It was falling. 

Werrin’s eyes widened in horror. The pod was deathly silent as they watched the pale quartzite foundations of the island crumble away. The shards picked up speed before vanishing below the pastel cloud sea. 

Another home lost. The islands are…dying.

Werrin’s throat burned, his salvia barely quenching his sudden thirst. Tears drew all the water in his being to his eyes as the sight was etched in his memory. A haunted nightmare to repeat in his head.

The whales moaned as the crack in the island finally split it apart. Werrin could see the roots of the weather-aged trees, the minerals rich in the soil; he watched its life drain away as it surrendered to gravity’s pull. How many more would be lost?

Girqo wailed, a ripple flowing over his body that forced Werrin to adjust his grip on the reins as he knelt down. He placed his hand on the calf’s smooth, slightly hardened skin to remind Girqo of his rider. His deep reddish beryl eyes were still transfixed on the descending land. The soft, curving edges of white and pastel down were swallowing up the exposed underside and seeping into the forested upper side. It was becoming difficult to see, be it tears or the cloud cover, Werrin did not know. 

Let the sea take the dead until the day is no more. The elder’s voice sang through the pond, rippling and echoing over the still air. As the last treetop vanished and the last sliver of mountaintop was consumed by white fire, the pod began to sing as they turned away. A mournful hum rose to a wailing lament. Werrin could not sing along with them; his throat was burning with grief, and his heart, was a lead weight on his chest.

It was truly gone. Lost to whatever lay below the deeper levels of the Deep Cloud Sea. Something not even he had dived under before. He exhaled, the air coming back into him anew, though he felt no refreshment. Werrin realized then that his stead had not moved. His friend was still floating there, barely humming the notes of his pod’s lament. 

Reaching out, he stroked Girqo’s curved head. “Friend,” he rasped. “Let us return.” No more words could be forced out of him. Girqo made no sound to him but slowly turned away. His tail sent swirls through the clouds as they left the empty space. 

How can the world seem so peaceful now? Here? Detached, he felt. Detached from the singing sunlight that danced around them, detached from the warmth it gave to his tanned skin, detached from the azure-blush sky kissed by the cool lilac-white puffs, and detached from the rare bird or flying creatures that were dancing in the glorious day. All passed his sight, beryl orbs looking ahead and beyond. Werrin’s hands, once before tight on the reins as the whales had raced to witness the catastrophe, were limp. The leather straps were falling from his fingers and wrists as Werrin stood, halcyon to others who would see him. 

Werrin, Girqo’s quiet, barely squeaking voice drifted to Werrin’s mind. The young man’s eyes snapped down to the head of his steed. Fingers grasping the reins again and grazing over his gear to keep his mind about him. “Speak, Girqo. I am still on your back, after all. No falling off you when you moving so steadily and slow,” he rushed out, ignoring the tremor running over him. 

Werrin, do you feel the same emptiness in the air I do? The calf’s head tilted slightly, turning and dropping through some clouds as they rode the edge of the pod’s trail home. Werrin could not see Girqo’s black eyes unless he dropped himself by one of them, but he did not need to. The tone was enough to know his friend’s expression. “I-I’m not sure, Girqo. I’d have to….” His belt felt too tight around his waist. Werrin tied his reins on his right wrist while he tried to fiddle with the belt. “I think I’d have to really focus on my surroundings to feel it as strongly as you do,” Werrin sighed. 

You can feel it now, can’t you? Feel the air we swim through, Girqo quipped. Werrin closed his eyes, fingers gripping the reins and clasp of his belt as he gave it a loosening tug. I knew you would say that, but I fear what I’ll notice. What if I do feel the absence of balanced mæna? What do I do? 

Some of the pod say it’s just the islands’ time to fall back below the cloudsea, but I think some want to tell the truth. Indeed, they might say something to you. 

“Why? Because I can ride the whales? Or because I can communicate and hear all creatures? Your kind are among the few species that know how to harness and manage mæna of this world. Me…,” Werrin looked down at his body, lithe in most places with the slight bulk of muscle from his arms and legs. Unlike the whales decorated with beautiful and swirling marks of mæna in and around them, he was unpainted. “I’m still learning how to wield it as you.”

