In dying sunlight, they whisper stories of day and night, of what was and what will be.
They say the Sun is made of burning gold, spilt from the white-sparking forge of the Smith-God Ilmaril, who hammers away in the heart of the Earth.
They say each night it passes through the gates of death and wanders in the underworld, giving light to the shades, bringing heat to the world of bones.
They say it is drawn by Velervo, firstborn of dwarfs, who sought to overthrow the gods and was condemned to toil in the skies until the Forevernight, when all the stars shall fall like silver leaves.
They say that in the end of days, the last of the great dragons, who slumbers under the waves, shall rise up and devour the Sun in quenching dark.
And as they sleep, their dreams are full of fire and dragons.
Word Count: 149
This is for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers. Thanks to Priceless Joy for running the challenge and Footy and Foodie for providing the prompt photo!