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Queen Snow and Myron sit on a blanket at the edge of camp. Long, supple shapes in the distance slide across the ground creating patterns, flowing in and around each other, like schools of fish. As the first rays of the sun lighten the sky, Myron shifts to kneel. Queen Snow does the same. She now sees legs, tails and glitter golden eyes. Even though the sun has yet to touch the desert, the air is super heating, getting more difficult to endure by the second. Many of her retinue retreat into the reflective buried tents. This is tough land for ice born she acknowledges, as sweat coats her body, pooling, running, dripping, wetting the sand.

The lizards quicken their pace and as the first rays of light strike, they rise on their back legs and dance their pattern still, dark green scales turning red, then gold. As the sun rises higher the scales lighten to yellow, then to blinding white. Myron prays.

With a steam-releasing hiss, they burst into flame taking brief flight on webbed wings of fire. Just as quickly they wink out leaving nothing but a wisp of fine bone dust. One after the other they burst and flame away, each fire slightly different in color. A prism of life. Myron rises and offers Snow his hand.

“The final stage of Ascension. They have lived all their lives and are now free of the physical bonds of this land.”
“They remain in some other way?” she asks.
“Every living thing leaves their mark on this world. Traces. Some larger than others.” He says gesturing to the lavender streak in the sky and then to the wet sand where Queen Snow had just been kneeling. “We need to get you inside. It comes.”

Rolling towards them is a wall of heat simmering and thick. The wind lashes her forearms, raising welts. She stumbles while running, Myron grabs her, drags her to the tent and tosses her inside.

“Come in! You must!”
“This is my land. Do not worry.” He raises his arms above his head, covers himself in scales and descends into the sand leaving a pile of yellow silk behind. Snow grabs it and pulls it into the tent sealing the door behind her.
“Neat trick,” she mutters, now fully understanding their need for nighttime travel.


Inspired by: You have 400 words to write a fiction or creative non-fiction piece about freedom

So, yea, after saying I wasn’t going to post this story and talking about the difficulties in posting serial stories…I did again this week.

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