“Now, it is yours,” he said. “You have won it, earned it, need it.” I nodded, not sure that I wanted the responsibility. This wasn’t passing a present forward, it was leaving all behind.
The knife shimmered in the fire light, sending sparks of it’s own up into the starscape of the night sky. Thin, carved a thousand years ago from the Sumanian tree. The heart wood, the tree’s life blood, flowed into the possessor. With it came strength against the winds of evil and storms of fire. The need to grow ever upward, to reach the sun and the moon. With it came the icy pain of loss, and the sweet breath of rebirth. If I took up the knife, I would become a tree spirit, sworn to protect all the trees, to answer quickly should one call out, and to preserve the link between our world and the natural one.
Protection was harder now. The forest faced devastation every day. I would be a constant warrior, battling to save what had felt no man’s blade. With a sad goodbye to my father, I took up the knife. It was meant to be. I crossed the line between our world and theirs.
As I travel through the world of writing prompts, the guideposts are what I read on others’ blogs. Although it might seem that way, I am not a creative writer stalker. I am, however, open to prompts that stretch my imagination and help hone my creative writing skills. So this is my first adventure with __ picture it & write.
© phylor 2015