Another snippet of something that may become something else, but for now is content to be 200 Words.
The land of the midnight sun. But not what you are thinking.
This sun, raging and pink tinged, glows continually. But there is little heat. There are no days and no nights, only this gloom of time. It is broken like the land we live in. We live on dust and the meagre seeds of hope.
This valley I gaze upon is sacred ground. And forbidden. For that is where the Fire War blazed. The last great war which shaped my future and the future of the handful of us that are left.
It is a crater now, empty and brooding, remembering its history in the pock marked landscape. The peaks at the eastern side stand proud against the broken blister sky. One day I will travel there and stand gazing up at them. I know they will be too tall for me to see the tips. They will pierce the pink like knife points in a wound.
But for now I am waiting, hoping, crouched in the red dust, chilled to the bone and listening for the heavy flap of a leather wing. The echo of yesterday’s kingdom in the silent wilderness.
Waiting for dragons and wishing for fire.