The Long Tale No. 2 - Ever Onwards

The small bird flew, silently, over the rolling hills. It was heading, ever onwards, towards the rising light of the moon. The air was still and clear giving the night a sterile quality and, yet, the feel of the place was that of a calm before the storm. The man below shivered as the bird flew overhead, caressing the sky with each tiny movement of its wings. The moon, risen to its throne, shone and illuminated the tiny black bird, a speck amongst the vast sky. And ever onwards this bird flew, into the night. Ever onwards, for ever more.