Great, monstrous clouds rumbled in the northern sky. The weather was demonic, howling with a fierce temper and ammunition of rain and sharpened wind. Tree’s were bent doubled in their struggle to hold their ground but the storm only grew in its anger to conquer the land it whipped and bashed.
Shivering through the fight stood a rickety shack of wood and nails. Boarded up frames clung to all four walls but the storm hammered at it like a possessed child breaking into a toy shop, yet the withered shack bravely held to the stone cold earth beneath only letting whistles of the howling wind penetrate it’s hollow body.
It seemed unfathomable to conceive the idea of life in such a baron and heartless land, yet against all odds, there lay inside this wooden shack a small child wrapped in bundles of rags and cloth, sleeping as if the sun was shining and the birds were chirping outside. A leather-bound book lay on the cold concrete floor inside the shack, as old and withered as the structure that protected it from the elements outside. Gold symbols marked it’s spine giving the antique leather a look of secret royalty. A book not to be handled by wrong doers or tyrants but guarded by a small child none the wiser.
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