As it had happened several times before, more times than I wished it, for I am not some cur, some filthy mongrel, to be called at whim. Still, I turn my head towards the voice, and I know that the last time I answered the call, I was gifted with magic from one of the fallen gods. It was a gift, a blessing, the last he would ever hand out. Within the glass that crowned be swirled blackened smoke, and with it I could reign victorious. Well, someday at least. Not yet.
But some day, and that’s all that you should worry about.
Along I trot, trying to avoid the other dogs heeling to their invisible master’s whims, and soon I arrive upon the banks of the river. This, this, this thing, though I had seen him before, never seemed to spare on the dramatics, and here he was, pulling bones out of his shadowy mass, and setting them alight to illuminate the river’s edge. I stand back, several paces from the river, knowing well enough to listen to the nameless being. Others came, too, and they seemed to obey his orders as well. We stand together, though it seems as though this is the only time we may stand among each other without quarreling, as other things always seem to take importance.
I tip my head, brow raised, as the river begins to speak. It’s whispers are more powerful than those who I have grown used to ever since the start of my journey to restore my horseshoes’ magic, and as they chant and hiss I can’t seem to make sense of the words. It would probably be easier if so many of these bodies would shut their mouths. Many talk, joke, stomp their feet petulantly. Even the children grow smart, yammering out about stupid nonsense. I remain silent, though my ears twist back. Their insane stupidity falls upon numbed nerves. Nothing could surprise me about these newcomers.
Still, as magic stirs and makes the air heavy, I pray that maybe, once more, one of our past gods will return, and perhaps this time, he will stay.
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Scint River
