Spikes fall. Cold, sharp, and solid. They fell through streams of thread that forged cloth, disappearing under with testimonies of havoc. They fell, breaking in crystal like sounds when they hit rock roof and stone hard tree branches. The night tasted of black. With every increase of rain and magic, my senses heightened. I could smell the blinding sun that would come after the rain and I could feel time slip through my clenched fists. The fall was harsh, but my eyes never left the wooden statue before me. It was wet from rain and green and brown that wrapped around its scarred snake arms, and tears of age. I set out for here before the first seeds of rain grew into a miracle, leaving early clouds trapped in pot-holes, forcing them into slaves who created mud out of the former dry earth. While the wind fell against tree and rock, I climbed my way up, and had finally arrived here. Even the forces of nature would do plenty little to stop me n...
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