But still! I know you’re the only human that can do it! 

“I’m also the only human being you know in general.”

True… Girqo trailed off. A low hum wafted through the air, sending a gentle tingle up Werrin through his feet. Girqo was quiet as Werrin felt a small smile pull at his lips. The mæna around his friend pulled in, the marks starting to pulse and beat in a blinding gold against the deep blue of Girqo’s skin. The power, or magik, of thought. Looking up, Werrin watched as the clouds parted.

The hidden cove where the whales resided. A giant chain of islands, draped by the falling waters and hanging roots as the crystals and minerals twinkled beneath and behind the curtains. The elders said it had no name to them, so Werrin had given it one from a young age. “Lonebane Cove, we are home again,” Werrin whispered, gathering a little mæna to send his message to the air. 

The other whales were spitting off to their own business. Having confirmed the trouble and dip in mæna that had caused the rushed leave, they returned to what they had been doing but with a darker aura surrounding them each. 

Werrin gave a firm tug on the reins, moving them both to a smaller, bare section of land just to the right of the main island. He opened a pouch on his left hip and dropped the reins as they came close. Werrin detached himself from the belt and straps of his riding gear. Girqo stopped a few feet from the edge, perhaps knowing what his rider was about to do as time had proven. With a leap, Werrin soared into the air all alone. Not tied down by leather nor riding a creature fit for flight. Just himself against the sky. 

But gravity was an old enemy of his, and thus Werrin watched the ground meet his feet. Letting all settle inside his flesh, Werrin turned back to Girqo with a grin. “Qi-ko,” he declared with a twirl of his fingers. The saddle, straps, and reins gleamed on the whale’s back. They ascended in the light, immaterial and malleable, before collapsing into a disk in Werrin’s hand. 

Seriously, so easy. Werrin tossed the metal disk in the air, admiring the centerpiece (a chunk of transparent mineral he had mined). A mæna spell he thought to be the only one he was good at. He caught it again before placing it in his pouch. 

“I’ll see you later this evening, Girqo. I’m going to the forest to…mediate, I suppose.” Werrin shrugged. “Not much else I believe I feel up to doing.” Ok, take care of yourselves, Rider. I hope we can figure all this out.  Girqo swam away from the cropping as melancholy wisps of mæna trailed after him, ghosts of something lost. 

Werrin’s eyes followed his friend’s small, nearly bony tail before directing his eyes elsewhere. Shivers were running rampant in him, and he clutched his pouch as if it was a handle for a kind of release. 

“I seriously need to calm down,” he muttered to himself as he walked toward the bridge. It connected what he considered his landing to a more significant portion of the cove. He felt the tingle of pure mæna through his boots from the plates of mixed metal and crystals. His hands ran mindlessly over the enforced rope guardrails, infused with runes inside to create a wall of hardened air that caused old bruises to almost sing. 

His long stride allowed him to cross over quickly, and then he ran. He wasn’t sure why, but he felt the urge, the burn to run. Maybe the feel of the air against his face was the only way to prevent more tears, a way to stall his mind from figuring out why.

Through the prickly fruit bushes, past the towering elmgar trees, and jumping over the small streams that led to waterfalls, Werrin was searching for an escape. So much had occurred, and the islands falling was causing him to reach a breaking point. He just wanted a place to himself where no one would come to interrupt him. 

Werrin passed through the denser part of the forest into an open valley with a small brook flowing out into an open pond. He knew it led to a larger pool of water graced with a more enormous waterfall; he and some other forest friends enjoyed playing there in years past. However, they had not had the time or mindset to do such frivolous activities. I should still be playing with the kitsunes, the birds, the rabbit-sheep, everyone. Maybe not as often since I am not a child, but surely I could be more relaxed than I am. 

Werrin couldn’t answer himself to his frustration. He threw his belongings down and sat beside them with such harsh force that he felt the ground sting his backside up to his neck. The pain just served to well up more tears to blur his vision. His lips pressed together, and he threw his head back to prevent the water from streaming down his face again. Fingers gripped the grass as his mind projected the glistering crystals as they fell before him in the sky he dimly saw. 

