Chatterbox: Inkwell

Dark, so very dark. Quiet too. Pinpoints of stars slowly pricked the black sky-wool, bu the moon was new. Two silent figures stood there, embracing the silence, the blackness. They didn’t glow. The quiet breeze flitted about the dark grass and the distant trees. 

“Is this it then?” 

“I think so.”

”And what of the guard?”

”Who can guess? If greater powers reveal it, or nay, let it be. Our time is no longer here.” A the glowing edges of a door appeared before them and, without another word, they stepped through. 

~~~

~Deep now, on the edge of late memory stands an golden chamber

There lies a great trove of feathers,

large and small,

soft and bristly,

patterned and gray

Two cloak’d friends finally arrived

and ascended the golden elevator

that yet retains its veins of silver

and behind left they a new feather

a feather of brown

the feather of

a kiwi bird.~