Midterm - Diandra Mordecai
Picture #4
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Everyone knows about werewolves, the men that change to ravenous wolves when the full moon rises into the darkness above. Few have braved the seas, however, and come upon the mist creatures that hover over it the night of the pregnant moon, and only one has lived to tell the tale.
The moon had risen, big and bright, above the strangely still waters, and a poor fisherman, in desperation, took his boat out into the sea in hopes of catching enough fish for market the next day. His wife at home bemoaned their fate, as did he, and he sought always to better their fortunes.
He baited his line and cast it into the water, all of his focus bent upon it. When suddenly, some time later, it began to quiver within his grasp, he tugged the line. Sweat poured from his chilled forehead as he pulled harder than ever had before been necessary. Finally he was rewarded, as his catch flew from the water and into the boat beside him.
It was a strange creature—beautiful, terrifying, entrancing—with fur like a lion, and fins like a fish.
“You have caught me,” it proclaimed, startling the poor fisherman. Since when could such creatures speak?
“I was hoping for a fish,” the fisherman admitted.
The creature fixed him with a penetrating stare. “You know not what traverses the waters this night?” When the fisherman shook his head, the creature laughed coldly. “I could then escape without bestowing my gift upon you, but fair is fair.”
It reached within its fur, with a strange skeletal hand, and withdrew a ring, large and silver, with a luminescent pearl shimmering at its centre. The creature dropped it to the bottom of the boat, cackled, and leapt back into the icy waters.
The fisherman didn’t know what to think of the creature and its ring, so he put it from his mind and returned to his original task. Slowly, he became aware of a thick mist, closing in around him, and soon he could see nothing. Voices began to speak from the air around him—whispers of death. Fingers began to pluck at his clothes—hungry with greed.
He began to feel fear, and it was then that he remembered the strange ring. He grasped for it, and set it upon his finger. The moment he did, the mist began to clear, the voices to fade, the fingers to cease their searching. With the last of the mist gone, fish began to leap from the waters, crying their joy at having been freed from the inhabitants of the mist.
The fisherman caught more fish than ever he had dreamed, and his wife was pleased beyond words. Soon he realized the secret of the ring, and each full moon hence, he returned to the waters to capture the fish that danced with joy.
He became the richest of men, setting food upon the tables of kings, and so his fortunes were changed after all, and he came to live quite happily in a large home in the city. But still, every month, he ventured forth into the sea and so maintained his riches well into old age at which time he passed the ring and its secrets on to his son, who went on to become a great prince among men—but that’s another story for another time.
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Everyone knows about werewolves, the men that change to ravenous wolves when the full moon rises into the darkness above. Few have braved the seas, however, and come upon the mist creatures that hover over it the night of the pregnant moon, and only one has lived to tell the tale.
The moon had risen, big and bright, above the strangely still waters, and a poor fisherman, in desperation, took his boat out into the sea in hopes of catching enough fish for market the next day. His wife at home bemoaned their fate, as did he, and he sought always to better their fortunes.
He baited his line and cast it into the water, all of his focus bent upon it. When suddenly, some time later, it began to quiver within his grasp, he tugged the line. Sweat poured from his chilled forehead as he pulled harder than ever had before been necessary. Finally he was rewarded, as his catch flew from the water and into the boat beside him.
It was a strange creature—beautiful, terrifying, entrancing—with fur like a lion, and fins like a fish.
“You have caught me,” it proclaimed, startling the poor fisherman. Since when could such creatures speak?
“I was hoping for a fish,” the fisherman admitted.
The creature fixed him with a penetrating stare. “You know not what traverses the waters this night?” When the fisherman shook his head, the creature laughed coldly. “I could then escape without bestowing my gift upon you, but fair is fair.”
It reached within its fur, with a strange skeletal hand, and withdrew a ring, large and silver, with a luminescent pearl shimmering at its centre. The creature dropped it to the bottom of the boat, cackled, and leapt back into the icy waters.
The fisherman didn’t know what to think of the creature and its ring, so he put it from his mind and returned to his original task. Slowly, he became aware of a thick mist, closing in around him, and soon he could see nothing. Voices began to speak from the air around him—whispers of death. Fingers began to pluck at his clothes—hungry with greed.
He began to feel fear, and it was then that he remembered the strange ring. He grasped for it, and set it upon his finger. The moment he did, the mist began to clear, the voices to fade, the fingers to cease their searching. With the last of the mist gone, fish began to leap from the waters, crying their joy at having been freed from the inhabitants of the mist.
The fisherman caught more fish than ever he had dreamed, and his wife was pleased beyond words. Soon he realized the secret of the ring, and each full moon hence, he returned to the waters to capture the fish that danced with joy.
He became the richest of men, setting food upon the tables of kings, and so his fortunes were changed after all, and he came to live quite happily in a large home in the city. But still, every month, he ventured forth into the sea and so maintained his riches well into old age at which time he passed the ring and its secrets on to his son, who went on to become a great prince among men—but that’s another story for another time.