New Dawning

A short story of an adventurer who seeks guidance from his old friend, a rock, on a quest to become a werewolf. Inspired both by Enya and JK. (Comment please on constructive criticism because I sort of was running out of time and had to speed things up a bit)

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1. New Dawning

     Upon returning home from my quest of the unicorn horn, I had become unnaturally intrigued by the search of a werewolf. Before this time, I had only thought of them as lies wrapped in an increment of truth that gleamed through the darkened surface. Perhaps I had been overwhelmed by my previous success, but surely, as you can imagine, the truth of a secret unicorn horn (blessed to be with us on earth) had seemed false to me at one time. And with this, this very thought, in mind I began my research.

     For me, the beauty of a quest has always been the start of it: as the possibilities are limitless but the reward ever so unforgotten once in your hands. To this, I set off to the place I had normally began, a friend who breaths ancient knowledge. Though at first I was taken by his appearance and form, I had just realized how real this friend was. It was a rock, and I have never been so grateful as to meet him in my life: listening to him speak his old and earthly wisdom was legendary! You see, I guess it is true that a friend can be found at all places of the world if you are only willing to look and keep an open mind.

     The story of this particular rock was long ago, in a little place (today) known as Stonehenge. Sages of an ancient time thousands of years ago had learned how to enchant rocks with life. However, they needed something to attract the cosmic energy found all over the world, one only needs to control its power, and thus Stonehenge was born, the first cosmic power plant of its kind. Through these mystical powers, sages would enchant rocks, the most ancient things in the universe, with diverse and strong will. Ordinary men could not comprehend them as living, but they were very alive nonetheless and spoke only when spoken to.

     Upon meeting my old friend in a deep cavern that I may not reveal for his safety, my face became befuddled to hear that he had little knowledge of the werewolves. He spoke as if he was hiding something, but my closest friend assured me otherwise. However, through our long conversation, he did assure me that there were some who were very knowledgeable of such things, and often times they gave the knowledge quite freely. With hearing this, I bowed before the rock and thanked him as a rock would do had it had any appendages. I threw a fist down on the table we had spoken across and the rock summoned the table of stone to shake and shutter (as rocks have the ability to enchant other nonliving stones to do so).

     Little insight I had as to where I should start to look to begin my quest, but surely the rock knew that I would be better off if I searched alone without any suggestions. Honestly, I believe the rock was just so stubborn to tell me that he knew as little as I did when it came to this, but I will never know; after all it is quite respectable for him to help me at any time already.

     Suddenly after years of searching for a scholar of werewolf society and sects, I found myself stumbling into a hotel not far from the coast of the Atlantic Ocean. I was in England and originally I was only supposed to spend my time lightly here as I was waiting for a lift across onto the mainland of Europe. But, something was enthralling me to stay; I cannot say what but I had the urge to stay put.

     One day, inside the café I often visited to have a short breakfast, I saw a rather pretty, young lady. I took a seat in front of her that day and quickly found out that she was very familiar with the beasts I sought after. She was cunning and clever in her speech and extraordinarily polite and wonderful to talk to. And as quickly as I found out she was a scholar of werewolves she too found out quickly why I sought after them. At first my reasons for seeking them were deemed wrong, but in a little while, she insisted that it would be much better to become one. There was but one problem I faced and feared: I was to approach them unarmed with nothing in hand.

     This was a slightly frightful way to begin a morning’s breakfast, but I wouldn’t have had it any other way. She was clearly amazing (even if she wouldn’t admit it herself), and now I had been fully equipped with the trinkets for my quest. Surprisingly, all I needed was knowledge- a rather light physical burden to carry but the weight of knowledge can sometimes be unbearable. I sincerely thanked her for all her help she had given me, and after a friendly hug she gave me an unusual star sticker to which she put on my nose. I can’t necessarily say why, but I was promised that if I had collected a hundred more from my travels something would be given in exchange for my efforts. A start to another journey had just begun!

     I travelled back and returned back to the place I had once passionately called home, a little farmhouse nested in a valley of rolling hills. The house was now abandoned with broken windows and faded memories now lying on the floor; it was no longer a home for humans but for creatures of all sorts. I chuckled and thought that perhaps a rock had finally found a place to call ‘paradise’ here.

     As I wandered through the pastures that were once roamed by goats and cattle, I noticed a peculiar trail leading deep into the woods. Could this be one of the paths that werewolves used to patrol their outlining territory that Kammy had informed me about? I started following the winding path into dark woods from the towering canopy of newborn leaves.

     I found a rounded grassland in the woods, where beams of sunlight shined through and flowers grew around a large stone that was very well rounded and smooth. Taking a closer look, I examined the rock; my face became pale. Claw marks, as described by Kammy back in England, scratched the lower surface of the rock, and knowing that nightfall was near… there was no turning back. I would wait for them sitting upon the rock: my head hung low and eyes closed only to open when I could feel them breathing down my neck.

 

Looking at the stars for perhaps my last time on perhaps my very last journey, I wondered: how hard could it be to catch one hundred more stars if there’s already so many?

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