Imago ran west with the wolves, upriver, farther than any man had been able to row.
The river became white water; white water split to a thousand streams. Imago and his pack followed the largest each time until they came to a spring as clear as grief, and beyond it waited the end of the world.
Imago sniffed nervously, then peered at the border. It took him some time to remember his voice.
“Is it,” he cleared his throat, “a long way to fall?”
“Only if you look down,” said the end of the world, and drew him over the edge.
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Once upon a time there were four princes: Imago, Inigo, Lonago and Gad. Imago was swift; Inigo, strong. Lonago could sing down the wind in a high, clear voice like a violin.
The brothers learned to hunt and sail, the declension of Latin and to declaim in Greek. They cared for the people; the people thought them fine.
When they were twenty-three, twenty-one and eighteen respectively, Imago, Inigo and Lonago rode to the corners of the kingdom to seek wisdom and return as men.
Gad stayed home to actually run the castle.
This story has little concern for Gad.