Requiem for The Dragon
The sun was bright, highlighting the colorful autumn leaves. The day was cool, and a gentle breeze tossed Drake's long black hair. The mountaintop was bare and quiet. Down below, forests spread all around. In the distance were lakes and streams sparkling like fallen pieces of sky, or blue clouds in the vibrant ocean of autumnal leaves. Birds sang merrily and the sky was a crystal clear sapphire blue.
Somehow it all seemed dark to Drake's eye. The peak of Katahdin was bare. The birds sounded forlorn, and the breeze was bitter. The sky was grey and empty. The air was chilly and the trees were dying.
The firmament was drowned in a swirl of flames and smoke woven like a silk tapestry – the ground, blanketed in grey turbid water, sputtering and spitting as the deluge poured down and electricity split the sky sporadically. The whole world felt filthy, but the lightning storm had sharpened the air with the acrid smell of ozone.
His clothes were damp, his face pale and drawn, the shadows of his sharp cheekbones enhanced by rough stubble. His eyes were brilliant, dangerous; their merest glance could pierce like a pair of daggers. The black riding coat he wore was stained by dirt and water, his boots covered past the ankles in thick mire. H