[ IP ] Storm Peaks

The elders told stories to us, of cycles of old time. They tell us of giant stone houses for more people than I have ever known. They tell us of grass lands, green and fresh but I am unsure what they mean by this. They tell us of great battles fought with giant birds, birds that spat fire and death. 
 
 These stories often keep me company when I was storm watching. We were nomads, this is what the elders said. The storm was always following; always chasing. 
 We survived this destruction. We were forever moving; the ground was our home. But some cycles the storm would reach us. Many died. 
 
 I often thought of the lessons the elders would teach us. 
 They spoke with such love of a world that had long since left them; blinded with nostalgia like that of an old lover. 
 
 I have no love for this world. For the never ending storm. For the constant hunger that never leaves your bones. For the constant thirst that can never be quenched. For the storm that has taken my family. 
 
 This is why I watch the storm. I watch it clash against the stone sky touchers. For we are not so unalike. Battered, broken, unyielding. 
 
 This storm will not claim us.
