I shape the sphere, the seas may roil, or they may be still, the sky may crack and thunder, it may be still and sweet. I lay the land, through my hands it is barren, or it is bountiful.

The flora I shape, the fauna I furnish.

The people who go upon the world, they could be elves, cherishing the waters and the trees that surround them, or they may be werewolves, relishing the hunt and the kill; they could be humans, toiling at war with one another or enjoying the easy peace of farming the soil.

I may call magic from the land, radiating from the ground itself, or summoned from etched runes and incantations, rituals or sacrifice.

I give breath to the protagonist, I provide the rage to their nemesis.

Each word, every motivation, I prescribe.

Whether from my waking world at large, the depths of my dreams, or some fevered combination of the two, it’s all the same; it bleeds from the point of my pen, the tips of my fingers.

Writing is creation, and I, we, are the creators.

The veil was lifted.

Orn had been right.

He had gibbered and raved at Ged nonstop after consuming the spotted mushrooms and it seemed to be foolish, but he was right. After nearly nonstop pestering Orn had finally managed to get Ged to consume caps from the same cluster as he, and shortly after, Ged had seen. The world, already uncertain and dangerous, had taken on another aspect. The edges blurred, became fuzzy and more uncertain still. The plants entranced, the creatures fascinated, even the clouds held a thrall that was beforehand unappreciated.

It seemed the surroundings were attempting to reach out and speak in a way that was just beyond sight and nearly in reach, but kept slipping away. After one focused, as Orn instructed Ged, they could receive messages from their surroundings. Ged saw what Orn had in the flora around them. Each boasted abilities all their own. Some of these plants were capable of alleviating discomfort in the stomach, others could chase away pain in the tooth, another still could soothe the swelling of bites from various bugs, and still a myriad other effects could be gained from those countless other plants.

Ged was still reeling when they returned to the grand fire shared by their tribe members. Still under the effects of the consumed caps, Geb became particularly enthralled by the antelope brought back by the hunters on their daily expedition. The creature glowed with vitality despite having been killed. Geb could see the speed it’s muscles offered, the strength it’s blood promised. Gripped by sudden insight and inspiration, he took up one of the crude knives wielded by his brethren and cut until he retrieved the heart, he spoke over the glowing muscle briefly before offering it to the head of the hunters, promising it would bring him speed and agility unheard of in the days to follow. The hunter consumed the organ, clearly skeptical, but hungry.

The day after, another antelope was brought back to the grand fire, and the hunters marveled at their leaders strength and speed in the creatures pursuit, begging for Geb to honor and bestow them with the same abilities. Geb, with the help of Orn’s enlightening caps, granted their wishes, and each were adorned with headdresses constructed from the horns of the first two claimed antelopes.

It was not long after that nightly ceremonies were held, led by Orn and Geb, to endow various members of the tribe with gifts offered by nature around them. Soon the tribe, guided by the two shamans prospered greatly over the other surrounding bands, and rival members came in droves to pledge themselves, hoping for admittance; since it became well known that the clan, through the magic and wisdom of the Brothers Two, was granted strength by the fauna they honored and consumed, and were healed by the flora they treasured and harvested.

Each time you recall them it will hurt, an ache budding from deep roots that can never be removed. Every time you remember their laugh, every time you recollect a long past conversation, a favorite memory, a treasured embrace; you will long for them, seek some sort of reprieve. To think that the world goes on to turn without them will ravage you, when you let it. But this too, shall pass.

It may never heal, not completely, but the scar will become a part of you. When it does, you will see that these pain riddled memories are gifts. You will know that the more painful the recollection, the more valuable the moment. Cling to that value, rather than the pain. Memorize the message, the humor, the lessen or love you received rather than the departure. In doing so you allow whosoever passed to remain with and help to make you stronger, rather than condemn them to become the shackle and fetter that drug you into darkness.