Perception Of Reality:

I recently enjoyed a conversation with my nephew David.

Broad, it was, on the nature of reality,

Of the uncertainty that surrounds it,

And us, our very existence,

And ‘je pense donc je suis /

Cogito ergo sum’,

Being pretty much all we could

Be certain of, though David’s certainty

Was a conditional thing.

Anyway, this got me thinking.

Reality, it seems to me,

If looked at long term,

Is something we will

Certainly never understand

If we define reality as

‘What really is’.

What we refer to as reality

Is that which we’ve agreed,

Or our ancestors agreed for us,

With the majority of other people,

And don’t constantly row about.

This can, of course, be localised.

Witness some of the folk

In the boonies in the US

Compared to people in

Cosmopolitan London

Or the chic of Paris.

(Or Trump v President Macron)

Let us agree, then, that

It is a set of concepts and principles

Which are pretty loose and flexible

But allow us to communicate

(Quite often fairly superficially)

And cooperate and coexist as a species …

Most of the time.

Generally speaking we’re pretty much in agreement

About what a chair or a table is,

And that they are solid, not arguing overly

From a philosophical or scientific

Point of view about the properties of

Solids, liquids, gases and so forth,

On a day to day basis, which,

Let’s face it, would be tedious.

These relatively simple agreed things

Are generally covered by

Concrete common nouns.

When it come to abstract issues,

Covered by abstract nouns, however,

Such as the nature of hope, faith, love,

Hate, honour, loyalty, duty, grace and

That old bête noire, morality …

Ah, then it gets more exciting!

We explored, too, the possibility of predestination,

A concept I abhor as the ultimate cop out for taking

No responsibility for ones life.

“It was meant to be.”  Bullshit!

On we moved to the programming

We receive through our genes, and

The environment we grow in,

Just as the flowers, grasses,

Lichens, mighty oaks,

And little or larger beasties do,

To a lesser or greater degree.

That’s where predestination gets its fatal blow,

I believe.  Individuals, certainly in beasties,

Put together all that programming

In different ways, and so we have ‘will’,

And depending on the brain size

Of the beasties, and one or two other factors,

The greater the freedom

Of ‘will’ and individuality we develop,

The less we follow our instincts.

And so we come back, then, to reality,

That most individual of constructs,

With a cooperative twist,

Depending, as it does,

On at least some societal agreement.

Now, please bare with me.

I was driving back from the lake one day

And swerved a little to avoid a snail,

Smack, bang in the middle of the road.

Perhaps I should have stopped

And put it out of harm’s way,

But I didn’t.  What I did do

Was imagine, no, let’s say,

Tried to imagine, what such

An action would do to that snail’s ‘reality’?

I think, nothing, as flying is not within

The snail’s conceptual framework.

Its reality does not allow for it.

It would, in essence, be a non-event,

Though I’ll concede it might

Crap itself.  I’m sure I would

In those circumstances!

On that thought, the snail’s reality

Is hugely limited by the depth

And breadth of its experience,

Due, predominantly, to the size of his brain.

(The Magic Roundabout’s Brian,

He who Dougal unfairly referred to as

‘A sloppy mollusc’, did not, in fact exist.)

I saw then a woodpecker flit

Between two trees.  His reality would perhaps

Be more 3D than mine, I don’t know,

But for reasons posited above, that reality, too,

Is limited, though more sophisticated also

Because it can communicate,

And cry, ‘Danger’, or ‘Fancy a shag?’

To others of his species.  That, in itself

Complicates reality, that sharing of concepts,

Or shall we say, the attempts to do so.

His reality, however, as with the snail’s,

Is partially guided by that which we loosely

Refer to as instinct, defined for this discussion

As ‘an innate, typically fixed pattern of behaviour

In animals in response to certain stimuli.’ 

For our purposes here I would flag the word

‘Animals’, in that semantically, though precisely

It includes humans, we tend to think of it as not

Doing so – an odd, human conceit.  Here it does.

Now, I don’t know where woodpeckers choose

To spend winter, but many birds have such

A complex instinct it enables them,

With no reference to maps or Satnav,

To travel the most extraordinary distances

Accurately, as do salmon, of course,

Though generally speaking, not taking to the air,

Apart from their endeavours to leap up weirs and so on.

Instinct is tricky, ill-defined and can be suicidal. 

We may return to it later. 

The pair of Magpies, too, which I saw fluttering

Like Chinese kites on a windy day, have a firm grip

On what they perceive to be reality.  I saw then,

However, a deer.  Its reality and instincts would be

Different from the Magpies, probably more complex.

The reality of the deer is not concrete and, as with

Every other living thing, it is hugely influenced

By its environmental and familial restrictions and,

Critically, its ability to learn, adapt and,

Here I tread most carefully,

Rise up above its instincts,

Just as hedgehogs do who run

Across the road when seeing lights

Instead of curling into a ball.

Rabbits, too, with that appalling scourge,

Myxomatosis, are more likely to survive

When they forsake living in burrows

And live in hedges and such like.

A bear’s reality, born in a zoo to parents who were

Born in the zoo, would be hugely at variance to

That of a wild bear.  Some of the instincts would

Be the same but, critically, some would differ.

It seems to me that the more sophisticated

The creature’s brain,

The more complex its ability to be aware and adapt

To its environment, to semi-control it in some cases.

