He jogged down the trail to the temple, ignoring the windows of the apothecary shop. The grove was shaken clean to its bones from winter. When Lonan knocked on the door, all the birds inside—crows, seagulls, martins, finches, and swallows—exploded into a ruckus. Wind-catchers clacked wooden music on either side of his head.
Gilliana sat herself down by the fire, mottled brown robes bagging around her. The cage clanked to the floor. She handed him a warm, slightly muddy seagull egg from a brass bowl and pillowed the martin in her lap.
Shay crouched down next to the small fire, mesmerized by feeding wood inside and watching it be eaten at. He showed no sign of moving.
The mercenaries of Selwyn’s horde cast out from the harbors of Eir Nu by the time night lifted. They raced for Avalon. Lonan did not know about Una Beli’s horde, but feared the fear that was rank in the air.
Huh. I realized I usually declare my Nanowrimo project before November as a formality, so here it is for anyone who hasn't heard.
Shackles in filigree cage man’s wings to his chest.
Here we are, on the verge of Nanowrimo month. Last week I was nervous about all the spare time I wouldn't have, but now it's starting to hit--the Nano High. I'm hyped!
Its time for another short film showcase, this time honoring a few films I found on a "cute animals" binge gone terribly awry.
Reading has been long equated with escapism, imagination, and wish-fulfillment. What if this adventure happened to me? What if I was the hero? Roleplaying games function much the same way, and can create some amazing things. But, as writers, we have a certain responsibility to the characters we create.
The fire bursts awake in the trees. It begins by eating the green from each leaf.