Young Writers Society

It had been a long time since Zyferous had seen light. Years infact. But now, as he stood atop the Greenwhich Hill, Jade Emblem clasped in his long, wirey hands, light came to him. When Zyferous had last reached these heights, his hair had been black as the raven who sat almighty on his withered shoulder, his bones had been strong, his mind cunning. Now as he stood, his shadow reflected him as a man, an old man, his long, glistening beard hinted with only clues of sepia, his hair, which fingered his shoulders, was thinning. His cape worn. Laughing, the old man raised his head over the tiny coves and villages which made up the four connecting towns of Larden, Potter, Sphinx and Darwen. "They think they, the all mighty once have taken me down and fed me as the past memory. But let me tell you, the almighty have fallen." Zyferous's cape blew in an easterly wind, a deep, howling wind which swept up the think beige waters of the Darwen lakes and led black clouds against the sun.