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« on: October 01, 2018, 07:32:57 am »
I was the strongest among my flock, unmatched among my feathered kin save perhaps for my mate. Kings we were, perched high among the mortal world, and I was king of kings among them, flawless and unchallenged. My strength yielded me all I could desire, and I knew neither want nor sorrow. The concept of weakness was alien to me, a flaw to be exploited to be sure but I knew not its touch. Then the giant came with grasping claws, and taught me how weak I truly was.
There was no warning before it fell upon me; no omen or portent. No raven saw it approach. No snapping branches or rustling leaves warned of its presence. Even the whispers of the all-knowing wind refused to tell of its coming. Only when its shadow fell upon me, blotting out the very sun, did I finally sense its presence, and by then it was far too late.
It struck like a bolt of lightning, ensnaring my mate and I in its grasping claws, holding us rigid in its iron grip. Thirty ravens tall it must have been, with a body of iron and caged face of deathly calm, behind which lurked all the fury of the world. I struggled and writhed with all my strength, the strength I prided myself on, the strength that placed me above all ravens and all other creatures by proxy. But in that giant's hands my strength meant less than the shivers of a newborn hatchling in the cold night air. The great beast held me firm, and in its claws I was utterly powerless to escape. My struggles were futile, and in the fury behind that iron cage I could tell the giant knew. In that moment I knew what it meant to fear.
Why It did not simply kill and devour me I'll never understand. I struggled and scratched with increasing desperation, pecking and clawing and praying to break free, but it simply held me fast. It evaded my powerful strikes with the simplest of movements or shrugged them off like they were no more than the gentle caress of a wispy cloud. Robbed of even the grace of death, I was left with nothing but the vain struggle. So I consigned myself to my fate.
As the day grew on the giant began to tire, and hope took wing within me. Surely all beings must rest eventually! Hope roosted inside me and I struggled with renewed vigor. Though I could not hope to scratch, it, it could not hold me forever! So I vainly thought, and in my vanity I sealed my fate. I struck and scratched and reveled in the giant's slowing movements, so certain was I that I would soon be free. But as the beast groaned and collapsed, I found myself falling with it, pinned under the great beast. Even in the cold grip of dream, it refused to release its grip on me. It was in that moment that I knew despair.
I would lay trapped like this, I thought, for all eternity, a grim monument to those who thought themselves on top of the world. In that moment I was certain such would be my fate. But then I heard the cries of my mate, trapped on the other side of the beast, struggling the same as I, our fates entwined in misery. Enraged and emboldened by those cries, I cast everything else aside. Fear and pride, hope and despair, everything but the struggle. No! I crowed to the crushing dark. I refuse to accept this fate! Even if I'm dragged to the underworld itself, I will take wing and fly from its highest towers! I will feel the wind once more! For the first time, I knew what it was to desire.
I know not how long I struggled, trapped beneath that beast, embraced by cold iron claws and utter dark. I had only my increasing thirst and hunger to show me how long it had been, how much closer I had grown to letting the world slip away and take with it the dregs that remained of my life. I cried until I was hoarse, and when I could cry no longer I made my beak a weapon, gnawing and pecking and striking my foe. My claws found no purchase, my beak was worn smooth and blunt, but still I struggled. And somehow, as if yielding to sheer force of will, the great beast's armor began to crack.
Cold iron gave way to flesh, and eventually to bone and blood and sinew, as I scratched and clawed and dug my way free. When I emerged, soaked in the blood of the giant, I had been born anew, redefined by the struggle. My mate emerged beside me, and as we looked upon the great beast brought low I knew it now only as a reflection of myself. Though we had defeated it, it had forever changed me, shaped me, tempered me and instilled in me the same calm fury that had been caged inside it. I knew now what it was to be weak; that I had always been weak, and only in my ignorance had I thought myself strong. I knew now fear and despair, hunger and desire, and what it truly meant to suffer. But beyond all that, I knew what true strength was, and the struggle required to attain it.
I swore then that, no matter how many giants I must fell, I would never know weakness again.