“No! I’m not thinking about it now. I don’t want to!” His screaming echoed, ripping around the valley before tapering over the trees. Werrin beat his fists on the ground, focusing on the mild, dull pain gathering on his hands as he projected his anger onto the ground. His eyes could see his skin slowly turning a faint red from the pounding, and he increased his speed. The pain, physical pain in myself. I need to disperse my energy, just don’t think! 

One last time, he let out a heaving cry and folded the rest of his body forward. He felt lighter to a degree, his head throbbing from something he was unsure of for a moment, but the wetness of his face explained it immediately. Werrin felt stuck in a cycle of witnessing his world essentially dying, the creatures telling him to help in some way he didn’t even understand, and him stalling, running, and trying to process independently. How can I claim it’s a cycle? Oh, cause this is like the second time? Third? Definitely not fourth? I’m going off-track with myself here. Werrin ran his hands through mussed, golden hair as it clung to his moist cheeks. 

I need to calm down…meditate. Feel the mæna, maybe? Like that would help me, what if I… He paused. Girqo had mentioned it, but still, wisps of hesitation lingered in Werrin’s mind. What it could mean if he found something. Werrin fingered the straps of his bag as he wrestled with it until his eyes fell on a tiny charm on the clasp. A simple band of steel wrapping around a ‘heart’; a pulsing crystal with mæna inside it. The whales had fashioned it like this after he had found it as a child during his first expedition riding Girqo. Its gentle glow held a comforting warmth, but as Werrin stared, he imagined if it went out. Cool, no cold, devoid of that pastel green hue leaving a sickly dull grey behind. 

Blinking away his imagination, Werrin shivered as he took in the scenery before him. It would fall away too, deadened and bleak. A home and joy would be lost, and Werrin knew others lived on islands around them. Some of the whales even said some tribes and communities of humans resided on islands, but they could not draw near due to some past incident they spoke of (but Werrin knew he probably had been daydreaming during that part, curse him).

Looking back at the little ‘heart,’ Werrin felt the weight of Girqo’s prompting again. This time, he steeled himself. I need to; I don’t want to lose my home and…I don’t want to disappoint them. 

Werrin laid down, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply. Going into a trance wasn’t the most challenging part for him; it was clearly feeling and grasping the mæna streams around him. He would focus and hone his senses, but there was always some kind of block. He would try repeatedly, but the same wall would still stop him. Maybe this time, perhaps. 

So he cleared his mind and let the environment surround him; the scents, the sounds, the feel of the grass and dirt under him. As these three consumed him, his mind would be able to conjure the ‘sights’ around him and the ‘tastes’ in the environment. Mæna streams could be found in these once he was in a balanced state. Werrin always thought it was weird; he had to be focused but still aware. A thinking art form, as he said once. 

The whales said once it was mastered, the pathway and handling of mæna would be much easier. Now he just had to get to that point. Werrin breathed deeply, he could visualize the valley almost clearly now, and he heard some of the rabbit-sheep and Koko birds beginning to stir nearby



It takes a word to crumble a world

It takes a voice to awake the dreamer.

It takes a moment to shake foundations.

A recollection of precious memories pour forth

Rivers batter away at the softer exterior

All left inside is floating in a vast sea

Empty and the recovery is naught seen

A sudden rush of people that swarm together and fade away

The company held dear fractured and unreachable

A wound done only by the wounded

A voice to cry yet the spirit gives no sound

An island with no wandering souls to chase

Illusions of faces blur as the castaway washes ashore

How can you build a ship to sail away when you don’t know what wood to bring?

What blueprints to use?

Who to turn to for help?

Who can fill this feeling?

The answer is known within the mind yet the heart struggles to fully grasp

The six inches that separate belief and acceptance

The corrupt desire to wallow in this sinking sensation feels weightier than the knowledge of divine rescue

Save this troubled heart, O God!

This anguished soul is losing this battle against emotion that can turn to sin

I cannot fight this by myself because of my own sinful nature that desires consumption of this void

To be lost within it and lose sight of You

Passing through the days like a autonomous being

Change my heart, O Savior God!

Be merciful upon this wretched child and lead me to Your comforting arms again

Your Word is what I desire to enrich me and to find You to sustain my weary soul.

