Flash Fiction

It was in days like these that the followers of Hella, Hella of the golden age, laid their mark on the world. They were creatures of great maturity and wisdom. They were long lived and made the most of the time available. It is thought that their speech was, if it was speech at all, came out like song. A modulated baritone, extremely rounded and flowing. 

They made their mark by laying on the world, a grid of power, etched deep into the land. They moved along these lays gathering knowledge. Eventually the world was righted and those followers of Hella rested. 

After a millennia of millennia those same followers were much forgotten and a new tribe arose. The new tribe, who were followers of none, misunderstood the lays of power and trampled them deep underfoot. They communicated with no one but themselves and they spoke of naught but the future. Eventually they conquered the future. In taming the future they accidently exposed the past. They found the followers of Hella. They found the grids enmeshed in the planet and understood themselves for fools. They learned a better way.