Mangrove Tidepools
09-27-2017, 06:33 PM
A rumble— or was it a deep, growling hiss?—shook the knotted mangrove roots. At first, it could easily be mistaken for the furious, stomping retreat of Kismoa.
…except that it wasn’t. It lingered, waxing and waning in its volume and ferocity. But it never ceased; and as it continued (on and on and on) it’s vibration began to morph the water. Edges of tangled roots blended with rippling, salty waters. Bright pinpoints of fish beneath the surface blurred into each other, making the mangrove swamp a sea of blotched color.
The horizon of the sea, separated from those gathered by rocky tide pools, began to… pulse? It pulsed nearer, farther; each tick of some unseen, beating, and hissing heart bowing the distant blue line to and fro.
The rippling waters seems to move over ridges for a moment—or was that simply another trick of the vibrating air? A glowing, scalding green eye blinked; a reptilian pupil of deepest black widening and then constricting as the memory of the murdered god was exposed to the wan, cold light of the Rift’s early Freeze.
Then, a slap of a massive tail cloaked in the russet browns and dark greens of the mangroves sent a spray that swallowed the darkness which encroached on the heels of those escaping the Scint River. The last vestiges of the god’s power warding off the blackness of the void between worlds that threatened his eastern domain in the wake of Kisamoa’s recklessness.
And then… the god, barely seen in his cloak of camouflage, settled into naught but a mere head, spine, and tail at the waterline.
…except that it wasn’t. It lingered, waxing and waning in its volume and ferocity. But it never ceased; and as it continued (on and on and on) it’s vibration began to morph the water. Edges of tangled roots blended with rippling, salty waters. Bright pinpoints of fish beneath the surface blurred into each other, making the mangrove swamp a sea of blotched color.
The horizon of the sea, separated from those gathered by rocky tide pools, began to… pulse? It pulsed nearer, farther; each tick of some unseen, beating, and hissing heart bowing the distant blue line to and fro.
The rippling waters seems to move over ridges for a moment—or was that simply another trick of the vibrating air? A glowing, scalding green eye blinked; a reptilian pupil of deepest black widening and then constricting as the memory of the murdered god was exposed to the wan, cold light of the Rift’s early Freeze.
Then, a slap of a massive tail cloaked in the russet browns and dark greens of the mangroves sent a spray that swallowed the darkness which encroached on the heels of those escaping the Scint River. The last vestiges of the god’s power warding off the blackness of the void between worlds that threatened his eastern domain in the wake of Kisamoa’s recklessness.
And then… the god, barely seen in his cloak of camouflage, settled into naught but a mere head, spine, and tail at the waterline.
the Rift
