Tuesday, July 05, 2005


His gaze traveled down to the red sands of the desert valley below. Even from the height of the cliff, on which he stood, he could feel the heat rising from the desert floor. Today would be hot.

The wind quickened its pace, swirling dust and dirt over his boots and over the edge of the cliff. The end of his Shirka was caught by the wind and unraveled slightly. Absently he caught the stream of fabric and wrapped it around his head again, making sure to tuck the end well out of the winds reach. After his hands finished their work they reached back over his shoulder and found the hilts of his swords. Once his father’s swords, and before that his grandfather’s, passed down from father to son for generations. Now the swords were his.

A shiver of anticipation ran through his spine, the coming months and years would bring glory to himself and his lineage. Here he stood on the very edge of ‘Kyntaro’s Doom’, the edge of the world that he alone had proved was not the edge of anything at all. Instead the edge of the world was nothing more then a vast desert linking the Pyration Empire to a vast unexplored continent. Kytaro’s real doom was not traveling this far north and discovering the valley below.

Suppressing a smile he turned around to view the progress. Behind him the plain seemed alive, a seething mass of men and animals churning over the earth down into the desert below, a moving city that had made its way here, to ‘Kyntaro’s Doom’, to the edge of the world.


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