he wandered where the wind took him, paws treading across the soft sand that morphed to rolling greenhills. the stories of a family, young and full of life, bled into the blades of pasture, their scents fading to a stonewashed fragrance.
for a moment he drifted off in wonder of where they might be now, and if the pages of their novel ended with the strand, or continued on elsewhere.
when he was pulled from his thoughts at the squawk of a circling gull, the dryad set his attention to the true purpose of his trip. one by one he pulled pebbles from streams and rolled rocks from boulders.
piece by piece he arranged them with tender care. in similar fashion to an artist sketching a portrait, he pulled away from his work to make necessary adjustments before laying the final few stones in their appropriate place.
he took a step back as lungs expanded to drink in the salted air. crafted before him now lay a rune of protection, and in it's foundation was the burning hope that it may shelter those who pass by it.
for a moment he drifted off in wonder of where they might be now, and if the pages of their novel ended with the strand, or continued on elsewhere.
when he was pulled from his thoughts at the squawk of a circling gull, the dryad set his attention to the true purpose of his trip. one by one he pulled pebbles from streams and rolled rocks from boulders.
piece by piece he arranged them with tender care. in similar fashion to an artist sketching a portrait, he pulled away from his work to make necessary adjustments before laying the final few stones in their appropriate place.
he took a step back as lungs expanded to drink in the salted air. crafted before him now lay a rune of protection, and in it's foundation was the burning hope that it may shelter those who pass by it.
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