Search Results for 'extra'

Forums Search Search Results for 'extra'

Viewing 17 results - 141 through 157 (of 157 total)
  • Author
    Search Results
  • #502

    Madame Butterbutt, the saloon landlady and iconic colourful figure, came back to her room in a fury.
    She was living above the saloon, in a large room tastefully furnished, with some exuberant objects that she had gathered from her many commercial acquaintances.

    She took one of her favourite cigarillos to calm her down.
    That Mc Gaughran was such a… she wasn’t at loss for words. But none of them would have been strong or decent enough for the dork that he was. Ooops she smiled, this last one had almost slipped out unnoticed.

    Unlike many people in that small town of San Demangelo, she wasn’t fearful of the man. Not of the man himself (she was almost a giantess compared to many women), and certainly not of his threats either, even though she knew what the man was capable of.
    She knew well many of his shady tricks, but she also knew things about him that most of the time sufficed to keep him quiet and docile.

    Today, she would have almost laughed at him when he had tried to pressure her by threatening to reveal to sheriff Ted Marshall her little trafficking of hallucinogenic toads. Pathetic of him.
    That was really nothing, a little commerce she had with some remote part of her family in Guatemala, especially the voodoo witch Nana Del Conda. These were regularly brought to her by the old ambulant quack Myrlin who was selling all sorts of hocus pocus remedies, keeping the potent ones for Madame Butterbutt.

    So nothing extraordinary about that… No,… what had brought her in that terrible mood was when the hoity-toity, pompous, arrogant, full of himself f*ckhead, oops she bit her lip again… When that jelly belly mugger had tried to coerce her into pushing the little Twi into his bed.
    Repugnant.

    When that foolhardy brother El Disperso is storming again into the bar to try to find quarrel and provoke the jelly pig into a brawl, she would perhaps let him have it his own way after all.
    Last time her loath of firearms had been directed strongly against the young boy, perhaps also to protect him too… Anyway, he was perhaps right, allowing himself to “float downstream”, from the hate to the anger… and perhaps to hope and joy again.
    She started to sound like dear ol’ Abe…

    #1581

    In reply to: Synchronicity

    AvatarJib
    Participant

      OK I got a link to that serendipityfilly… ODAd about mandrake root, also known as wild lemon or racoon berry…

      American Mandrake Root is a strong and powerful purgative that has been used historically and primarily to regulate bowel and liver function. It is believed to be a strong stimulant that efficiently cleanses and removes waste products from the body

      We need that to let go of all the associations and bs :))

      #323

      — The legend of Mævel — (Part II)

      The young fairy princess, whose secret name had been forgotten, and thus her very existence to whoever had known her, grew up as a beautiful child.
      Mævel she was, and the youngest of the clan too. Her delicate features stood out of the many children that Jorg and Ilga, her human parents already had, and they first saw her as probably their most useless child, being frail and unfit to the works of the woods. But she’d been saved from a sure death, and that had proved to them that the child was some odd gift from the Gods.

      Mævel looking at her brothers and sisters, was constantly reminded of how different she was, as small and fair and fragile as a sparfly’s egg. She helped her mother Ilga as much as she could in the kitchen, preparing meals for the clan. Her parents did not know how she could ever get a husband, as she would never be much of a great cook either.
      So, she was feeling not fulfilled by what she was doing. She loved her parents, and sisters, and brothers, but there was something else that she did not know how to express.
      During the springing and sunny seasons, and even the rainy and icy one, she would go after her works had been done to the little meadow brook, and watch for hours the little rosy trouts dancing in the clear waters.

      And much of her young years passed, and she learned how to cook, how to sew and how to wash clothes and many other tasks that could help the family. She had improved much in her skills and could do wonderful adornments to her sisters and brothers clothes. But noone cared about the adornments, which would be useless for them. But they loved their little sister nonetheless, though they did not understand.
      Soon, all the elder brothers left the house, one by one, and the sisters too. And as Mævel turned twenty one, she was left alone with old Jorg and old Ilga.

      That day, her parents had offered her a pearl white ribbon, for her to tie her hair, and they had thought it would probably please her, as it was as useless a thing as their mind could imagine. And indeed she was delighted by the gift, and to please her parents, she had danced and sung in the night, barefooted on the floorboard, her shiny golden hair swirling around her, as they both loved her to do.

