A/N: To be fair, I've been busy. And then I pretty much let this fall to the wayside...and to the recesses of my mind, where good thoughts go to die, and bad ones to fester. Um...hopefully this holds up? Ugh anyways, enjoy it, laugh at it if its terrible, invent your own re-tellings of my re-tellings of JK's work, i dunno.
Keep safe out there peeps xx
Chapter 21
The sun was rising in the distance, throwing its orange rays out into the world, and backlighting the mountain scenery.
Many people have been attracted to the spectacular light displays afforded by the birth of the new day throughout the centuries. Perhaps it's the symbolism of life and birth which draws people in; The hope for a better today, and an even greater tomorrow.
Maybe it simply meant that the predators who stalk the nights have finally retreated, the safety of the day bringing an end to the terrors of the night.
Perhaps it's the way the colours light up the sky; Humans have always liked pretty things, after all.
The one to best explain the draw of the sunrise would be Amaya. Her very being happened to be irrevocably linked to this dawning of a new day, after all.
However, she was not here. And those that were here, had no wish to delve into the psychology of the sunrise, nor had they any urge to listen to anything Amaya would have to say. In fact, they would much sooner cause her harm, than lend her an ear.
The group was made up of mainly Wixen (there were a few werewolves on the outskirts and even a pair of vampirical beings – they, ironically, were the only ones to pay attention to the sunrise, though they cringed away from it), the leader of whom, was yet to arrive.
One particular Wix, one who was, at this moment, stamping his feet and clutching his jacket closer around him, cursed the cold and the wind and the Earth itself for forcing him to endure such treatment.
He was quickly shushed by those nearest him, and he proceeded to glare moodily at the ground.
Now, he most definitely had a point. Humans were not made to be standing around in the wind and the cold, and as such were quite limited creatures. The vampires, being undead themselves, would have scoffed at this display of weakness had they not been above such an action.
"Let me just take one of them, Daramir." The shortest vampire, Boris, whispered as he leaned into his sire, "One surely won't be missed. Look at them! They are but fools!"
Daramir, being far older, and far wiser than Boris, shook his head discretely, "Not yet, my young padawan," (they may be vampires, but they are not without style. Any idiot can tell Star Wars is not a creation of mere mortals; it is the work of gods) "We must wait, and then, when all is done, and their petty squabble is over, we shall feast."
Boris, content with this answer, turned back to hungrily eyeing the foolish humans.
Their day would come. Eventually.
But for now, Boris would have to make do with this one.
The leader – some would say dictator – of the group finally made an appearance, stepping dramatically out of the shadows of the mountain. With his arms outstretched, black robes hanging from the ivory-pale skin, he spoke to the gathered.
"Welcome, my friends, to a new dawn," A flash of brown eyes and blinding white teeth, "Our dawn."