It was a cold, misty morning; the perfect sort of day for lying about and doing nothing. In all truth, I rather enjoy doing that on any given day. But it was an exceptionally wonderful day to doze and enjoy the warmth of one's cozy home.
Destiny, however, had other plans for me. But perhaps I am getting rather ahead of myself in so saying.
As I mentioned, it was a chilly sort of morn; delightfully crisp and smelling of rain. I was resting in my cave, high in the mountains. I had made my home in the cliff-sides for one simple purpose; I do not much care for visitors. And as luck would have it, visitors do not much care for me. I was rather disliked – and still am, I might add – by the people in many of the near-by villages. They have this rather peculiar notion that I am spawn of the devil. For obvious reasons, I choose to stay away from such places at all cost.
The fact that I avoid them and reside in a difficult-to-reach, mountainous region does not, however, prevent some dim-witted souls from seeking to destroy me. Countless men have lost their lives in attempt to slay me. Countless more have perished before they ever beheld so much as my foot, falling to their deaths from the lofty crags.
Do not think, though, that I killed such men out of malice. Certainly, I have made every effort to persuade them to leave me in peace. But by the heavens, they are a persistent bunch of fool-hearty young lads; and when their stupidity became too hazardous to my safety, what more could be done? I did, at least, have the decency to dispatch them quickly; none ever saw death's approach.
So it was that on that marvelous, drizzly morn, a collection of just under one dozen brave – though I am rather inclined to call them foolish – men had made their way up the mountainside and to the great threshold of my home.
Naturally, I had no desire to deal with the pests and carefully made my way to the secret back entrance – or exit, as was the more common use.
I casually made my way to a smallish, secluded valley where I often stayed when intruders invaded my privacy. It was surrounded by high cliff walls and a large, cascading waterfall was positioned at one end. It was more like a bowl, I suppose. But for the sake of simplicity, I've always referred to it as a valley. In the center of said valley was a small lake, and the entire surrounding area was lush and green, with the odd outcropping of rocky boulders.
As was my custom upon entering the valley, I sprawled out upon a large gathering of stone and listened to the tumult of the falls. When the Great Flame – the sun, as most would know it – rests in the sky and shines its light upon the earth, the stones grow warm and I bask in that warmth and light.
On that day, though, the swirling, misting clouds had rolled in and allowed no light of the Great Flame to pass their looming gray masses. Instead, I raised my head and sniffed at the metallic air. A storm hummed through the currents of the sky, the electricity of it vibrating within my very bones. Excitement quivered through my spine; I have always been over-fond of tempests. The deep, rolling thunder and brilliant flashes of Heavenly Fire combined with the pounding rain awaken my senses as little else can. There is a certain sort of raw beauty in these storms and I am often reminded of myself when I bear witness to such things; stunning and magnificent, yet cold and lethal.
It was not long after I had arrived in my place of refuge that the rains began. I closed my eyes in contentment as I felt the large drops drum upon the entirety of my body. Some would think me mad to lie about in the rain. And yet doing so was pure bliss; the cold and wet has never proved bothersome to me.
A low rumble had emanated from the skies, and a great wind howled about the uppermost ledges of the valley. It was most assuredly a prime day for staying low and keeping out of the rushing currents.