It appears also, that the more complex its communication,

Conceptualisation and resultant reality,

The less it appears to be in touch with its instincts.

One of the things humanity has learned about reality

Is that we know very little about it,

Both as individuals and as a collective species.

(Unless you’re a JW, flat-earther, Trump or Brexiteer,

Who all think they’ve got everything totally sussed)

As we continue to thrive, the reality is

That we know we know less and less

About real reality,

Whatever that may be.

The reality of the snail,

For the snail, is pretty straightforward,

For an amoeba, even more so.

Reality becomes more complex and shaky

The more we move up the species ladder.

Assuming we accept that the reality of humans,

(Other than for the aforementioned)

Is more complex, and at the same time much shakier

Than it is for just about any other creature …

The old saw, ‘the more you know, the less you know’ ...

We thus live with greater uncertainty

And change, on a daily basis;

And as society advances, reality keeps changing,

And our world view has to change with it,

Faster and faster,

Yet still we need to maintain

That loose general agreement

As to what reality is, which

Becomes more complicated when

It’s about, let’s say, String Theory,

Or what a Freedom Fighter is

As opposed to a Terrorist,

Than when we agree

About what a table is.

One consequence of this is that with the total sum

Of human knowledge rising exponentially,

It is quite possible that if we were to be dropped

Into the world of our great grandchildren,

Much of reality would be so alien to us,

Like the snail’s experience flying,

It would be full of non-events,

Events our minds could not give meaning to.

Now, this takes us on quite straightforwardly

To Jack Russells.  Everybody who has had contact

With a Jack Russell knows that all is not as simple

As it appears.  No indeed!  A Jack Russell is

The physical manifestation of a cross dimensional

Super intelligent being and guardian of all sorts of stuff

Which is too complex for us to even begin to understand.

The actual JR manifestation represents just

One 100^th of their being; it is that part which

Allows some fun, irresponsibility and relaxation

Into their otherwise incredibly serious and responsible

Lives.  (This, incidentally, is why JRs think they’re so large.)

Now, to recap, as we have learned by looking at

The increasing level of uncertainty with regard to reality,

It is very much associated with progressively more

Sophisticated intelligence, conceptualisation,

Communication and the ability to learn and adapt

Behaviours relative to what has been learned,

And rise up above instinct, which deals in ‘certainties’.

Right. Now what does this logically suggest concerning

The cross dimensional super intelligences

And their grasp of reality?

Well I’ll tell you what it suggests. 

It suggests that their grip on reality

Is even more tenuous than ours.

Again, I give you the Jack Russell.

Enough said.

And the infinitely superior, cross dimensional

And temporal super, fabulous intelligences which

Stand the moon and stars above them; what

Is their grasp of reality going to be like?

Well, I think we can fairly safely surmise

That it isn’t going to be very good at all.

So, if you really want to know, this whole reality

Thing is arse about face; the amoeba has the greatest

Grip, and those super-dupper, hyper, cross-dimensional

Cross temporal etc intelligences – shit, let’s just call them Gods –

Who organise and oversee the working of

The whole kit and caboodle

Are truly out for lunch, have totally lost their grip

And are absolutely off their trolleys, reality-wise.

The truth is, then, that the universe is being run by lunatics,

All of which explains, for instance, why Donald Trump is

President of the USA, the UK is going to Brexit,

The stupid think they know everything,

The wise think they know nothing,

And all the other weird shit that makes no sense.

It’s comforting to know there’s a reason,

Don’t you think?

No, nor do I.

Reflections On An Old Lady:

I saw an old lady

In the supermarket yesterday.

Really small, she was,

Sort of scrunched up,

Like a cold sparrow,

And hunched over a trolley,

Leaning on it for support 

Of her squat and aged body.

She was well enough dressed, you know,

Not poor or clad without a thought,

And as first I saw her, I noticed

How she took the trouble to dye her hair,

And how very thin it was,

At the back of her head,

And I wondered if she knew?

Wondered if some

Well-meaning fool,

Or nasty, hurtful bastard,

Had told her so?

I hoped not.

I watched quite intently

As she moved slowly,

Her trolley a mobile Zimmer-frame,

Her body creaking,

Each step small,

Carefully and deliberately placed,

And I felt pity;

Sorrow for the ravages of time

Which had brutalised her thus.

I noted a wedding ring upon her finger

And considered how once

She had probably been

A pretty woman,

Or characterful, or both,

And had turned the heads,

And hearts of lovers,

Perhaps dancing the nights away;

Maybe working as a physicist, by day,

At MIT's Plasma Science and Fusion Centre;

Bringing children into the world,

Experiencing both agony and ecstasy;

Retiring to the good life.

And I wondered then

If her final choice of companion still lives,

And how he or she has fared with times’ attrition?

Passing her, I cast a sly glance at her face.

Lined, it was, etching more clearly

Than any tattoo, the story of her soul’s life.

It, too, had broadened, perhaps just with time,

And reflected many tales and incidents,

Plus an aging body which hurt somewhat,

And almost always,

And most certainly when moving,

Fast or slow,

Despite the drugs,

Which maybe kept her alive.

I could see there, clearly writ,

Both pain and fortitude.

