Civilization
The little water left dribbled off the barbed tip of the eroded icicle-like stalactites that hang from the ceiling, formed from the years of hardening minerals from chemical change. Similar causes appear as if they impale through the cavern floor, pointed upwards, proud and dangerous. The stalagmites rise up from the ground and join the stalactites, forming pointless columns that hold the smooth rock surface of the floor and pointy ceiling together.
The single droplet of dirty water had seemingly appeared from nowhere fell to, whomever should guess, the cool floor, however it appeared to have not. Within the closed dome, there is no light. The hidden, secluded and aging cave shrouded in darkness. There is no entrance or exit in the cave, isolated away from the world. In spite of the age of the cave, specifically a limestone cave, or the harsh environment within it, a single being inhabited the hollowed out ground.
The cave was a simple thing. Acid slowly dissolves out its limestone along the joints, bedding planes and fractures, and the cave became a cave. Yet there was always something in the middle, never moving or seeing. Never listening or speaking. Always there, but never appeared to be. A being. A powerful power house, snoozing in the lonely cave as it’s permanent bed. When it got there? It seemed none lived long enough to tell. So it comes from bygone days were the land was not pure, when the land was in need of the being’s aid, when the land was not ruled alone. If its name was called, it was there. Soon, it slept, for what reason is unknown. What is known, however, is that the wait is over, and its long, long slumber has halted all because of a single drop of water.
History starts here.
The being, after so long, had not only awoken, but flinched. Soon, it moved. It peeled its eyes open as best it possibly could, and grumbled. He had let open his mouth, and the muscles that had long since evolved to form the appropriate sounds. He squeezed his larynx as he had always done, but had not done so in so long, just the other moment, many years past. The feeling of peeling his field away. The blood on the snow. The smoking remains. Vivid. Fresh. Ancient.
“Ugh. Wh… What in Tartarus?” His echoed, old croaking voice was the only reply.
After some effort, the large being lifted his head up and off the ground, perhaps losing a few hairs. He could hardly cough out the dust in his lungs. He realized there was not much air. This was urgent. He decided he will make the air come to him. Removing his limbs for the equine-shaped hole he occupied, he attempted to lift his body and nearly topped over. It appeared that he was out of shape, and his legs protested from the lack of use. He looked away from any magic monitoring him with slight embarrassment.
Blinking his sleepy eyes, he stood, finally certain he will not fall. He… walked to any wall he first found to recline on. Or waddled, rather. Huffing in annoyance, he kept his thoughts to himself. He leaned on the rock and aimed his eyes at the tip of his muzzle. He couldn’t see it, but he can feel it. It was wet, and it dribbled down the shaggy mess he called a beard. He grumbled again.
He mumbled something, though he couldn't hear it well enough. There was not enough air to carry his whisper far. “How… did this happen?” It seemed he like he didn't know the answer. Perhaps he had forgotten? It is very likely that this happens to one that has been asleep for so long. What else had he forgotten? He nearly missed the the vibrations in the air as he sensed the ways the sounds of his voice bent and altered the path of millions of particles that lingered within all around him.
It was different somehow. A change. Clearly, he didn't know what was different. He thought, perhaps, a change in magic particles? No. Did a different molecule make up air..? No, it hadn’t. What was different? The change must be insignificant, a change such as this deals thousands of years. He wanted to sigh in frustration in these turn of events.
He stretched and bent his rusty legs and wings, soothing his muscles, and shook out any remaining numbness. He stood with the full extension of his fours hooves, without the support of the rocky wall. He felt most of his wingspan press against the jagged ceiling. The pointy surface prickling his wings helped him wake up. He loved stretching after a long nap, the feeling is one of it’s kind. He smiled, loving the privileges given to him, to be able to have his physical body. There’s so much he has done with one, he always wondered what he would have done without one. Feeling better than before, he walked, feeling the walls, floor, and parts of the ceiling. Feeling. He loved feeling all kinds of things. He remembers! His smile was tugged farther back. He placed his hooves on the rock wall. His ear flattened against it, as if he were listening in on something on the other side very eagerly. Or just eavesdropping, that too. He took his hoof back, past his head. Then…
Tink. Tink. Tink.
Like an swung, angled pickaxe on hard stone, the sound echoed, born from the sudden hit of stone and his hoof. The sharp tink pushed the particles in the air, and moved in circular waves within the cave, each vibration releasing various tones. An echo. He searched—
Tink. Tink. Tink.
—and searched. It only took a couple minutes, only being slightly distracted from surfacing memories, yet his actions were steady, and his conclusions accurate. Carefully and consistent. Like caring for a foal, and feeding it to the right hour, to the right minute. Ah, the memories of two fillies.