      The next day, Mævel went to the brook to wash some clothes, when she noticed a reddish bluish spark of light coming from the forest nearby. How strange she thought. Perhaps it is only my imagination. But soon, a plaintiff cry came from the same direction, and she was deeply moved by the cry.
      Leaving her clothes to dry up, she went to the forest, knowing she could trust her instincts and that no wild beast would harm her. Calling to see if someone was there, a voice called her, crying “here, here!”

      Behind some fern trees, she was surprised as she saw a wounded blue fox. Was it the fox that had spoken?
      — Yes, that was me, answered the blue fox
      — Oh, a talking fox! You are wounded, aren’t you? asked Mævel
      — Yes, a stupid arrow from a stupid hunter… I can’t extract it, would you help me?
      — Of course, answered Mævel, hold on a second.

      And she leaned forward to draw the arrow from the fox’s leg, holding fast so that it would not hurt the creature. She was just knowing what to do, as if she had done it many times already. Then she drew out her white handkerchief, and bandaged the bleeding wound, tying it tightly with her pearl white ribbon.

      — I must leave now, said the fox, I am greatly indebted to you, young lady
      — Will you tell me your name?
      — I am called Blohmrik. And may I inquire as to your name?
      — I’m called Mævel, but you can call me Mæ
      — Such a lovely name…
      — How come you are a talking fox?
      — I was not always in the form that you see now. This form is due to a curse from the God of the Forgotten, from which I foolishly tried to stole secrets when I was a young god learning magic.
      Ooh, so you are a god? Mævel was amazed
      — Oh, smiled sadly the fox, as you are also, though you probably don’t realize. Gods are not so different than what you think…
      — Oh, really? So there isn’t anything I can do for you, is there?
      — You have already done much for today Mæ
      Mævel was blushing… She dared ask to her new friend
      — And will I see you again?
      — Perhaps sooner than you know.

      #305

      Quintin couldn’t sleep.
      Now he was thinking, he had delayed it for too long.
      They all had been thinking of it, talking and glossing over it for so long. Some had dreamed of it, feared it, asked for it to bugger off. Lots of pains and struggles, but it had only been clever or not so clever ways to delay the unavoidable.

      Now, he had an urge to insert it. How come he had not thought of it before. All he had to do was insert it in his reality.
      Well, that would sure mean lots of changes, but after all, no pain no gain.
      Or no abundance.

      ABUNDANCE abun·dance [ ə-ˈbən-dəns ] “The ability to do what you need to do, when you need to do it”

      That’s how Pasha, a Russian friend of Dory had defined abundance — speaking of Dory, now Quintin was seeing how she was ahead of the herd, and a bit of a coal (slow) mine canary too. Quintin would have changed all the world’s dictionaries to have that new definition everywhere. What a task…

      Actually, that’s it! Quintin had feared the implications, as lots of people did.
      It would mean everything would be allowed. Everything would be true, even the most blatant contradictions would be harmoniously living side by side. Struggle would be needless, and all that would be needed to do would be to stop paddling upstream.
      What a mess it could be for salmons and control freaks as himself.

      Perhaps worse, it would change everything, even “past” events where everything would also be allowed, now.
      In-of-body travels (rather than the too classical “out-of-body”), meeting other selves appearing out of nowhere, talking with dead people, or sugarplum fairies, traveling instantaneously to meet Tchaikovsky and have him change his dying swan for a stuffed talking Mother Goose, flying, shape-shifting, manifesting objects out of thin air, the possibilities would be extraordinary… All in that physical reality where everyone was struggling to prove none of this was possible.
      But if everything would be allowed, then be it! And he would go and live in 23, Dragon Alley, Phœnix Ville, Sunnyvalley with Yann (and the others of course, if they wanted to) and do whatever they wanted to do.

      OK. That’s a deal then. Release the camouflages, open the watergates and leave the damn dams to beavers and loosers.

      Let’s insert the Shift, now.

      And let the fun continue, and worry wither away.

      ***

      Well, and what’s that Shift all about?

      Quintin’s friends Michaela and Elias had said about it :

      “You are also bored in the experiences that you have created to this point. You have experienced. You have created in the manner that you have designed previously. Now you choose to be creating in an expanded experience, allowing more of your awareness, more of an opening to consciousness, more of your own creativity and your own abilities, and you are discovering that your abilities are within physical focus limitless. You have merely limited yourselves as an element of your beliefs, but as you are also moving into acceptance of your beliefs, you are widening your awareness and you are allowing yourselves to view how many more abilities you hold and how very creative you are, and not creating your limitations with such severity. Those elements in your reality that have been thought to be impossible are not impossible!” 1

      #302
      F LoveF Love
      Participant

        Well I think I can answer that for you, said a small round green blobby creature, in response to Roselyn’s question. The creature had actually been sitting there all the time, however everyone had assumed it was some sort of exotic plant.