A strong jaw she had, snub nose,

High forehead and cheekbones,

And keen and curious eyes

Which showed depth,

Deep as a cool, clear well.

Her trolley had, amongst other things I noticed,

Some sort of muesli, cat food, butter, eggs,

Ham, Greek yoghurt, a half baguette,

(Did this suggest she lives alone,

Or that her partner prefers the croissants

She had carefully placed in the trolley?)

Pasta, sauce sachets, and wine;

Quite decent wine, as it happens. 

She was not poor, I thought.

The contents of her trolley,

Her clothes, her shoes, her handbag,

All testified to her financially comfortable state.

It’s odd, then,

That my sympathy for her

Remained; a sincere sympathy but,

I realised, upon a little reflection,

In some ways patronising …

Actually, in all ways patronising.  Very! 

I was almost physically jolted

With the irony of the situation.

I, an old guy, though not as old,

With thinning hair and

My inappropriate ponytail,

Wraggle-arsed jeans,

Boots, dark shades,

And a gut, propped on my trolley’s push-bar,

Could be being observed by somebody younger,

Who was thinking the same thoughts about me;

Sincere sympathy, which if expressed

Would irritate the hell out of me,

Because I am not to be patronised,

Thank you very much,

And I require no sympathy!

So, the scales fell away from my eyes.

The old lady might well feel perfectly the same.

Her life might be good, rich with love,

The pleasure of slow walks

Where she’s obliged to stop,

And smell the roses;

Intellectual curiosity

The joy of new learning,

And an appreciation of

Life,

The Universe,

And Everything;

Of just how wonderful living is,

A feeling which grows with age;

How each dawn is to be grasped,

Not greedily, or fearful of no more,

But fully appreciated as the gift it is, 

And never to be taken for granted

In a Universe mostly cold and hard.

She probably realises

How fortunate she is,

To have lived this long,

When, in the history of humanity,

It is a privilege denied to most.

Though the young think

Somehow it’s smart to be young,

The really smart and lucky thing

Is managing to get to be old

And enjoy its advantages.

Perhaps, like me, she looks back

At her younger self as another person,

Related and, in an odd way loved,

Or at least viewed with rueful

And, quite possibly, embarrassed affection,

But, thank God, no longer with us!

Perhaps, like me, she celebrates

The memories of the joys of the body

In youth, and the not so youthful times;

The wonder and memories of the journey,

Thus far, across all the years,

And now the great joys of the mind,

And the time, experience and perspective,

To consider the astonishing complexity of it all,

With more chance of applying

Some hard-won wisdom.

So, as she trudged, perchance aching,

And as I trudged and judged, also aching,

Perhaps like me, despite this, she is

Happier now than she has ever been,

And considers the creaking body

A mobility system for moving the brain

From one learning experience to another,

And finds the creakiness, pain

And remembering when to take all her pills,

A more than reasonable price to pay

For the glorious twilight years,

When The Sandman makes dreams

A fantastic adventure every night,

And by day the Deity supplies

A wonderful haven here in Brittany,

For the timely examination of the world, the people,

The grace within life,

And the inner landscapes

Which can, limitless, reach out

Across all of time and space to eternity!

So, I will not again patronise the elderly,

For I have not walked in their shoes;

And should you care to patronise me

I don’t, in truth, mind or care,

For it is based on ignorance.

Just as I know not yours,

You know not the extraordinary joys

Of walking – or limping! - in my shoes.

I’m not selfish about my joys, however,

And if you are younger, I wish you luck;

If you are older, I salute your success.

Long may you continue to be my role models!

Pride and Prejudice:

Vashti a picture drew most careful in the sand, a map of sorts 

With some diagrammatic flourishes.  Feel she could the heat of 

Wyvern breath on her cheek as Marsh peered down and slowly 

Memorised the route and it mind-cast to the clans.  They might 

Well unleash Hell on Earth when they eventually got there!  The 

Time of reckoning was long in coming but would be short in 

Execution, unless it was that that which had been stolen, oh so 

Many turns ago was returned.  As soon as Vashti finished had 

And knew that Marsh understood, up his scales clambered she 

And settled she upon her saddle, holstering her Clouding Lance, 

A gift of time from The Predecessors cache, as prepared she for 

The exhilaration of flight.  Ridden had she with Marsh hundreds 

Of times but the feeling of his great muscles uncoiling as leapt 

He to catch the  air and his huge wings cracked down, giving 

Him upward thrust, still her thrilled.  Momentarily then thought 

She of Glest and the fervour of his burning anger, and smiled.  

…………………………………………………………………..

Tarn looked down from the High Tower, frustrated by the chaos 

He below observed as prepared they to withstand the attack of a 

Myth.  Still was he not sure he believed, but most clear it was 

That his father did, and the word of the Mage was law!  Easily 

Flammable items in the Great Citadel being hauled were, under 

Such cover as could be found in haste, and huge tanks of water 

Placed strategically were, with pumps shielded by new Iron-

Tree caps.  Despite them, mused he, he really wouldn’t rate the 

Chances of their Citizen operators if that of which his father 

Spake, of the impending attack, really came to pass.  Some of 

The Free-Folk the same thing were thinking, judging on how 

Many who had tried to flee their sworn duty to home and hearth 

Defend.  Never had they thought they would have to, and now it 

Was they did, little enthusiasm showed too many, plus a new 

Realisation that they should have those fine ancestral weapons 

Maintained much more careful, that they so proudly had hung 

Upon the walls of their Keeps.  Reality had changed, so it was 

Must they, or all to the oncoming mutant horde would be lost.