My eyes perceive the heaven above display Your power

I see nature crafted in such delicate ways done by Your fingertips

Spare me from this darkness encroaching on my soul, O God!

I cannot bear this feeling of being apart from those I hold dear or the God I love and serve!

A mere second passes from when I felt joy and then collapsed into this place

Guide me, My God, to the path you have put out before me

Heal me from these thunderous feelings within my aching heart.

My God, please bring me back home.

Reality and Imagination

Weightlessness and free. That’s how I felt as I left the evening sky and sunk into the depths of the night. I could still the blazing sky like fire above my head as the coolness of the waters embraced me. I chose this.

 Above me, I still see the light of the sun and smoky clouds through the glassy mirror of the water’s surface. Just below I see more than twinkling stars and the navy cloak of darkness, I see life. Life…that I can make and shape to my will. 

Just above me is Reality, that’s where I was born and where I have to return to. But below me is Imagination, where I can escape to and show my true colors freely. It’s a wondrous place where I reflect Reality but in a way that it’s not Reality but something of my own. 

This force, Creativity, is so powerful. Now, it’s not like I deny Reality and constantly escape here to forget. Rather, it’s something I do to help truly see what Reality is for. Imagination can be very beautiful and stunning but also dangerous and frightening. 

God placed these limits upon us for reasons we do and do not know. However, with the limited power I have with Creativity and Imagination, I am very happy to live in Reality and to constantly fall and fly between these two worlds.

A Ninja’s Resolve

The sun blared down it’s angered rays of light upon the dull sands of Cairo. It’s unforgiving heat only drew more inhabitants of the city to the shadows for some shelter and the rare chance of a cool breeze. The sight was accompanied by the groans and grumbling of slave and master alike, cursing who or whatever dared to anger Ra on this day. In lue of this, many offered prayers and incense to his shrine before making their way to bustling market. 

However, in the deepest shadows of this ordinary day, there was a stranger. Clocked in the darkness itself, only the stranger’s eyes visible to keenly watch the scene before them unfold, was a young man. He was barely visible if one looked down the side street and up on one of the multi-room houses. He was pressed against the mud brick wall and roof as he searched the street. His clothing was foreign, black as night and tightly covering any recognizable features he had. The man’s black hair neat and long, yet just short enough to be held back by a strip of cloth. The metal plate on his forehead was marked with a strange symbol that spoke of his linage. 

Breathe; I must be cautious. Szeth stilled his breathing as his hands flew to his side. There were slots on his belt that held two sets of shurikens. From his left, Szeth pulled out one to look it over again. It had  four straight points with a subtle green hue to the metal, on each end was stamped a Japanese character (kanji). It was from this set that he had travelled back through the passage of time to this strange place. Perhaps it had been his brash decision that caused his hand to choose the wrong set or merely his emotions that wished for a moment to give him silence from the task ahead of him. 

All he knew was that he had chosen these instead of the other pair. Szeth removed one shrunken from his right side. This one was the same design, same giant green hue, but with a different kanji on the ends. One subtle difference changed his course of direction for the moment. The shrunken were back in their place and as quickly as they had appeared as Szeth refocused his attention to the street. He wasn’t meant to be here but maybe, he’d find some peace of mind before returning to the tiled roofs of his hometown. 

As the ninja staked out this past market out of curiosity, he saw an apprentice, whom was called Aphobis, helping his teacher in setting up their shop on the side of the main street. The young man seemed eager to learn the way of haggling and selling their merchandise to passing shoppers. The jewelry they laid out looked well made for a simple merchant. Szeth found the designs, or what he could see of them, to be quite bizarre. Some kind of bug and hellish birds, the metal looks similar to the craftsmen back in my time. 

Szeth watched as Aphobis cried out in a strange language to a passerby, successfully bring them to their little wayside display. A simple life with no excitement while remaining in one place. The merchant and customer seemed to discuss some of the products which Aphobis displayed for his master. Some others even drew near as the merchant raised his voice to draw customers in. A flash of excitement in Aphobis’s eyes was barely visible to the keen-eyed Szeth. It was picturesque display to the clocked male. A mere dream for Szeth who was raised in the shadowed and bloody ninja arts. 

