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The Mythology of Beardsgaard • VIII • The Firsts • .iii

Posted on March 19 2020

“The darkness hastily rearranged itself around him.”


Let us tell you a tale.

≈ I ≈

iii. The Firsts

In clay mugs, the tea curled steam over the lips and into the sunbeams, dampening and dropping the dust motes that floated past their tendrils. The small stone room of Angolon’s apothecary smelled of grassy green leaves and the perfume of the sort of sweet tree blossoms that portend fruit.

“ are you finding the realm?” asked Angolon.

The figure that sat across the wooden slab table from his, cloaked in the throw of corner darkness, watched his cup steam but said nothing for a long time.

Finally he pulled him up from his position of brooding repose, and into the beams of light that streamed through the window, which scattered before him like mice when the storeroom door opens. The darkness hastily rearranged itself around him.

“It is...bright.” he said, quietly, halting, as if sounding out a written word in a language one does not know.

“Excellent!” Angolon exclaimed, with wild gesticulation of hands. “It is quite a nice day, isn’t it? We are ever so glad you find it pleasing.”

The tall, powerful figure in the corner raised an eyebrow slowly, although Angolon did not see it in the shadows.

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