…………………………………………………………………..

The Historian viewed the screens, occasionally instructing a 

Zoom in.  He felt rising excitement.  When the bot had woken 

Him from a deep sleep he had initially wondered if the Central 

Computer’s assessment of the situation was correct.  It certainly 

Appeared that it was!  The Clans were rising, cooperating for 

The first time in a thousand years.  It had taken him weeks of 

Study to ascertain the situation.  This would be the fifth rising, 

And if successful, exchange of population dwelling in the Great 

Citadel! A disciplined group of pariahs with old-true mutations 

Had managed to survive their initial, painful  expulsion from the 

Citadel and had, it now appeared, succeeded well in setting up a 

Colony, safe in caves at the foot of the great range of mountains 

Where the Wyverns eyries lay.  The Citadel must have ignored, 

As had happened four times before, the possibility that these 

Pariah folk might breed and grow stronger, not weaker, as was 

The belief behind Auxiliary Ordinance 5 of the Citadel which 

Demanded their absolute exile immediately they were thought 

Old enough to survive in the Wilds.  Whatever the outcome, it 

Was possible they’d regret their casual and apparently erroneous 

Assumption.  Now, what was the lance the woman clutching?

…………………………………………………………………..

Glest his hand raised, exclaiming a great whoop of joy as at the 

Last saw he the Wyvern clans swing in line abreast towards his 

Signal. Amazed again was he at Vashti’s ability to motivate and 

Lead.  Many had tried, all before had failed.  At the last then he 

Could Marsh pick out and ran he to his landing place, countless 

Wyverns putting down all around him.  Vashti off his back slid 

And with a questioning look upon her face stood.  He nodded 

And she it was who could now be restful within her heart as the 

Last rock fell into her wall of total conquest.  Turned she then 

And bowed, formally taking leave of Marsh, and then Glest 

Followed within a cave, wonderfully concealed, set back it was, 

Into the mouth of which a vast, circular, steel door beckoned 

And forbad in equal measures.  Glest his palm placed against a 

Sensor and the mighty portal rolled back, lights flickering for a 

Moment before to a constant glow settling.  Entered they and 

Down a corridor walked, upon the walls of which exquisite and

Extraordinary murals the lives depicted of a species unlike any 

They heretofore had seen.  Winged, they were, and beautiful in 

Every case.  Their treasure here though was not for beauty built.

…………………………………………………………………...

Tarn to his father bowed and the Judging Hall departed, leaving 

Him his wisdom to bestow upon Free-Folk, almost hysterical, 

Who release wished from their duty of defending the Grand 

Citadel for excuses that seemed often absurd, and enter the ill- 

Understood maze of tunnels which lay beneath their trembling 

Feet!  They him disgusted, and admired he the Mage’s patience 

As most careful he explained yet again that if all concealed were 

In the tunnels, none would there be left to lead the vassal’s, and 

None would there be to wield the ancient weapons of power, so 

Their tunnel sojourn would surely in disaster end, whereas if 

Stood they and fought, as was their sworn duty, the Citadel 

Could saved be, and the mutant horde driven off.  The hanging 

Body at the Hall’s doors of one of their peers who had time and 

Again to flee attempted, was another argument most persuasive!  

Tarn a grim smile smiled as gave he it a contemptuous salute  

And to the Training Field strode.  There witnessed he with some 

Relief, more committed Free-Folk working most diligent like 

With their less motivated peers on weapons drill.  And, too, the 

Citizen Armourers toiled by their sides, adjusting, sighting and 

Repowering units which had for too long for granted been taken 

Mere symbols of status prettifying their vast and prideful halls.

……………………………………………………………….

The Historian stared, incredulous, as two of the pariahs brought 

A hover-troll out of the cave mouth laden with what the Central 

Computer confirmed were Predecessor manufactured defence 

Lances.  They had somehow found a Trove here upon this little 

Dirt ball at the edge of nowhere!  Never had this happened in 

The previous population exchanges.  Had his distant Masters 

Considered this possibility when it was handed to him as his 

First long-view assignment?  His first instinct was to close down 

His study and return to Alpha to report this extraordinary find.  

His second, on a little reflection, was to wait and complete his 

Original work which was obviously about to come to a head.  

Whatever the Trove contained could wait.  It must have been 

Here for countless millennia and would go nowhere while he 

Completed his research.  Thus with clear focus, he forced down 

His excitement and continued his observation schedule.  As the 

Pariahs gave out lance after lance, scuttling back and forth with 

The hover-troll, he changed view to the Citadel preparations and 

Meticulously recorded those defensive steps which obviously 

Were being driven by he whom he thought of now as the Crown 

Prince, son of the mysterious Mage who now was the Citadel Leader.  

Were extraordinary revelations to be found here also?

…………………………………………………………………...