        Let me introduce myself, I am Frowdup, yes an unusual name I know. I am a long time and faithful friend to the dear little Fairy Princess, who is rather friendless at the moment owing to her extraordinarily antisocial behaviour , such as that which you see so sadly exhibited before you.

        Frowdup cleared his throat in an important and significant sort of way. I will try and relate this sad tale as succinctly and precisely as possible, he said.

        Our dear little Fairy Princess was the head Fairy Princess of the Hot Pink and Sky Blue bands of the North East Fairies from the Land of the Long White Cloud. Each Fairy Princess in her initiate years has a witch assigned to her, to help her develop her magical abilities. Our dear little Fairy Princess was designated one of the 13 Witches of Loathing, Whanga, from the far North of the North Island of the Land of the Long White Cloud.

        Dear Fairy Princess had her own cave which she took admirable pains to make sure was always fully stocked with sand. You know about the sand of course? I can see you are a woman of great stature, no offense intended, I mean I can see you are tremendously well versed in the ways of magic yourself, so you will know that some of the more basic ways of magic involve a symbolic representation of magical symbols, so to speak, such as sand and wands and whatnot sort of thingies. Really completely unnecessary, of course, as you will know, however for her, each grain of sand was the exact and precise equivalent of one wish, activated by a determined wave of her magic wand and the words abracadabra. Yes, I know, very primitive, but she is a very young initiate, although I will say she showed great potential had Whanga the Witch of Loathing not managed to convince her of her own lack of worth.

        Whanga was constantly and every single moment whispering in the ear of the Fairy Princess magic spells of self loathing. My young friend lacked the expertise to counteract these powerful spells and began to believe them. One day she was so sad at her own horridness that she could bear it no longer and put a spell on herself. This enabled her to curl up into a deep sleep of forgetfulness for a rather long time, enabling Whanga to easily procure said wand. In addition to this Whanga managed to obtain the source of the music which the Fairy Princess felt she required in order to help her to fly. When the dear little Fairy Princess awakened from her sleep, she was devastated by the loss of her wand and music, and still convinced of her own worthlessness you see this poor creature before you today.

        The poor creature had stopped sobbing and was glaring at Frowdup.

        #1448
        TracyTracy
        Participant

          http://www.north-of-africa.com/article.php3?id_article=418

          This might be a better link for the comment about the connection between Egypt and Tuaregs :) :weather-clear:

          as well as the Egypt connection :

          At Jabbaren, he found a city with alleys, cross-roads and squares. The walls were covered with hundreds of paintings. Jabbaren is a Tuareg word meaning “giants” and the name refers to the paintings found inside the city, some of which depict human figures that are indeed gigantic in size. One of them measured up to eighteen feet high. Several of these paintings depicted “Martians” and for Lhote, it was the first time he discovered paintings of hundreds of oxen. Jabbaren was soon labelled one of the oldest sites of the Tassili.

          I think the mummy may be 6 meters tall………(Rahim told me that the tombs there were extraordinarily long….and we did have a giant enter the story ….) :yahoo_thinking:

          ~~~~~~~~~

          AND: The Tassili n’Ajjer

          …..the Hoggar Mountains and the Tassili n’Ajjer, one of the most enchanting mountain ranges on this planet……

          There were largely two forms of rock paintings, distinguishable by the location in which they were found. Some were found in rock shelters, such as at Aouanrhet. These sites were where the shaman performed his divination, as the face of a rock was often seen as a doorway to another dimension (another parallel with the paintings in the French caves).

          (this reminds me of Oversoul Seven! # book by Jane Roberts)

          Though one could interpret their location as the work of a nomadic people, Lhote’s team also found several urban settlements.
          He found small concentrations of human activity around Tan-Zoumiatak in the Tin Abou Teka massif. It was a little rocky citadel that dominated the gorge below. The citadel was cut through with a number of narrow alleys. Lhote described the art he found here as: “There were life-size figures painted in red ochre, archers with muscular arms and legs, enormous ‘cats’, many scenes with cattle, war-chariots and so forth. Up to this time I had never seen figures of this sort in the Tassili and the mass of paintings that I managed to view that day quite put into the shade all those I had seen up to then.”

          more:

          http://www.philipcoppens.com/tassili.html

          ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

          ENORMOUS CATS?????? :yahoo_surprise:

          #1467
          EricEric
          Keymaster

            Blue quote thingy

            The blue quote thingy is made with bq. (blockquote) at the beginning of a new line.

            bq. will give that

            will give that

            If it extends to many paragraphs, then use

            bq.. my long quote
            continued
            p.  *back to normal paragraph again*

            my long quote

            continued

            back to normal paragraph again

            You can have more details in the Textile help file for other more complex designs…

            Searching

            :face-glasses: I tried in both the search tab, and the “quicksearch”, and it seems OK.