Yet, this was why he lived, to project the ones who lived simply by the works of their own hands. The ones who supported the town in which they lived, the ones who gave produce and kept the economy running. They were the pillars of society. But, sometimes corruption under the surface threatens that delicate balance and thus, ninjas like him existed in Japan. Szeth had decided. A blink of the eye, he was gone from his hiding place. Across the roofs to the alleyway where he landed without sound, the mice didn’t even flinch upon the stranger’s descent. 

The light from the sun glinted across the shuriken as Szeth whipped it out before him. It spun through the air, the kanji gleamed before a soft humming noise was heard to Szeth’s trained ears. The blades merged together and grew bigger until it formed a wide circle before him. The reflection of the night sky over his hometown was captured within its blades. Szeth jumped through, the ring vanishing with a sharp zing before he caught the shrunken behind him. 

Szeth landed soundlessly on the roof below. It is time for justice. 

Opening the Skies

(For this story, I used a character and world from a book I have saved for later called Hidden Heart. Enjoy and don’t forget to comment! Due to someone’s concern about the email box above the comment box, you don’t need to include your email. Just submit  your comment and WordPress will let me know what you said!)

Mandie sat at the very bottom of the Stocklants Mountain Range. She was just sitting in the silence of the forest around her while waiting for her friend. He had begged and pleaded with both her and her boss, Mr. Cuttle, in order for her to be free this particular day. He did not explain why when she inquired his reasoning, only pacifying her with the reply, “You’ll enjoy it to the fullest, Mandie! I promise.”

“So, he did tell me to wait here, but what are we going to do?” The redheaded girl spoke her thoughts aloud as some birds cried out in the distance. That’s not much of an answer, is it? Mandie turned her attention away from her predicament and gazed around the area. Most called it ‘The Miracle Forest Planet’ given the fact it was hard on some of others planets that had societies full of machinery to keep nature alive. Ronus stood out from others like it in this way. (Ronus was an air planet characterized by it’s floating island upon a giant atmosphere. Deep dives into the skies below the islands revealed a small sphere of water surrounding its core.)

The hiss of steam overheard followed by the cries of sailors drew mandie’s attention upward. A giant air ship brig was passing over heading toward the docks just outside Magehaven. Probably supplies from the construction or just regular imports, Mum probably knows. Mandie sighed before a fit of coughing took over her. Her breaths came out in wheezes, making her chest feel tight like chains were binding her lungs together. Feeling the need for her inhaler, she scrambled inside her side pouch as her body felt the brunt of her fit. Feeling around blindly, her fingers felt the familiar shape of her inhaler. Mandie wasted no time pulling it out and waiting until she could properly take her medicine. 

After a moment, she was able to breathe steadily and processed with her treatment. Inhale, hold, exhale. Inhale, hold, exhale. Finally, she was at peace again and the forest around her seemed to relax as well, as if it had been held up in suspense, due to the rare human who ventured in being in danger. Mandie decided to start braiding her long hair to pass the time although even she was starting to be impatient. “Where is Fowl, anyway?”

“Did someone speak my name?!” “Ahhh!!!” Mandie jumped forward, rolling on the ground before lifting her face toward the source of the voice. A grinning, bright-eyed young man with messy brown hair was standing on the rocky ledge that overhung where Mandie was sitting. “Zebulon Fowl Inchcombe! That was not nice at all!” Mandie tried to stop herself from shaking while Zebulon, commonly known by his middle name, snickered. He saw his friend hug herself to stop her own reaction and felt a little guilty. Mandie was a tender soul so while her reactions to his surprises and scares were entertaining, they weren’t good for her. 

He jumped down with a repentant smile. “Sorry, Mandie. Both for scaring you and for making you wait so long, so come follow me!” He started to walk into the woods so Mandie got in step with him. “Fowl, what do you need to show me that requires us to leave Magehaven? Couldn’t you have just showed me there?” “No, because there’s no space for it!” “For what?” Mandie was even more puzzled but she started to have a feeling for what it was. Fowl stopped right at the edge of a clearing and spread his arms out in a grandiose manner. “For this baby!” 

