Monster Feed

At the witching hour and while a keen cold breeze draws open the night sky to envelop the scene in the silver beatific light of heavenly origin, the elders and their novices walk in procession to the loch, shed their robes and immerse themselves into the silent miasma of waters covered under the oily drapery of the celestial vault's reflection.

They swim towards the middle, devotion seals their mouth, their hearts beat strong.
There they create a wide circle, treading water. Eyes shut, the soul sinks deep to the outer regions of its bedding to walk over vulnerable spot in the fabric of space-time that their pale bodies in relentless motions have confined and aroused as towards the center rhythmic dykes of rolling waves ringed with white horses frothing in effervescent display of joy and glory.

Mental capabilities little understood sweep over the breach between one world to the other realm.

Labouring, exciting, moulding and honing and finally conjuring a creature seemingly of flesh and blood, akin to cousins of immemorable eras yet stranger to this plane of existence and defiant of its laws, natural and man-made. It does not breath nor swims or roar as an artifact of biology; it's but shape, lacking in flesh and blood.

It doesn't eat, it was merely fed into existence this side of reality.

The beast evinces no acknowledgement of its conjurors, sways it long neck high to cast its gaze upon the moon and its minions, takes in its surroundings, freezes in a moment of austere pensiveness, then brusquely dives into the deep cold waters of the loch.

The men and women return to the shore, take up their habits and silently stride away from the scene. Taut expressions, supple bodies glide between spiky bushes and rustling trees.

Words tainted not their lips nor their mind, both too lofty and serene for the vulgarity of any parlance. They vanished, home somewhere.

And home was the creature, swimming and sliding the waters at the twilight ends of the day,with irreverance to man's incursion and curiosity, thriving without concern about needs and prospects, til the day comes again that its energy drains and the breach between worlds grows stronger, then it will fade once more and implode into nothingness until the congregation flocks back into the nocturnal ichor of the loch to proceed to their worlds-welding Eucharist.