Vashti sat, into her saddle strapped, her lance to her arm tied, The 

People all around her similarly prepared as the clans rose 

Skyward, leaving but the elderly and younglings in the safety of 

Their deep mountain caverns.  Through Marsh repeated she to The 

Wyvern folk the plan to under cloud cover fly in, silent and 

Flame free, until the attack signalled she.  She reminded them 

Too, that the High Tower must be damaged not, for it was only 

By taking it both swift and complete could they be sure the 

Great wrong to right and locate the ‘Eggs Of Woe’, those which 

The original settlers of that place had in place of hostages, held, 

Hidden in the tunnel maze most ancient beneath, built by, t’was 

Thought, the Predecessors for purposes they would probably, in 

Truth, never comprehend.  Some of this truth lost in time, fallen 

As into a myth within the Citadel, was that which found she to 

Be within ancient texts stumbled upon had she by weird chance, 

Placed thought she, by the early pariahs who had thought them 

Worth the taking into their cruel banishment, those first ones 

Being adult when the last Great Splintering occurred.  Blessed 

She bonded was, with Marsh, from an early age, and he it was 

Who helped her had with some of the complex and strange 

Language which the ancestors had shared with the Wyvern Folk 

In the Gold Times, those which before the Foul Madness lay.

…………………………………………………………………...

Tarn but lightly slept.  His father proclaimed had, using some  

Arcane divination, that the attack of Myth about to occur was.  

All in position were for the defence, three more having been 

Hanged for desertion attempted, one his elder Uncle Grevitch, 

Kindred to the Mage!  He had his father asked whether it was 

He some form of intervention had, that he could slot into the 

System of defence he developed had, to the stronger things 

Make?  Received he but a slight nod and a whimsical smile! 

Tarn then shrugged and the High Tower climbed.  As slept he 

There in no great comfort, the strangest of dreams had he; one 

Where riding he was upon a Wyvern-myth, his body strapped to 

A strange saddle, a lance of some sort tied firm to his arm.  As 

Continued he his dream he clearly could around him see other 

Huge creatures with folk – pariahs, by all that was Sacred! –

Positioned as he.  Sudden, it was, that woke he and yet his mind 

Held clear the dream-world.  Going mad he was!  Sharp he 

Could see the Citadel and the defences, but see could he also, 

With but a slight tilt of his mind, the Wyvern-myths, the pariahs 

And the clouds ahead.   It was then that the Mage appeared by

His side, his expression quizzical.  “What seest thou my son?”

…………………………………………………………………...

The Historian scowled.  This made no sense.  The cloud cover 

Was ideal for the attack and yet the Wyverns had put down and 

Their riders dismounted in some disarray.  He flicked across to 

View the Grand Citadel.  It was hard to discern the situation in 

That place, it being so covered against the coming Wyvern-

Flame, but on zoom he found both Mage and son standing 

Visible and a target of ease upon the height of the Tall Tower.  he 

Central Computer gave such analysis as was clear of their 

Conversation and it took some time for him to comprehend the 

Gist.  It made little sense, in truth, but he disciplined himself to 

Observe with a calm, dispassionate and evidence centred mind.  
He had made an error in his initial assessment of the situation 
Here.  This was apparent first from the alliance between the 
Wyverns and the Pariahs; second from the utilisation of lances 
From an unknown Predecessors Trove, and thus it was that he 
Had shown his lack of field experience and not immediately 
Expected the unexpected!  His Masters would not be impressed!

His mind open now, free of preconceptions, he ordered the ship 
To drop drones to observe more clearly four sites; the first the 
Grand Citadel, the second the landing place of the Wyverns and 
Their riders, the third at the site of the Predecessors trove and 
The fourth to the mountains where the old and younglings were.

…………………………………………………………………...

Vashti her head shook in confusion.  Suddenly, then, the view 
From the High Tower of the Grand Citadel disappeared.  She 
Knew not what strange Magic this was but knew it must be of 
The Mage’s making.  Swiftly checked she, her compatriots too 
Had been rid of strange visions, theirs being all different but all 
Intense, and ordered then the remount.  The Wyverns had been 
Not thus affected and so it was ordered she Marsh and the Clans 
To carry through the attack, even should their riders Halt cry.   
T’was a dangerous strategy but yet, needs must.  Thus rose  
They again, vision free, and soon it was spied they the Grand 
Citadel glimpsing through the drifting cloud.  Vashti  ordered the 
Wyverns into 4 wedge shaped phalanxes, those to the fore, 
Pre-identified targets taking on, and those to the rear mopping 
Up or targets taking of choice, all but the High Tower.  Thus it 
Was, plummeted they down to building height, Wyvern-flame 
Pouring forth, igniting that which was not covered, as their 
Riders the Predecessor scrambling lances utilised to sew much 
Confusion on the Free-Folk concealed below their crude shields.

…………………………………………………………………..

Tarn his head shook as the vision cleared and his father, having  
Received not a coherent reply to his question him left in haste to 
Do what ere chose he to do.  Tarn now wide awake and clear 
Focussed peered up through the thinning cloud and with some 
Amazement saw a myth made real, as vast Wyverns poured they 
From the skies and flamed all in sight, their riders strange rays 
Firing from lances which ineffective appeared at first to be until 
Watched he some of those concealed break their cover, reeling 
As men would do in their cups.  Noted he, too, with some pride, 
That those more steadfast Free-Folk resisted what these lances 
Poured forth and singed with their own weapons many a passing 
Wyvern, and if his eyes deceived him not, punished with sure 
Aim, as instructed, the rider and great Wyvern which led the 
Assault.  Little time had he, however, for celebration as his eyes 
Caught the fires which had succeeded to take hold, despite their 
Best precautions.  As the teams into action leapt, dousing the 
Flames, and acrid smoke started his eyes and nose to assault, he

Again glanced at the Wyverns as turned they, their formation 
Still true, sweeping in from other angles, their flame searching 
For weaknesses in the cover, the riders lances chaos causing.

