All religion, my friend, is simply evolved out of fraud, fear, greed, imagination, and poetry.
~ Edgar Allen Poe

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The Rainy Ridge.

It was on the opposite end of Atlantis but it was the other turmoulous territory. It was darker than the harbor, the rocks jutted out harshly and the waves slapped mercilessly against them. The harbor was prone to the hurricane winds and was flat, an easy target to be wiped out by hurricanes, the littered palms on the beach proved that.

The Ridge offered more shelter, more cover for the equines here but it was also rockier and when Midas stepped over the boundaries, he felt as though he had somehow stepped back into the Quarry even though that was only a memory for the select few who would remember it.

It was weird to think his old home was gone, a murky myth that his hypothetical children would never get to see. Generations would pass on and soon no one would even remember the name of Cimarron.

Midas moved under the threatening skies that were full of black clouds. Summer loved to pour rain on this tropical land. As he closed the distance between him and this land, he let out a summoning call. It was not humble, it was not challenging, but rather announced his presence to the leader of this place. Midas had heard it rumored that a man named Hollowpoint owned this land, and if that was true, then they needed to speak.

Midas knew how important Hollowpoint was to Aria, he had to find out if this was her father, he had not told her of his travel on that day. For all she knew, he was grazing in the jungle, he would wait to see what kind of man Hollowpoint was, if he was willing to see his daughter again but more importantly if he wanted to see his daughter again. Midas would not introduce trauma into his girl’s life. He had trouble believing that any father could be a good one but he was willing to chance the possibility if it made his painted girl happy.

He waited and watched the sea churn in the distance. Midas thought of his old friend, Spartan. A man he assumed was now dead, he had already spent hours meditating over the loss and said his peace. “Αναπαύσου εν ειρήνη, παλιός φίλος” He whispered into the swirling wind and his tones were lost at sea.

midas
speak in silent tongues

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