Mandie looked over his shoulder and finally understood. “Your own air ship schooner?””Yes! So, now that it has been approved for flight and I have my license, why not take the maiden voyage with me? There’s the little island that used for Hukrine ores; I’m sure Mr. Cuttle would like some extras for the shop.”  Fowl nudged Mandie with a wink. He knew that the shop owner especially wouldn’t mind Mandie being absent if it meant they brought back something of value to the The Misty Clock.

Mandie’s facial expression relaxing, Fowl took that as a yes. “Then let’s wait no time!!” Grabbing her hand, he ran up the ramp and quickly pulled the lever for it to retract. “Hoist the main solar sail! Start up the inner engines and let’s go flying!” Mandie had to jump to and fro to avoid the sailor androids which were built to be small and were connected to the ship’s mainframe. I’m not so sure about this. Swallowing her fear, Mandie clutched the side of the shrouds. 

The sound of fabric flapping against the wind filled her ears along with the hum of the material soaking up the sun’s rays. The energy made it’s way through the sails, into the post and down into the ship’s hold. Gravity lost its grip on them as they slowly lifted up. As the schooner picked up speed, turning starboard away from the city, Mandie clutched the shroud and shut her eyes. 

“Mandie,” Fowl’s voice whispered with a hint of a tease. Mandie turned her head away, her chest was feeling tight again. Her knuckles were white from her death grip on the rails. 

“Come on, you’ve been holding the shroud for ten minutes. Open your eyes to see the view, you don’t want to miss it.” 

Shaking, whither from fear or the chilly air she didn’t know, Mandie peeked at her surroundings. 

The endless sea of white and blue laid before her. Clouds wandering across the endless atmosphere, huddling closely to hide its heart below them. The distant cry of the wild Vapras could be heard and the glint of their foamy green and pink scales were flashed from their fluffy playgrounds. Mandie felt a sense of ease wash over her as she aged at the splendor around her. Fowl grinned, happy to see his friend relaxed again. “Now, let’s focus on our adventure!” He held his fist in the air to rally her spirits. Mandie giggled a little before meekly punching the air as well. “Yeah!” 

A Plea from Me to You

Hello! It’s been a while since I’ve done a post as myself. However, I need to say this here since this is the main place in question for my post.

As a writer, I enjoy creating worlds and stories for people to read in their free time. I post them here and on Wattpad and that feels good. Knowing that I accomplish something that I can be proud of. However, another important aspect of being a writer or any kind of creator is what the audience does with what you put out there.

Over the past few days, thanks in part to me promoting the sites I use to write, I’ve seen a couple more viewers to each site. That’s great and I’m happy, it’s the silence is unsettling. I don’t hear what y’all think about my work. I can’t tell if you hate or love it or if you don’t for it at all. It’s discouraging and I believe in part to why I hit a rut in writing for a while.

I’m just starting to get out of that rut but I don’t want to be met with more silence. Please, I implore as a writer, tell me what you think. If it’s correctly my grammar or telling me you enjoyed the story; anything you say back to me is better than saying nothing at all. It’s so important.

So I leave you with this plea, think about it. If you have time in your day to read either site, you can spare another minute to tell me what you thought about it.

Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen. Hebrews 11:1

George the Duck

Here’s another story I had to write for English 4; a children’s story! I rather enjoyed doing a simpler plot but just characters just as lovable as the next. I hope y’all enjoy and don’t forget to let me know what you think. Faith out!

There have been many a tale told to the human world about the everyday life and adventures of animals. It’s no uncommon occurrence that human are just as curious about animals as they can be of us. However, this tale is a simple one of a simple duck who lived in a simple home.

The duck’s name was George. George had pristine white feathers and yellow bill from which would emit his boisterous and cheery voice. He lived with his five siblings, three sisters and two brothers, with their five cat and six dog friends. They all lived with the Hill family in a peaceful community in the suburbs as he heard them describe. Their house was modest with a fairly small backyard which was home to the pond the ducks frequented; well, except George. George had a problem, he was an indoor duck.

It wasn’t he fault, truly it wasn’t. For heaven’s sake, their ‘mother’ Liza (who was a human), often times wished their was a way to help George return to their pond outside. The issue was George was a lame duck who couldn’t walk anymore. When he was born, he struggled to waddle after his siblings so the Hill’s brought him inside their house which smelled liked dog hair and chai tea to live in the Mr and Mrs Hill’s room.

