[ WP ] `` It would serve you well to fear the sky . ''

The sun never ceases to rise on these, the coldest of days. The soft powdered snow falling softly to the Earth, as if reluctant to freeze upon its harsh ground. However, what comes from the sky should know the Earth is much safer than what dwells above. The cold wind pushes closed the window through which I stare upon the snow, bringing with it a bone chilling sensation, or rather, the lack thereof. The air is not as cool as I remember it being, and the days are steadily getting longer. When the sky clears, they will return, the creatures that truly rule over these lands. The accursed ones, looting, raiding, violating. Without cause, without care, they swoop in from the mountains, their long barbed tails finding consistent mark in the flesh of our wives, our children, our livelihoods. We have tried to flee, on more than one occasion. They herd us in like sheep to a field, taking all those who threaten their borders. As the sun rises further in the sky, the shadow of the eastward mountains looms over the village with a chilling darkness not even the brightest of lanterns can seemingly illuminate. When the sun sets, the westward borders echo their message. 
 
 I finish off my brew, not ready for the day ahead. Another day in the cold fields, the only time of year our crops grow. The summers are dry and arid, and our soil turns to dust, the fall brings the cracking and crumbling of our foundation, the buildings dilapidated. The cold air of winter ’ s breath allows the vegetation to take root, forcing our people to slave away in the maw of the flesh devouring winters. Work in the fields means vulnerability not only to the elements, but to the creatures that circle overhead, their large wings blotting the sun from our view, casting shadows on our heads that prophesize our imminent fate. We have tried to leave. We have tried to die. They will not allow it. 
 
 Once the fields have been worked, we must make offering of livestock, one for every member of our party, lest one of us is taken instead. Our food goes to the raising of these beasts, with long horns protruding towards the ground. We have tried to poison them, to put an end to the beasts overhead, but they know. They take us as revenge, dragging our organs across the cobbled streets as a message. We have tried to eat the poisoned beast. To die, they deny our requests. 
 
 After the offering, we raise young, sometimes as legacy, sometimes as livestock. Sometimes we do not want to, but human desire is all we have left. We must embrace it, for what good does it do us if death can not find us first? We tell our children legends of the people who forced us here, beneath the talons of these accursed beings. We tell our children the legends of these great beasts, and the wrongs they have committed, in the hopes that one day, our children shall free us as we have tried to free our fathers. 
 
 When we are young, we fear what lies in the darkness, in the shadows between mountains, in the deepest valleys seemingly forgotten by the Earth. We are taught to fear what we do not know, in the hopes that the shedding of light will teach us to live without fear. Here, we teach our children to embody fear. It is all we have left. It serves us well to fear the sky, lest we forget why the sky itself fears us. We have tried to abandon hope, abandon life, abandon humanity, but the pursuit of life will not allow it. 
 
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