R .  Mac Wheeler Multi - Genre Author Suspense Urban Fantasy Dystopian SCI FI Fantasy
Last Laviathans A ri’el   and   his   mate   guided   their   sick   companion   to   the   deep.   They sang   for   him   the   songs   of   their   past,   of   family   lines,   eons   old,   when what   became   a   lake,   was   a   chasm   connected   to   the   far   off   sea. Their   kind   was   an   ancient   one.   Long-lived   as   they   were,   Ari’el imagined a time in the future when there would be no leviathans. Their   old   friend   mostly   held   his   eyes   closed.   He   struggled   to peel   them   open   from   time   to   time,   as   though   each   would   be   the last   he   would   take   them   in,   in   the   gloom   of   the   deep   water.   No   will left to propel himself forward. It isn’t fair to us. You should not leave us. The   dying   leviathan   shared   a   mental   smile   with   the   two,   as   they   snuggled   against him, one on either side. The   valley   is   finally   coming   alive   again.   You   have   dwarves   and   ogres   about   now. It   has   been   a   long   time,   with   only   the   occasional   gnome’s   mind   in   our   own.   No   doubt there will be humans and elves, even trolls joining you again soon. The female keened. Will never be the same without you . ‘Tis the way of things , he said. You go on and— His   mind   closed   to   them,   slipping   ever   deeper.   She   swam   under   him   and   tried   to keep him up. She wasn’t ready. But the male nudged her away, caressed her with a fin. They   followed   him   as   far   into   the   black   depths   as   they   could.   They   ached   from   the force   on   their   bodies,   and   the   cold,   finally   leaving   him   to   sink   alone   into   the   abyss.   They rushed   upward.   It   was   important   to   see   the   light   of   the   day,   for   their   friend,   a   tribute. He would never see it again. Ari’el   took   up   the   Song   of   Life   again,   with   little   of   the   energy   it   deserved.   He pressed   against   his   mate,   needing   her   touch   while   he   tried   to   provide   her   support.   She joined   him   in   the   song,   but   the   words   came   in   a   muddle,   neither   capable   of   holding   the meaning of the ancient music. He realized there were other, subtle touches, others’ minds in his own. The   black   faded.   The   minds   became   more   distinct.   Ari’el   felt   propelled   shoreward as   the   ceiling   of   light   penetrated   their   cold   world.   He   blinked   at   the   brightness,   heard the words of the Song of Life being sung with them. We are not alone. He and his mate, the last leviathans, broke the surface and swam north. Scores   of   gray-haired   gnomes   lined   the   water’s   cliff   edge.   The   majies   raised   their voices   in   tribute   to   the   long   life   of   their   friend,   the   solemn   tug   of   loss   resonating   in   their song. Ari’el   and   his   mate   drifted,   basking   in   the   solidarity,   the   respect   the   majical   kind offered. The sun fell and the gnomes, one by one, faded back to their homes in the ethereal. © R. Mac Wheeler 2017
R .  Mac Wheeler Multi - Genre Author
Last Leviathans A ri’el    and    his    mate    guided    their    sick companion   to   the   deep.   They   sang   for him   the   songs   of   their   past,   of   family lines,    eons    old,    when    what    became    a lake,   was   a   chasm   connected   to   the   far off   sea.   Their   kind   was   an   ancient   one. Long-lived       as       they       were,       Ari’el imagined    a    time    in    the    future    when there would be no leviathans. Their   old   friend   mostly   held   his   eyes closed.   He   struggled   to   peel   them   open from    time    to    time,    as    though    each would   be   the   last   he   would   take   them in,   in   the   gloom   of   the   deep   water.   No will left to propel himself forward. It    isn’t    fair    to    us.    You    should    not leave us. The   dying   leviathan   shared   a   mental smile    with    the    two,    as    they    snuggled against him, one on either side. The    valley    is    finally    coming    alive again.    You    have    dwarves    and    ogres about    now.    It    has    been    a    long    time, with   only   the   occasional   gnome’s   mind in    our    own.    No    doubt    there    will    be humans   and   elves,   even   trolls   joining you again soon. The    female    keened.    Will    never    be the same without you . ‘Tis   the   way   of   things ,   he   said.   You go on and— His    mind    closed    to    them,    slipping ever   deeper.   She   swam   under   him   and tried   to   keep   him   up.   She   wasn’t   ready. But      the      male      nudged      her      away, caressed her with a fin. They    followed    him    as    far    into    the black   depths   as   they   could.   They   ached from   the   force   on   their   bodies,   and   the cold,   finally   leaving   him   to   sink   alone into   the   abyss.   They   rushed   upward.   It was    important    to    see    the    light    of    the day,     for     their     friend,     a     tribute.     He would never see it again. Ari’el   took   up   the   Song   of   Life   again, with   little   of   the   energy   it   deserved.   He pressed   against   his   mate,   needing   her touch    while    he    tried    to    provide    her support.    She    joined    him    in    the    song, but     the     words     came     in     a     muddle, neither   capable   of   holding   the   meaning of the ancient music. He   realized   there   were   other,   subtle touches, others’ minds in his own. The   black   faded.   The   minds   became more     distinct.     Ari’el     felt     propelled shoreward     as     the     ceiling     of     light penetrated   their   cold   world.   He   blinked at    the    brightness,    heard    the    words    of the Song of Life being sung with them. We are not alone. He   and   his   mate,   the   last   leviathans, broke the surface and swam north. Scores   of   gray-haired   gnomes   lined the   water’s   cliff   edge.   The   majies   raised their   voices   in   tribute   to   the   long   life   of their    friend,    the    solemn    tug    of    loss resonating in their song. Ari’el   and   his   mate   drifted,   basking in   the   solidarity,   the   respect   the   majical kind offered. The   sun   fell   and   the   gnomes,   one   by one,   faded   back   to   their   homes   in   the ethereal. © R. Mac Wheeler 2017