Book 1: The Planet
Part 5
Night
Running. He'd been running for a full day now, hooves making rhythmic music as they ground into the sand. He could remember a time when he'd stumbled in the sand, when setting out at top speed through the dunes had resulted in stumbling, tiring, and eventually tumbling head-over-tail down a steep incline. This had been millennia ago, however, long before humans had even appeared in tribal bands. He had long sense learned to keep his hooves stable and fly across the loose sand. He no longer tired or fell, but could run indefinitely.
Fast even breaths and the rhythmic fall of his own galloping hoofbeats lulled him to relaxation. Warm sunlit air flooded past his body in pleasant waves, washing away any awareness of time or distance. It had become habit, over the long years of isolation, to ignore his own memory. Instead of spending his eternity mourning his lost past, he simply found it easier to live in the moment, and ignore the fact that another time had ever existed. Loneliness could not cut so deep into a heart which had never known companionship. Thus he sank into familiar forgetfulness, losing all but the heat and his hooves. He wasn't immortal. He wasn't alone. For now he simply was . . .
. . . and time moved on unheeded. Day succumbed to night. The sun set, the moon rose and the stars appeared in their circuit. Eternity passed as it had for the past thousand years . . .
. . . and suddenly he was there.
A dark shape rising from the luminescent sand knocked him sharply from his daze. He skidded to a halt atop a ridge, back-peddling a bit in surprise. He snorted into the now cold air, unsure quite what to do next. He'd only come this far because it seemed appropriate . . . and because, even after all the millennia, he was still a curious creature at heart. It wasn't every year he saw a meteorite land before his eyes, but he'd expected a bit of charred rock, a huge crater, or to find nothing at all, but he had never expected . . . this.
Night
Running. He'd been running for a full day now, hooves making rhythmic music as they ground into the sand. He could remember a time when he'd stumbled in the sand, when setting out at top speed through the dunes had resulted in stumbling, tiring, and eventually tumbling head-over-tail down a steep incline. This had been millennia ago, however, long before humans had even appeared in tribal bands. He had long sense learned to keep his hooves stable and fly across the loose sand. He no longer tired or fell, but could run indefinitely.
Fast even breaths and the rhythmic fall of his own galloping hoofbeats lulled him to relaxation. Warm sunlit air flooded past his body in pleasant waves, washing away any awareness of time or distance. It had become habit, over the long years of isolation, to ignore his own memory. Instead of spending his eternity mourning his lost past, he simply found it easier to live in the moment, and ignore the fact that another time had ever existed. Loneliness could not cut so deep into a heart which had never known companionship. Thus he sank into familiar forgetfulness, losing all but the heat and his hooves. He wasn't immortal. He wasn't alone. For now he simply was . . .
. . . and time moved on unheeded. Day succumbed to night. The sun set, the moon rose and the stars appeared in their circuit. Eternity passed as it had for the past thousand years . . .
. . . and suddenly he was there.
A dark shape rising from the luminescent sand knocked him sharply from his daze. He skidded to a halt atop a ridge, back-peddling a bit in surprise. He snorted into the now cold air, unsure quite what to do next. He'd only come this far because it seemed appropriate . . . and because, even after all the millennia, he was still a curious creature at heart. It wasn't every year he saw a meteorite land before his eyes, but he'd expected a bit of charred rock, a huge crater, or to find nothing at all, but he had never expected . . . this.