Dawn of the Nephilim

8. the dream (an unexpected turn)

After a strange sensation of being pulled and carried away, and a strange sight of a vaguely feminine figure traversing unimaginably vast and timeless waters of the abyssal oceanic depths, he came to his senses.

The wind felt good as his body cleaved it. A slight adjustment of the flight-feathers at the wingtips brought him into the thermal current on his right. He didn't so much see the current, as felt it was there. A natural knowledge inherited from countless ancestors. The air was his home. He could feel where the wind would help him go forward or upwards, and felt what places he should avoid. But the high sky remained a fickle thing, and a sudden air sack could surprise even the most experienced flyer. He relished the challenge.

Beneath him, a startling view unfolded. To his left, as far as his eye could see even at this height, the swamp lay basking in the light of early morning. The rising sun elicited the water to gleam like silver veins in a green sea. At least I suppose that is what a sea looks like. To his right, the rich grasslands sprawled with cattle, farms and orchards unfolded, hinting at the wealth of the oft-inundated soil. The swamp and the waters streaming towards it, raised the water table far and wide, allowing for rich, green fields to be able to develop, supporting the disparate yet many people of the region, and suggesting the wealth of products being exported to the southern kingdoms.

How long the grasslands went on no-one really knew. On the eastern side they stretched all the way to the mountains, on the north seemingly forever. Large parts were filled with nothing but wildlife, or nothing at all. Any creature that walked the earth could get lost in that endless plain of grass. But not a bird! Filled with delight he performed a back-flip and corkscrewed downwards, letting out a scream of sheer joy. With a few minor adjustments from his forked tail, he flew stationary again. There seemed to be no limit to his maneuverability. Straight below him, the village lay sprawled on the swamp's banks. This caught his interest. He had never seen the village from the sky before. It looked a bit like a potato with a cone, that stretched along the road to the lands that lay beyond.

And there was his own house, a ways from the village. He swooped down even lower to get a closer look. Soon, he could see the laundry blowing in the wind, and make out shapes milling about, not as small as ants but no bigger than beetles.

Then something strange happened. Instead of descending towards the village as he had planned, he inexorably turned towards the swamp, as if being pulled. He tried to fight it, but seemed to have lost control over the motion of his wings. After a while he gave up the struggle, and witnessed himself go into a steep dive. A slight sense of alarm welled up inside of him. The swamp was no fit place for a bird such as he seemed to be. His domain was the fields and the open plains.

Upon his rapid descent, the trees drew nearer and grew bigger at an alarming rate. Collision seemed imminent. Trying to close his eyes, he found that he could not. So this is it. Going out by flying into a tree. That has to be one of the dumbest ways to go. Moments before impact, he made a slight adjustment to the left and dived through the trees. He found himself speeding over a large stream and would have been pretty impressed with himself had he initiated any of his movements.

Though he could exert no real control over his motions, he was not afraid and went along with the flow. As long as he was in the air, it would be fine. This adventure was actually kind of exciting. He had always been an inquisitive...boy? In any case, in his life he had received many marks from his rambunctious playfulness, as well as from creatures not so interested in his interest in them. He had certainly given his mother more than one gray hair in the process.

Speeding along with the bends over the stream, he noticed that it had to be one of the many streams that kept the larger part of the swamp circulating and fresh. It had a great many creeks emanating from it, which would end in even more shallow pools, in which the mangrove trees grew, and loads of fish, alligators and other creatures aboded. The morning sun shed its light on the trees lining the stream, which formed a solid green wall of reflection to his eyes. Through the gaps that occasionally fell in the canopy, a dim twilight hung between the lianas, undergrowth and gnarly trunks.

He dodged a tree that had fallen across the stream by passing over it, and as he did, flew straight past the gaping mouth of an alligator sunbathing on the log. He felt his heartbeat increase slightly at that as he flew, or was steered back to the center of the stream. Then he laughed internally. Around every corner, something fascinating could be found. A fork in the stream, a swampbird wading through the water looking for fish. The familiar sights of the swamp he knew and loved. At this point however, he started to notice something peculiar. It looked somewhat like an orange line spread right atop the water's surface. He seemed to be following it.

The line grew clearer and clearer, and soon it was as easy to follow as the trail of a herd of horses on a clayey soil. He started to notice something else, he was beginning to regain control of his motions. At first he could deviate only slightly from his course, but after a while, he could edge away further and further before being pulled back. Suddenly, he felt he was free again, and immediately broke away from the trail.

For a moment he lingered, pondering whether or not he should return. His curiosity gained the upper hand however, and he continued to fly across the peculiar trail himself. His speed had to have brought him pretty near the center of the swamp by now. It was hard to tell, given the vastness of the ever changing myriad of watery growth. But the thickening river below him gave some slight hint as to his whereabouts. As he made another turn, the river suddenly split. A small island lay in the middle of the stream. That was where the trail ended. He cautiously flew around the island, but noticed nothing out of the ordinary.

His curiosity got the better of him. It's probably safe to engage. Besides, I might get caught again if I don't go anyway. As if he had cursed himself, he suddenly lost control of his motions again, and in a worse manner than before. He was completely unable to move. He hung completely still in the air, wings unmoving, yet stationary. The only thing he could control was his eyes, allowing him to frantically look around as he felt himself slowly starting to turn. He turned until he was aimed at the small open area in the center of the island, that now became visible. Below him, there glistened something white and bony, which seemed to be several skeletons of alligators. Would he have been able to, he would have swallowed hard. Floating through an opening between two trees, he reached an open area. His situation was getting stranger by the second, and none the rosier. Wherever he wound up, he hoped it wouldn't be among those alligators.

-WHO ARE YOU?- His heart skipped a beat from the shock, as he suddenly heard a voice yell from what seemed to be inside of his head. He no longer felt very inquisitive, and wanted very much to be very far away from here. Slowly, he was rotated once more and got a look at what seemed to be the cause of his current worrisome situation.