Submission (#5632) Approved

As Sariel turned away from the intense heat of the lava flows to trace his steps back to the nearby settlement, he continued to reflect on the revelations he obtained on the volcanic field.  Existing in the valley, he walked the same way he had come – through the captivating landscape of canyons and gorges, flowed by ancient lava flows and volcanic explosions over years innumerable.

The first canyon he encountered was as breathtaking a sight coming out as coming in.  It was a yawning chasm, with steep walls scarred from the eruptions of ages past.  The cliffs were massive and towering, with edges composed of hardened lava frozen in time, and while most of the rock was rough and jagged, in some places, the smooth glass-like sheen of the rock struck Sariel with awe.  The narrow passages of the canyon channeled wind, whispering of ages past when the volcanoes here carved up the land like so much clay.

As he descended deeper through the paths carved along the side of the canyon, he could feel the wind’s sheer force intensifying, threatening to snatch him from the ledge he stood on.  Gusts whipped through the ravine, creating a symphony of lonely echoes.  Howling ghosts trapped in its depths.  Dust and debris danced and swirled through the air, motes caught in the tempest’s relentless grip.  The wind was merciless, tugging at his fur, ripping at his footing, reflecting the raw power that permeated these rents in the earth.

As he descended further, the chasm’s wavering path transformed into a series of turns and narrow pages that acted as funnels.  Approaching these funnels proved a peril, as the winds here intensified, roaring through the jagged contours of the rocky walls, this combined with the debris in the air created an almost visible current, that seemed to rush past with a life on its own.  Sariel braced himself, bending closer to the ground and clinging to the walls to avoid being buffeted away.

As he progressed further, Sariel encountered gorges and ravines that sliced through the wasteland like jagged scars.  It was difficult to imagine the volcanic explosions, along with the accompanying forces, that had shattered the land, leaving behind these dramatic rifts.  It made Sariel wonder about what the land had looked like before, and even what had once populated.  Surely nothing could survive such fury.

The wind that passed through these gorges felt even more tempestuous than the ones within the wider canyon, proving unyielding and fierce.  With each gust, loose debris swirled, creating a cacophony of rushing pebbles and dust, and their clatter against the rocks could be deafening.  The air was visible even now, pressing against his body as if daring Sariel to cross.  He had no choice but to persist; to be caught in these wastelands late would surely be even more perilous.

Sariel scrabbled for temporary shelter behind a set of large stones within the gorges and was met with an unexpected wonder.  Sheltered from the worst of the blistering sun, and shielded from the relentless wind, he saw scrubby flora, small and twisted, but colorful and alive.  Delicate grasses flowed like water as they were batted by the wind, clinging tenaciously to the crevices in the volcanic rock.  Flowers dotted the crevices, raising courageous leaves to the elements, which fluttered gently in the limited breeze.

There the wind formed temporary whirling vortices that spiraled upwards, creating ephemeral tornados of dust and ash in miniature.  Sarial watched, breath held, as the swirls formed and collapsed.  Debris shaping a path through the wind.  This seemed almost touching, a delicate part of the orchestra of roaring gusts, wavering howls, percussive clashes, and soft whispers of the wind.

Sariel wondered about this, struggling to recall what he had read of Zevija and its mighty winds in the safety of his libraries back at home.  The wind, much like fire, was an intense elemental force in this land.  A relentless sculptor of landscapes, shaping mountains, carving canyons, and moving the land of Zevija towards constant change, shaping what the destruction of the volcanoes wrought in their wake. 

He suddenly remembered something he had read: the wind was crucial to the very life of the plants here.  Its gusts helped disperse the seeds of plants like these, allowing the flora the seemingly impossible task of thriving in this otherwise inhospitable terrain.  The wind, in Zevija, was more than just a force, it was a catalyst, by which life depended upon to rise anew after the destruction.

With renewed vigor, Sariel continued his journey through the gorges, following the path he knew was there.   The kittom had the sensation that some revelation lay just at the tip of his tongue.  That if he thought about it longer, or witnessed another inspiring sight, he might come to a crucial realization, not just about this land, but about his own life.  As if he was on the verge of finding the answer to precisely what he had been looking for all along.

He wished he had carried his little travel notebook to take notes.  He knew it would have been helpful in picking apart his own thoughts, but feared it would be snatched by the wind, or consumed by flames.  As he trekked, he thought further of what kind of notes he could take, and what sort of things he ought to commit to memory.  Once he reached the settlement, he’d take note, and think about this further.