…………………………………………………………………...

The Historian observed, dispassionately now, as the woman on 
The lead Wyvern, she whom he’d mentally anointed as Queen,

Let her lance dangle as she patted the last elements of flame out 
And then leaned forth from her saddle to embrace her mount, it 
Appeared, it now showing holes within its great wings and some 
Damage elsewhere, scales having burned from his side.  Both, 
However, obviously intended to continue and as the phalanxes 
Turned for the next pass they remained in lead position, and 
Quite evidently from the fire concentrated on them from below 
On the first pass, the most dangerous location also.  Then it was 
As they approached, another Wyvern surged forward and took 
The lead position and thus the brunt of the fire from those below 
Who still functioned effectively as defence.  On this pass many 
More fires broke out, and several of the milling confused who 
Had broken cover were turned into torches, and the Wyvern fire 
So intense there were but ashes left in their place moments later.  
He noted, from the drone, the Crown Prince remained unscathed 
Upon the roof of the High Tower, which Wyverns and riders at 
No time went even near, and the Mage reappeared and clamped 
Upon his son’s head a helmet of peculiar design and placed in 
His hand, most surprisingly, a short lance or wand of some type. 

…………………………………………………………………

Vashti upon her lip to help her pain control and her rage at 
Glest’s heroics.  She with her feelings struggled, glad, too, for a 
Small respite for Marsh who sustained but minor injury during  
Second pass, and had she time to see how effective were their

Efforts thus far.  Pockets of flame there were, spreading, she   
Pleased was to observe, and of the defenders more were addled  
So that breaking cover they were and easy targets made.  Smoke 
Though was starting to hamper the Wyverns ability to select the 
Targets they most vulnerable thought.  Thus it was sent out she  
The order for Glest to fall back and the third wave to leave off 
With their lances and in this time move from the south with the  
High Star’s light the enemy blinding, drop low as was possible  
And their jelly packs leave behind them as gifts of great pain!  

So it was that the pass was made and little damage sustained by 
Wyverns or the riders.  Observed she with satisfaction how they 
On impact did ignite and the gel stuck to that which was ignited 
And burned most fierce, little influenced by the water poured 
Thereon.  Suddenly, then, noticed she in her periphery, the two 
Figures at the peak of the High Tower and as one, strange gear 
Upon his head, pointed at her a small lance, Marsh stumbled!

…………………………………………………………………..

Tarn the visor dropped over his eyes as by his father instructed 
And saw he at once the lead Wyvern most clear, envisioning it 
As the Mage had him required so to do.  Pointed he at it his 
Small wand and on the visor a sighting X appeared which he 
Able was to adjust by his head moving but slightly.  When all 
Aligned was, a thin stream of light did pass from wand to the 
Wyvern’s head.  As it did so, saw he also his father place upon 
His own head another helmet.  As the Wyvern stumbled he in 
The air and went to land, he the Mage watched who, once more, 
A somewhat whimsical smile gave and then disappeared!  Tarn 
More than a little taken aback was but duty drove down his eyes 
To the Grand Citadel and the spreading fires, smoke and chaos.  
All was not lost, however, and saw he Free Folk risking all to 
Order restore while more thoughtful vassals placing were upon 
The burning jelly, Iron Tree leaves, depriving it of oxygen.  This 
Tactic most quick spread and before another pass was expected, 
Some order had returned been to the Grand Citadel’s defences.  
Sighed he with some relief and wondered where went his father!

…………………………………………………………………...

The Historian sipped his beverage absentmindedly, as instructed 
By the Central Computer, and watched as some form of truce 
Appeared to be taking place.  His disinterested study was quite 
Disturbed, however, when the Mage appeared by his side with 
What was by all appearances a weapon in his hand, and that  
Unerringly pointing at him.  He slowly and most carefully put 
Up his hands.  As he was about to speak the weapon moved at a 
Great pace towards his mouth which he decided then should 
Perhaps remain shut.  The Mage nodded.  He then gripped the 
Startled Historian firmly on his arm and suddenly they were no 
Longer on the ship.  The Mage smiled with sure satisfaction.  
He waved the Historian to a chair which he hastily took.  His 
Legs were a little wobbly!  Looking around, his eyes filled with 
Wonder as he saw devices of an alien technology, possibly, he 
Surmised, Predecessor, which lined the walls of this windowless 
Room.  He felt a flash of anger.  How had his Masters so badly 
Assessed this place for his first long-view assignment?  Hastily 
He pushed that aside, and his self-pity.  This was frightening but 
It was also fascinating!  Ceasing his visual exploration he turned 
Slowly toward the Mage who still held his weapon purposefully.

…………………………………………………………………...