Tink. Tink. Tink.
Every time he moved and positioned.
Tink. Tink. Tink.
Consistently. Carefully. Nicely. He learned once, from a certain little girl of his, that patience goes a long way.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
And he was glad that she was right! The cave provided what he was looking for. Hollow! He rushed back wishing, preparing his legs for his stunt that wasn’t too stupid of him. More stretches. He prepped himself, leaning back and looking up. He couldn’t see, but he knows that directly above him hung a stalactite. He would know when it falls, when it breaks and shatters upon the cold floor, he won’t be there.
His chest locked up as he ran the short distance and slid around a complete one-eighty. His back legs lifted as he continued to slide on his forehooves.
He bucked as softly as he could.
The Peaks of Peril has stood tall for centuries, intimating any creature that neared it. That’s why no one noticed the ground rumbling in tremendous waves, that akin to an earthquake, but much, much more intense. The ground caved in, a roaring crescendo that escalated to an explosion. Debris painted the sky in a perfect picturesque for a moment, before the dirt, gravel, and stone plummeted toward the planet’s crust. The surface was like a war had broken lose; it told a story. And this story started very peculiarly. Coughing.
Then something like this. “Mayhap—" A cough. "...We… should not have aided Ourselves with momentum…”
And this. “Bah! The animals will live.”
He dusted whatever rubble and dust off his being as much as he could, then proceeded to survey his surroundings. Clearly, he can see his mess, but decides not to clean it. He is fully aware that it is in his ability to do so. He’s just lazy after his nap, and so the being reasoned that the animals will live to perhaps sooth his conscience in some degree.
He grumbled. “They will… Silence.” Bitting at the magic near for doubting him, he began trotting. There wasn’t much else to see, other than his mess and more rock. He continues on, past the barren ground. Walking farther, he notices a cliff. A beautiful horizon shining down upon archers of lush land. A scenery straight from fiction. But there is no such thing as fiction, he knows. He was only in worry. This was not normally what he sees. He was not here before his slumber. Just where...? He shakes his head. The nonsense comes later. He looks to his right, watching past the tree line that laid ahead of him.
He turned and entered the forest, past the bushes. This forest was not the one he was used to. This was not like the Everfree Forest, the forest that he always found himself lost in, looking for his children when they went on their kooky adventures. They were like cats; he was always afraid that their curiosity would get them killed.
But now he didn’t know where they were, or where he was.
How did this happen?
He passed by the trees and crossed a path…
A path?
A path! He exclaimed in joy, “Huzza! Civilization!” and leaped up in the air. He stomped his hooves onto the ground and galloped north, the direction the path trailed, with determination coursing within him. Nothing was going to get in his way. He will find his family. He does have a promise to keep, after all.
But first, he desired the taste of food.
It isn’t necessary that he eats. Why would he if he didn’t need to? Yet, the craving of having a tasty mixture sweeten his taste buds made him reel. It was one of the leisures he enjoyed of his physical body. It was one of the little things that made him feel mortal again. So he galloped. Oh, how he loved to gallop. And the rush! He loved it for what it was! As he ran and ran, along the path that he hoped would lead him home, the wind blew and hit against his face. It weaved through his brown, curly mane, brushed underneath and intertwined with his wing feathers, and whipped his long tangled tail. Oh, how liberating it felt. The instructions his instincts commanded of him; he closed his eyes as he weaved and dodged and jumped, under high hanging branches, past boulders, over fallen trees. Always staying on the path that gave him hope. It was the proof that told him he had a chance, and was not going to lose it.
The thundering stomps of his strong hooves erupted a ringing that vibrated in his ears and urged him to gallop faster to the approaching end of the forest. He saw it as the first finish line, and hopefully it would be the last. Eagerly, he jumped through the last wall of bushes his path of hope passed, anticipating what would be on the other side. He thought, that it would most likely be more road and grassy fields, but with flowers he could eat, or better yet, berries! How wrong he was…
He blinked a multiple number of times like an utter buffoon and stared at something trivial to his standards; but… why in the middle of a forest? Then again, he did live in the middle of the most dangerous mountains on Equis with his family, in a very, very tall white tower. He blinked one last time, watching the small community thrive. Large treehouses scaled the thick jungle-like trees, all decorated within their own unique style. Stale food stalls lined the east of the small village, while on the west side sold household items and a large fountain stood proudly. Looking farther north, the path continues to a large looking hut that outsized the high hanging treehouses. To the northeast and northwest, smaller huts lied beside both sides of the path, and seemed to hold adroit…
His eyes stared at a community of…
He tilted his head curiously. “…Kirin? What art thee doing living here?” He wondered aloud, his voice uncertain.