Blythe: Chapter 17

Upside down the raven flew.  Down and up its wings beat; down, then up.

It flashed across a tiny vision of the world, and then disappeared.

All that remained to look down upon were dark and threatening clouds that took on the appearance of firmament.  Even their stormy, mossy tint spoke more of land than of air.  Tapped out, these mountains of the sky shifted restlessly as they eroded, evaporating into nothingness.  Their collective mass withered in a morning into scattered patches that no longer blocked the sun.  These stragglers faded until one emaciated remnant fought to remain, but it too was disappearing.

In a desperate measure to survive, placing its faith in an ancient promise that what dies will one day rise again, the vapor condensed into a single raindrop and began to rise, unseen, toward the earth.  For a brilliant moment, the light caught the ascending dot and transformed it into a streak of light that came closer and closer until it struck the surface of the puddle from which the world had been viewed, and obscured the once-clear inverted heavenly vision.

Everything that was known was gone.

All waited for the surface to settle, so the world could start anew.