George grew to enjoy these times; he got to wear these straps they called ’suspenders’ to properly hold up a ‘diaper’, took baths in the huge bathtub which George swore was made of marble like the sinks, and he got attentive care from all five Hill children.

Despite this, George wanted to return to the pond outside where the fresh air would ruffle his feathers and he could hear the wild ducks that lived in the lake that resided behind the house. His colorful mind would wander along adventures with his siblings: Snuggles, Pokey, Mirage, Jinxy, and Sputnik.

George was sitting on the windowsill one day, gazing out into empty space as the youngest Hill daughter, Grace, came into the room to keep him company. She had noticed the duck’s sad expression many a time before. His tail would droop and his bright eyes dulled as they stared aimlessly anywhere with vibrant color and steaming with life, a sight not truly found within the concrete walls of the Hill’s residence. George stirred in his spot, desperately trying to move his feet again but failing. Salty water was threatening to become tears as he tried to forced his numb body to respond to his will. Her tender heart, which so adored the pets she took care of, ached while her clever mind began to formulate a plan to get George outside.

Leaving George alone once more, Grace raced downstairs and burst into the sewing room which tripled as a guest room and office for her older brothers (who aspired in filmmaking). Liza and her brothers, Craig and Edgar, looked to see Grace with beaming energy. “I have an idea to help George get together with his siblings outside!”

George was so lost in his wishful musings he hadn’t noticed the change in the air around him. Sure, he could hear the scary dogs downstairs who were probably arguing about nothing again. Two dogs in a particular, NewDog and Buddy, were vicious when it came to arguing and they disliked nay new human who entered the house. They scared George and most of the other ducks, George was happy to remain safe upstairs where they didn’t bother him. The cats were nicer in the sense they didn’t hurt him unless got too close. All in all, most the pets got along especially with the only nice dog, Murphy.

“George?” He turned his head away from the bright window to glance at the opening door. Grace was holding a little chair with wheels and a tube with little palm trees all over it with a huge grin. George was confused. What was so special about them?

“It’s a float and wheelchair, George,” Grace said simply to answer George’s unspoken bafflement. It was then it clicked in his mind. George flapped his wings in excitement before stopping to let Edgar and Craig help into the chair. He would have to use his bill to move, but he didn’t mind. The kids helped him down the stair before letting him move himself to the backdoor. George could hear it now, the sound of the birds and wind rushing past the trees, his siblings chatting about what they could hear the wild ducks say beyond the fence, all the smells of the outdoors waiting for him. Liza opened the door with a soft smile to George. “Welcome outside, George.”

Lessons Spun from Tales

Okay, so this isn’t from a prompt anyone gave me; rather it was an assignment for my English 4 class. It was a Modern Canterbury Tale we had to create ourselves. I used a recent experience as the base and gave it a more, fantastical setting. I hope y’all enjoy it and don’t forget to comment and share! Faith Out!

In the land of Nosmya, Roclu Gangur was a young female dark elf who making a name for herself as an adventurer. She hailed from the mines of midafell where her kin lived in the darkness and low lights of crystals and scattered moonlight from the skies high above. daring and curious, she discovered her thirst for the unknown when one night she ventured above ground and met her future traveling companion whom she named Templeton. Rock held the dignity of the dark elves in her shadowy appearance of grey skin, black short hair, and piercing grey eyes. Now, she sits in a tavern in Stagstrand were a stranger approaches her.
“Come on, Roclu, I want to go see that dragon’s labyrinth already! Why are you taking so long to eat?” Roclu did not reply to her excitable and more than a little impatient friend, but continued to eat her food in peace. It would no doubt be one of many stops along the trail to their destination. Templeton just didn’t like her steady spacing sometimes.
The Dancing Mountain Tavern & Inn was a favorite stop of hers no matter where they were heading. Stagstrand was located right in the middle of Nosmya which made it a perfect cultural hub for the masses traveling about for pleasure or business.