Vashti the riders told to dismount and check their Wyverns for 
Any wounds they had sustained and to treat they them and each 
Other, as necessary, while communed she with Marsh.  Though 
A little uncertain, but for the break happy, did they as instructed  
As she with her old friend melded deeply.  He with her shared a  
Vision he had received, that vision which had so startled him.  
In his vision saw she the Mage with a large clutch of what must 
Be Wyvern’s eggs, the Eggs Of Woe, assume she must.  Though 
Knew she them to millennia old be, saw she that the Mage was 
Some form of machines checking, most sophisticated machines 
Which appeared to act upon their own wishes and tended most  
Careful this Wyvern treasure.  Marsh within his heart wept a 
Great wailing and cascade of terrified joy, for knew he not much 
Of machines but knew he that the Mage had somehow given 
This vision, and if the vision were true then had some miracle 
Taken place and it was possible that this treasure viable was.  It 
Was, knew Vashti, possible that the Mage had somehow played 
With Marsh’ mind to the alliance divide, but something of the 
Vision rang true, just as the earlier one they all experienced had.

…………………………………………………………………...

Tarn, visor now raised, down from the High Tower peered.  
Order quite well was restored and the flames all extinguished.  
Again wondered he about his father’s disappearance but his 
Musing interrupted was when saw he a single Wyvern, surely  
The lead one, flying solo his lookout towards, where all had  
Previous flown well clear.  Sighted he his lance but noted first 
That it was no evasive action taking and then that its rider had a 
White ‘flag’ to her upheld lance tied.  Knew he the great risks  
But put he down his lance and, breath-free, waited, his cold fear 
Strength giving to his hope that  wanted they to with him parley  
And that this was no trick which would see him dead within but 
Few minutes, and a fool to be considered by all ever thereafter! 
Fortunately he did not long have to wait, and as the fearsome  
Creature in to land came beside him, realised he he had been

His breath holding and a great gasp let out.  As its rider slowly 
Dismounted gasped he once more.  By far was she the most 
Beautiful of women, and her large, deep blue eyes showed  
Limitless depths of intelligence, resolve and capacity to love!

…………………………………………………………………...

The Historian relaxed as the Mage put his weapon on a shelf 
Behind him and sat down opposite him.  He was one of those 
Extraordinary people who radiated knowledge, wisdom and, a 
Less desirable trait in this situation, the flat eyes of a man who 
In less than a moment would kill if he thought it was necessary.  
The Historian gave a weak smile.  The Mage did not oblige by 
Immediately reciprocating.  They sat thus in silence for several 
Endless minutes, the Mage glancing down from time to time at 
A screen built into the table and then informing him really quite 
Casually that he was safe, and he wouldn’t be held responsible 
Or killed for the foul work of his Masters, though they, if they 
Were here in his place, would experience a different scenario 
Playing itself out, but he would, instead, take them a message. 

Despite himself, the Historian leaned forward, eager to get more 
Understanding of this unfurling event.  He was to be most sorely 
Disappointed.  Suddenly the chair clamped his arms and legs 
And the Mage disappeared.  He pondered on his situation and 
Realised how very much he wanted no harm to come to his host, 
Since he assumed that if, by some chance, it did he’d be left here 
To starve. At this moment, he truly wanted him to stay alive.

…………………………………………………………………...

Vashti at Tarn stared, speechless for a moment.  A true delight 
To gaze upon, and his green eyes magnificent were in the depth 
Of inner feeling they portrayed.  Mentally shook she herself and 
To the task at hand committed.  Told him she, she had a Truce 
Called in part because the strangest vision had she had, but more 
Important far, for the vision of her dearest of friends, Marsh the 
Wyvern.  Nodded he – what could he say?  Then told he her of  
His vision also, and waited quiet, as explained she that which 
Had into Marsh’ mind reached concerning the ancient enmity,  
The theft of the ‘Eggs Of Woe’ and how seen had he the Mage 
In a place where looked it that still being cared for they were.  
Admitted she that although original come they had the Citadel  
To conquer and banish those presently within, the issue of The 
Eggs Of Woe precedence took.  As thus spake she, she aware  
Was the Mage with them was on the High Tower’s roof also.    
Turned she and him looked directly in the eye, realising as did 
She that this man’s father he was, as well as a man of Power.  
Surprisingly smiled he and his hands held out in offer of peace.

…………………………………………………………………...

Tarn to his father nodded, him telling of the Wyvern’s vision 
And asked if true this was.  The Mage thus affirmed it was so.  
Spake he then that now managed he had to find a man who in a 
Craft high above the planet had been, and whom sorely needed 
He, gladly would he return the eggs to those who could hatch  
And the young that they held within rear, since the mechanisms 
Which tended them had, did so out of normal time.  Thus it was 
For the eggs no time had passed since so cruelly stolen they had 
Been.  Tarn his head shook a little, by his father’s explainings 
Bewildered.  Still it was that understood he what was said, in its 
Essentials, and looked he toward the wondrous woman for her 
Response.  Appeared she to be with her Wyvern companion in 
Some form of mental union and after a short time him informed 
That if what the Mage had said was true, the attack they would 
Call off, though still felt she deeply they, too, had been most 
Wronged, but would return from whence they came and so live 
Thus in peace.  Tarn bowed slightly, tore from her his gaze, and 
To his father looked, who again smiled, his head in agreement 
Nodded and, in a manner most disconcerting, disappeared once 
Again.  Tarn shrugged he and toward Vashti turned and laughed!

