Blood for Wolves (A Figments Fable)
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Skittish, she flees at the first tremble of thunder, the first flashing of eyes, long gone before teeth are bared. But it is not for a dog to complain over what needs chasing just to find the way home. White tufts blowing in the bracken and two-toed prints show where she was, before the storm was so fierce.
The grass is glistening in the rain, just as sweet as sugarsnap peas, a new green cemetery of names that are not yet forgiven. If I was what I was then I carry my regrets, and shed them as feathers for a warmer, brighter coat.
These waters, soft and saline, have ravaged my throat, not like bleach but a scream that seeped up through my skin. If you are singing then I hear you, if not I imagine and unmake the hollow structure of my bones. So many silver linings, but for what? Without, I am witheld, and secreted from myself with locks I have lost the numbers for. Do you miss me…? I mean really, and not because I care. I just like the idea of my absence being tangible, and you loving an empty space. There are many conversations we could have had, but my lips were sewn shut and oozing bloody pearls.
You thought it was my aesthetic. Now I run on all fours, patter downstairs on talons with my wings tucked against my sides. Horned and scaled, I await the arrows of an older time, and my head mounted on the wall.
What's all this then?
He was certainly no coward, but he was likely to remain steady only as long as he could see his way clear and be sure of what to do. To him, perplexity was worse than danger; and when he was perplexed he usually grew angry. For the most part, the characters in this novel are strong, from the prophet-like Fiver to heroic Hazel, the warrior-rabbit Bigwig, and my favourite, the raucous black-headed gull, Kehaar.
I enjoyed the interactions, and whilst the book does suffer from having too many characters to be expected with rabbits, I suppose , Adams does succeed in creating a convincing hierarchy. Lockley are like human beings in many ways. One of these is certainly their staunch ability to withstand disaster and to let the stream of their life carry them along, past reaches of terror and loss. They have a certain quality which it would not be accurate to describe as callousness or indifference.
October 31, , am Reply. November 7, , am Reply. December 17, , pm Reply. What's all this then? Grrl Power is a comic about a crazy nerdette that becomes a superheroine. Humor, action, cheesecake, beefcake, 'splosions, and maybe some drama. Possibly ninjas. Updates Mondays and Thursdays. Rated PG for violence and gratuitous cheesecake and beefcake Rated R for language. Seriously, Sydney has a filthy mouth. The July vote incentive is posted! Google Skyscraper. Support Patreon is like Kickstarter for microtransactions - That is, giving ongoing support the most delicious kind to independent artists you enjoy.
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While the younger and braver prince was the warrior, the older and kinder Prince Frei was to become Elfeinne's future king.
Which reminded him that he needed to find the crowned prince before Salazar realized they were gone. He left the sun hall, returning to the darkness of the corridors and proceeded through the stairs that. Briefly pausing, Qionne remembered that their Father didn't allow them there until they were old enough. He didn't understand what being 'old enough' had to do with climbing up a floor of their own castle, but he knew that Frei would never break the rules just for one silly little game of hide and seek.
Nevertheless, he took the flight of stairs. He thought that looking for his brother seemed like a valid excuse for visiting the 'forbidden floor'. Should the king's rune guard discover him, he'd just blame his older brother for being really good at hide and seek.
The younger prince smirked at the thought of getting his older brother into trouble should he lose the game. The fourth floor was dark, or at least, too dark for Qionne's liking. It appeared as if the ceilings were the night sky itself, starless and foreboding and far away.
The only light present belonged to the three wraiths hovering protectively over him like white translucent female ghosts. As he went further, his barefoot steps left imprints against the cold black floor: a faint bluish white glow as proof that he was there. It was as if the spirits buried from deep within the walls of the hall sensed his presence, eliciting a deep murky rumble of recognition. Qionne heard a distant, mumbling sound.
There was no question about whom the voice belonged to. Qionne slowed his pace for a bit. Aside from the soft familiar voice of his twin, he could hear another whisper. Qionne felt an odd chill run down his spine, realizing he was left in the company of empty elvish armory and portraits made of stained glass. The wraiths guarding him had fled, speeding towards the direction of the older twin. But the wraiths did not slow down, neither did they wait for the younger prince.