, of course, am something else.
When we arrived at the shallows, dolphins took over. Were the languages the same? No, they were not. But I believe there was an interpreter among the diminutive whales, enabling communications to proceed.
And three days later, my tiny prison was gently nudged up onto the sandy shore of a marshy, New World estuary. I could feel the hot, southern sun baking the leaden case. That was truly torture. At times my mind was hard pressed to escape. But then the crab fishers found me. They heard the screams and dragged me back to camp. The shaman had seen it all before. Few things in this world are truly unique. And with stone and copper tools, they struggled to free a 'baby Windego' from its shell.
My life in the woodlands had begun.....
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please hit the SHARE button and help the story live. grace us with a COMMENT. shhhhh, I'm whispering in an effort to draw your attention. PLEASE click on that SHARE button. It means a lot to us..... Thank you.
Now, let me get back to the whales. Do you know they can live for more than two hundred years? And they might endure far longer than that. One was recently found to have a musket ball embedded deep in its rubbery tissue....... a two hundred year old musket ball, presumably fired by an impatient Ahab. Imagine the memories that beast has. So it is very possible that witnesses to Napoleon on St. Helena, or the eruption of Timor are still alive and breathing as we speak. Not as old as some of my people, but still very good by any yardstick.
They sensed my intelligence, for it was almost as keen as their own. I don't know what they made of the ...'magic.'....... Who knows? Perhaps they have some of that too? But they slowly moved me toward shore, traveling deep into the Mid Atlantic Mountains, via passes undiscovered til your own time. One would rise up to breathe and another would take his place, making me a baton in a giant relay race. There were times they left me for what I presumed to be days and days. The feeding cycle, you know. But I could always hear their songs....
My spirit swam out every now and then. Once, I almost made it to the surface. Once, I almost saw the sun. Not with my actual eyes, of course. But with the ghostly ones.
I know what you're thinking. You want to know about my body. You want to know what it looked like, sealed inside that casket for so long. And the bones...the bones of my neck..... the bones of my spine.... my hips.... my joints.... How did they possibly come through it all? But your thoughts are mortal thoughts. And your flesh is mortal flesh, while I, of course, am something else.
When we arrived at the shallows, dolphins took over. Were the languages the same? No, they were not. But I believe there was an interpreter among the diminutive whales, enabling communications to proceed.
And three days later, my tiny prison was gently nudged up onto the sandy shore of a marshy, New World estuary. I could feel the hot, southern sun baking the leaden case. That was truly torture. At times my mind was hard pressed to escape. But then the crab fishers found me. They heard the screams and dragged me back to camp. The shaman had seen it all before. Few things in this world are truly unique. And with stone and copper tools, they struggled to free a 'baby Windego' from its shell.
My life in the woodlands had begun.....
///////////////////////M\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\
please hit the SHARE button and help the story live. grace us with a COMMENT. shhhhh, I'm whispering in an effort to draw your attention. PLEASE click on that SHARE button. It means a lot to us..... Thank you.
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