…………………………………………………………………...

The Historian felt a great surge of relief as the Mage reappeared 
And the clamps on his chair withdrew.  Rubbing his thin wrists 
Somewhat unnecessarily, he asked the Mage what the message 
Was that he was to take to his Masters.  Instead of answering 
Him immediately the Mage asked him if he had ever wondered 
How it was that the two communities had come to exist and why 
It was that they had fought over the many, many generations?  
The Historian thought the question rhetorical but decided he’d 
Best answer it anyway, explaining succinctly that in this place 
Their differences were the result of a mutation which divided 
Them.  He watched the Mage’s flat eyes become flatter still, if 
That was possible, and thought that despite earlier assurances 
He was very unlikely to see the outside of this strange room 
Again.  He held his hands out in the universal gesture of peace 
And pointed out to the Mage that he was but a poor student who 
Had been sent to study the two societies and had understanding 
Only at the depth of knowing that such enmity over a prolonged 
Period was rare.  His voice trailed off as the Mage’s eyes closed.

…………………………………………………………………...

Vashti at the laughing man stared and so infectious was his 
Laughter that she him joined, and as did she so, felt much stress 
From her mind and body drain.  His extraordinary, shining eyes 
Of green sparkling in the joy were of whatever had his mirth set off.  
With time, ceased he his laughter and looked she at him  Curiously.  
Told he her that it was the madness of it all!  His Father kept 
Disappearing; he a helmet had which appeared him to make see 
Into the minds of others, and a weird wand also to Messages 
Send to creatures of Myth.  Most totally outrageous though, 
He at war was with folk he knew not, who rode on creatures of 
Myth, and who no reason had he to dislike, let alone kill, other 
Than this, as sudden it appeared, absurd and, upon reflection, 
Singularly bizarre business of the mutation so-called.  She, in 
Accord, nodded.  The mutation sign which had once so ugly 
Seemed, and repellent, now saw she as a thing of beauty, and 
Her instinct her told that most certain, as stared he into her eyes 
With a sense of wonder on his face, felt he also.  How was it so? 
How could this ridiculous madness have their communities held  
Apart since time immemorial?  And what had made it change?

……………………………………………………………….......

Tarn to the base of the High Tower raced, ordering folk to lay  
Down their arms.  As, stunned, they did as bid, so it was that the  
Huge creature of Myth and his beautiful, most enchanting and 
Thoroughly delightful, blue eyed rider into the air rapidly rose, 
Unchallenged, and swung round to in the direction fly of her 
People.  Accessed he the remote communication system which 
Patched him into the Free-Folk net and to stand down told all,  
But stay alert.  Great was the plethora of questions, too many for 
Him to answer, so held he back the tide of queries then ordering  
All Free-Folk and Citizens to think deep upon the nature of the 
Enemy’s mutation.  Ordered he then an elite group of Free-Folk 
To at the base of the High Tower assemble where brief them he 
Could more fully and them let spread the word, as knew he she 
Would so be doing with her folk.  That done, went he in search 
Of his father, so incredibly elusive, to try to gain some more real 
Truths and assist, if necessary, in the return of the precious eggs.

…………………………………………………………………...

The Historian sat in his craft once more, now returning to Alpha  
A grim look on his face and a heart full of burning anger.  There

Was some satisfaction, yes.  Peace was restored.  The ‘Eggs Of 
Woe’ had been returned to the Wyverns and several had already 
Hatched healthy younglings.   The two peoples were mixing 
Now, with no enmity and were planning exchanges between the 
Two communities, and the ‘Queen’ and the ‘Crown Prince’, it 
Would appear, were going to form a cohabiting union, with no 
Doubt, others to follow.  As for the Mage, he had stepped back 
From leading the community and now led a mixed team in on-
Going research of the huge store of Predecessor technology.  He 
Had given him a message for his Masters, clear it was, that the 
Community was changed, no longer a convenient point of study 
For their students, and should they, in their callousness and 
Pride, wish to return and condition once more the minds of the 
Society that the so called mutation was a thing of division and 
Evil, as they had so long ago, they would be met with the full 
Force of Predecessor technology; no mercy would be shown.   

…………………………………………………………………..

The Mage in his welcoming, familiar study sat back, by old 
Books and futuristic Predecessor arcana surrounded.  Tragic, it 
Was, that for generations beyond the counting, the folk at odds 
ad been because of the early conditioning of the first colonists.  
Old, forgotten records having accessed, he had the truth put 
Together, and to his rage holding hard, surmised had he that 
Somewhere there would a sly Watcher be, high above.  His 
Finding of the Predecessor trove had him given much, including 
Ability to himself transmit through space, but knew he not to 
Where.  Thus it was, most surreptitious, led he the lass to the 
Trove and a war instigated.  Only then, when the Historian sent 
Out drones for clearer study, was he able to his lair triangulate 
And him fetch hither.  T’was fortunate, indeed, the lass could 
With the Wyverns mind talk, enabling at last, the righting of the 
Colonists theft most perfidious of the eggs to as ransom use for 
Wyvern peace, Wyverns who, if asked had they, were violence 
Foresworn.  And too, now the sign of the non-existent mutation, 
Eye colour, had Tarn brought toward a joyous union, and others  
To come, no doubt, due to the difference.  Relaxed, smiling he.