Not All Paths Lie Open

The traveller came to a sudden stop,

As the valley floor began to rumble,

And the Thunder Road
Collapsed into flattened,
Sand-like ash.

The valley groaned.

From beneath the ancient earth,
A great screaming skull
Slowly surfaced,
Its cavernous mouth forever open.

Grey ash
Poured from every hollow,
Falling like dry snow
Across the valley floor.

From behind the skull,
Long black feathered wings
Slowly unfurled,

Sweeping forward
Past the screaming face,

Like an inky black crown
Enveloping the ancient skull.

Filthy dark turquoise rags,
Emerge, blindfolding the skull,
In a binding wrap.

Then,

From the place
Where the great wings joined,

Ribs emerged.

A spine followed.

A second screaming skeleton
Forced itself into the light,
Its bones twisting
And clicking into place,
As though remembering
A shape long forgotten.

Grey vines
Burst from the earth,

Winding themselves
Around bone,
Wing
And skull.

They tightened.

They constricted.

Binding the terrible creature
To the valley floor.

From the length of the exposed spine,
Small sprigs of twisted vine
Began to grow,

Spreading slowly,

Until flesh,
Bone,
Wing
And root

Had become
A single living monument.

The traveller stood silently,

Watching the impossible guardian
Complete its ancient form.

It soon became clear

That this path
Was not yet open.

Without resistance,

The traveller turned,

Returning once more
To the Five Ways,

Knowing the road
Would one day
Call again,

When enough
Had been learned.