Lottery

It is about as perfect a spring day as one could hope for.  The sky above you is a sea of pristine blue, broken only by a singular white puffy cloud lingering in the north.  It is all that is left of the rainstorm that had drenched Lunaria the previous night.  As you stroll down a picturesque country road, you are obliged to watch your step across water-filled cart ruts, lest you wind up needing to complete your walk with uncomfortably dampened shoes.

 

Somewhere in the distance, you can still hear merry voices.  Not too long ago you had been perusing the wares at a small farmer’s market on the edge of an Earth Waja farming village.  Then you began to hear laughter, cheering, shouts of delight on the breeze.  And upon turning towards its source, you saw the dots of bright color hovering above the distant trees.  Kites.  No doubt a group of pups taking advantage of the cool morning breeze.  What a delightful way to celebrate such a beautiful day!  So you bid farewell to the Earth and Corsie market vendors, acknowledging you’ll be back in about an hour and yes, you are absolutely looking forward to fresh baked honey cakes, please save me some!  And off you go.  Not at all in a hurry, merely enjoying the sights and sounds of a wonderful land well into the midst of spring.

 

The voices start to grow louder as your journey brings you to a curve in the road around a copse of trees, the same trees above which you had seen the kites.  A soft breeze is whispering through the new emerald leaves, and you pause to listen to nature’s melody and admire the sunbeams dancing through the shade.

 

And then you find yourself staggering backwards as the gentle breeze amps up tenfold, and the air around you is suddenly filled with spinning oak tree seeds.  My, but that came out of nowhere!  Thankfully, you remain on your feet, though you can dimly hear that the tone of distant pup voices had turned from delights to startled cries of “don’t let it go!” and “it’s gonna fly away!”  Still, there remains some laughter to be heard, so your initial reaction to break into a jog and go to their aid is tempered, and instead you take a moment to recompose yourself.

 

“My apologies, friend.  The zephyrs tend to follow me on days such as these.”

 

The warm, deep voice from behind you makes you turn on your heel.  You stare in open amazement as none other than Lord Apollo himself appears before your eyes.  He smiles warmly at you, his eyes twinkling in amusement as he shuffles his wings before settling them in place along his back.  He does not seem to mind that it takes you a moment to remember yourself and bow in deference to him.

 

“No problems here, my lord Apollo,” you say.  “Though the pups ahead of us might find flying kites a little difficult…”

 

Another gust of wind interrupts you, sending an even thicker cloud of seeds and old leaves cascading through the air between you and the Lord of Lunaria.  One seed alights upon the end of Apollo’s muzzle, and he holds it balanced perfectly upon its end for a few moments before sending it on its way.  You grin in approval, and are even tempted to clap—so high are your spirits on this day—but another sound suddenly cuts through the air.  A wailing cry of genuine shock and misery that turns both your heads with sudden alarm.

 

“No!!  Not again!!”

 

“What’s going on?” you ask automatically.

 

Apollo does not immediately respond.  His eyes are studying the direction from which the voice had come, beyond the curve in the road but far closer than the pups.  

 

“It sounds like something is wrong,” he finally says.  He starts striding forward, his paws sinking into the wet road and leaving perfect prints…and yet not a speck of mud remains upon them as he walks.  When he passes you, he gestures you forward with a tilt of his muzzle.  “Come.  Let us see what has happened.”

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