Breanna Shaw

The Book of Juno

There weren't always dragons in the Valley. My father’s book whispers of a time before winged shadows passed over the land. Beneath my hand, each page turns from one hushed tale to the next. Legends unfurl and letters march in perfect rows abreast of forgotten narratives. These words were penned before the mountains had yet felt the imprint of a soldier’s boot or echoed the beat of war drums. From when the only marks of age upon the mountains’ faces were carved by unwitnessed storms and the hooves of rams; not worried by the scourge of divine judgment.