Bones on the Winds

[fluo]

As told by Glossbones

That was the thing about the perception of time. It moved, it went on and it changed. It flavored his thoughts and reactions until he felt something more. Despair and loneliness became his longest-held companions. Time wore on with grating slowness until he felt the first drop that became many more before stopping and changing to hardness of snow. And with that melted to runoff, he slid away and found himself beside rocks and took a laborious breath. In and out it went until the sun rose high in the sky many times and left a sheen on his cold hide. Standing, he shook off the swamp's carried grit from his back and his knees shook with the unaccustomed weight and action. Tear tracks long dried and crusted on his cheeks flaked under the unexpected movement. He forced a breath and found he did not like how the Swamp smelled. It didn't contain her scent. The Swamp became less warm. He was dying and cold; he required warmth.

Towering over the mangroves but not enough to eclipse the summits of the mountain range, his bones ached and creaked with unused disagreement. Dried scales fell to the ground in slight susurrus. Offering succor for his heart's pain, he inhaled and breathed out a paltry cloud. Again his lungs complied and this time the very last second a small flame burst forth. Not enough, latent magic burst from his blood to mix with the flames and fallen scales. Combustion upon contact and the scales disintegrated immediately, their ashes silent. Timid movement could be seen until noses poked through. Ice like the clear sky that would be his final home, orange like his flame, black like his dead heart, he was in a somber mood. Tiny things scuttled on all fours, their tips enflamed. They would be his final gift, but secretly he was pleased at the fires they would create.

Taking to the sky, he was little more than dried out husk on bones. The once mighty wings labored with his new interest in movement, the loss of weight was beneficial for once. Jangling in the clouds, bones clacked together, charred bits of ligaments tearing. One by one in elegant surrender, his body giving up long after his heart did. Lost and forgotten, the salamanders made do with their creator's carcass, the magic fusing with their strength. The Swamp burned for many seasons before they were tamed.