The Rising Wind


I Órë Súrë

Apa rimpa rámar sa lirusta

Fëastaldar loapoldorë

Tá imi i vilya


Tamminsúrë astova

Lanyalte ter fanyar

Ar yanwë i hellër


Moina Voronwa

Ámër etelehtar sancëva tennar

Ecelli úoi, an meldenaitër anna turyandë

On rushing wings that chant

Valiant souls grow strong

High in the air


Wind-forged from dust

They weave through clouds

And bridge the skies


Familiar patience

Delivers us from hateful thoughts

Forsaken never, for true friends give encouragement

© 2020 Rahaman Writing

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"Approaching the docks, we heard the violent smashing of wood and the clanging of metal being pounded through the cold veil of white mist that hung in the air by the coast. With a sudden gust, the pale haze cleared to reveal a beast from the brine like none I had seen before or after my time on Kioshell Island. It was roughly the same size as the fishing ship that had ferried me here and was in the process of tearing apart a vessel of similar proportions with a cold fury, pausing only to fling away huge bits of debris or adjust the monstrous maw that was its shell: the living, partially decomposed head of a sky serpent.."