This particular place was her favorite because many visitors requested stories from her travels and she was waiting for that tie to begin. 
 “Peace, dear Templeton,” she said while rubbing his tail. “i do not mean to dawdle, but you know how much I love to spin tales.”
“Hahaha! Come on, fair patrons! I believe our adventurer and bard is ready for tonight!” Ulmug, the orc bartender, shouted passionately. Cheers and whistles echoed and only added the lively atmosphere that existed in the building.
Roclu smiled. She left some coins at her place before swiftly sitting on the bar counter so everyone could see her. Templeton scurried up to sit on her shoulder, not willing to miss out on the spotlight.
Some of the younger children ran up and sat on the floor in front of her. “Miss Gangur! What stories are you going to tell tonight?” “Of noble dragons and their lairs?” “Oh dark beasts that you had to defeat?” “Helping villages with their political issues.” 
 “Peace, peace!, dear listeners. While all those stories hold much value, I have one of a greater moral I must begin.” Roclu’s aura became stronger as she assumed a sort of persona. A grand storyteller that captures hearts and minds in tales that wove truth and fantasy together. She threw her hood back as she opened her mouth to speak. (Poor Templeton was nearly throw off of her as she started. “She should remember where I am, that girl.”)
“As I journey this land seeking new experiences, I also seek new people to meet and befriend. However, as a dark elf with the ability to see through lies, I have learned people can disguise themselves as someone else when their true colors are far more sinister than they lead you to believe.” A shiver ran through the crowd as she spoke.
“When I finished a job a band of kind dwarves offered me, I met a young, male tiger nekojin and a young, female of the bird-folk. They too, were traveling to Baymouth. For a few days, we remained in each others company and they appeared upright to my eyes. They gained my trust within this time and I shared many of my own stories with them in confidence. For a few moons, we became an adventuring group that preformed many jobs and requests together.”
As Roclu continued to tell of these two, Templeton interjected in the story with a scowl. “But they betrayed us! Those scheming monsters got close to her and her brother before showing their true face and stabbing them in the back!”
“Templeton, while I do admire your anger and thirst for justice, let me build up to it.” The children giggled while the adults appeared more concerned for the circumstances. Who would want to betray the brave, yet caring dark elf?
Roclu merely returned to her story without much notice to the change. “I learned that two were lost in their ways of spirituality and as a trusted friend, I sought to guide the young woman while my brother spoke to the tiger. My family, who learned of theirs, did not see much fruit in them and warned me of their true nature. I took caution, but I did not even see the knife they were preparing for me.”
Roclu paused. A cold chill passed over her heart as her mid wandered back to the day that cursed letter arrived at her family’s doorstep. Rage and sadness had tormented her soul as many came to her defense at the lies and slander of those two.
Roclu sighed and Templeton nibbled at his acorn. “Safe to say, they no longer travel with us and any accusation who support adventurers know of them and probably will refuse to be their patron.” The squirrel gave the room a satisfied smile as he fluffed his tail and rubbed Roclu’s ears affectionately. “They tasted defeat and backlash the moment they tried to stab my lovely Roclu.”
Roclu responded by smoothly shoving the rest of his acorn into his mouth. He stumbled and failed about before clinging to her cloak. “Yes, so that is the end of that story. Children, fair patrons, take heed to these words that i have deliver to you. Hold your cards close and reveal them to only those you know for certain you can trust. There are indeed wolves in sheep’s clothing and snakes in the grass who lie in wait for those foolish and blind enough to come close.”
The aura around her disappeared as Roclu concluded her tale. The children gazed up at her in awe while the adults turned to converse amongst themselves on her story. The dark elf herself just smiled. Another night, another tale, another lesson fro everyone to learn. These were her thoughts as she got off the counter before Ulmug stopped her. “No drink, tonight? Sweet Eight is the special tonight.” The orc’s offer of the sweet beverage caused Roclu to consult her squirrel with her eyes.
Templeton groaned before leaping to the counter again. “Hit us with all you got, Ulmug! We’re not leaving till I’ve had every drink on the menu.” “If you can manage to stay awake that is,” Roclu teased as Ulmug eagerly began to prepare their orders. Perhaps Roclu and Templeton would stay for the stay at The Dancing Mountain this time.