Man first establishes a village. He builds wonderful, quaint cottages in a valley nestled by lush green mountains. Then he creates language to express himself. He uses this language to create poetry, stories, and songs. Then he rigorously labors to cultivate grain from the stubborn soil. He develops his cuisine, unique to the village. He begins to develop his implements and technology to assist him in the field. The village thrives. The numbers rise from tens to hundreds. All is great, all is sanguine, and fate seems to be the most generous. But then the resident baker sees a striking figure approach the village from the mountains. It is a large and obese female sheep with grey skin and white fur…
This is but one example of the many cultures of villages lost to history as soon as its people slipped past behind Eadha’s lips. Entire populations have vanished into her maw, processed through her intestines, and finally laid to rest as flab upon her ever-expanding waistline. The legacy of these lost villages is a deafening belch, or at most, copious amounts of sheep dung sufficient to fertilize a whole forest. Archaeologists specializing in the field of Irish history have roughly estimated that Eadha has devoured over five thousand villages in the nation. Some state that the number ought to be higher...

Credits to  DarkArtist for the sketch of his wonderful fomor Sheep Eadha.

Please login to post a comment.

No comments yet, make a comment please