(Show/Hide Browsing Column ->)
This story or poem is for logged in supporters only! Here is a short excerpt to whet your appetite:
The three rangers moved in a triangle,Author's Notes
sweeping the low bluffs along a river near Itakith.
Amaqor took the lead, his graying hair
a sign of his long experience.
The younger women fanned out to the sides,
Adarla with her short black hair hidden under a hat
and Evreil whose fine flyaway hair blew in her face.
Their boots crunched through the browning autumn landscape.
"Remember to watch for anything useful,"
Amaqor advised them. "Yes, we need food,
but we also need craft materials
to replace what the fire destroyed
and to give the people from Itadesh something
to do all winter besides mourn their losses."
This poem came from the September 2012 Muse Fusion. It was inspired by a prompt from Vaerys. It may be sponsored for $28 or 28 Torn World credits.
Or, subscribe and support individual creators!
[Concept and Site Design: Ellen Million | Website basecode: Ron Swartzendruber]
[No portion of this site's content may be used or copied without prior, written consent.]