            Only trick is in the search tab, when you look up, say… “Arona”… you have to click on the highlighted extract, and not on the title, if you want to be brought directly to the one of the many comments where Arona appears ;))

            #1466
            F LoveF Love
            Participant

              Two little things of an assistance required nature, totally not urgent:

              How do you make the blue block quote thingy?
              When I do a search, it does not take me to the highlighted extract, but to the beginning of the story, for some reason.:yahoo_shame_on_you:

              Thank you :yahoo_star:

              #1308

              In reply to: Yuki’s Livrary

              EricEric
              Keymaster

                September 24 th

                Quintin remembered a snapshot of the notes that Dory had taken during her first trip to the Madagascan caves, a year ago.

                Relevant extracts:

                At one moment, I saw some hooded figure in the sideways tunnels… He vanished on the left, couldn’t follow him…
                […] HE KNEW HIS WAY INSIDE !
                When he vanished, I had the vision of something, […] like the layout of a labyrinth, of cave tunnels — that are all underground and the many entrances are all over the world… PORTALS
                focus opening/doors ; time/space…
                The central cavernous part is some kind of key center, where anyone can meet…

                This has inspired Quintin to write some notes too.
                He has the vision of these portals organized as clusters, like a tree, with branches and leaves… I will send him a more detailed image, but that may take him some time to digest!

                September 26 th

                The latest additions to the story have inspired Quintin. He had some inkling of how “essence” (or what is somewhat referred as “oversoul” ) and all the “focus” of essence (or lifetimes) interplay, and are not as separate as they sometimes seem to be.

                Here would be what we will say to him, if he wants to listen:

                « Now, terminology can become tricky as, for much time, you have been accustomed to be considering of your experience as the projection of that of an “essence”, somewhat separate from you, the lowly focus.
                Of course, you pretend the contrary, and become quite nifty in brandishing sentences like “I am essence, and I create all of my reality”, which you are and do actually, but that you do not always believe and trust.
                These terms of “essence” and “focus” were given to you as means for you to better understand the interplay of consciousness. In the beginning of the acquaintance with these new terminologies, you have felt them remotely blurry and unrelated to previous concepts, which was the intention. But now, you once again objectify your understanding in something too rigid at times, and that little story is giving you a hint of what your real power is.
                And you begin to really experience it, and really pay attention.

                « As was expressed many times, “essence” is no thing. It is an action.
                The “essence” is each of you, that very portion of you that you feel when you slide your attention into the comment box.
                In that, your purpose, you see, is only to experience, nothing more, nothing less.
                And then time, as you know it, becomes irrelevant, you see. Your natural time is expressed through you and your explorations.
                Notice how playfully, as essence (essence playing focus or focus playing essence), you let your natural time unfold, and at times find some strange weather pattern in your awareness that needs clarification. As essence, you playfully find the most perfect habits [shapes and clothings] to wrap around you, and continue your story.
                Just as your dreams at night overlap and blend into each other.
                Just as Rafaela created new focuses [Sam and Becky] to continue to play and make the story expand for all of the other focuses, Dory included.

                « That “I” of you is ever present, and is reflected perfectly in others’ perceptions, as you are drawing them to you purposefully. Do not brush aside their adjuncts, for they are also you, having moved your pawns forward, so to speak, through their moves.

                « Thus understand that the story is a continuous stream reflecting the essence that is you, and your travel through the various guises you borrow.
                In that manner, it does not matter how much sense it makes in linear terms. Because, in a way, it can’t make sense in these linear terms.

                « Let us explain this in other terms.
                When you found difficulties in understanding the “scheme” so to speak, the figure that is drawn by the participants, it is because you apply the linear understanding of what such a scheme should be.
                In that, you only perceive the “plot” as a succession of dots without a continuity, whereas the continuity is to be found in the other stories interwoven.
                You are accustomed to stories where a single individual is enacting throughout the play, in a linear continuous fashion. The individual goes through many different actions, but is always the same in your perception.
                Here, the tricky thing is to notice the continuity throughout the various habits [clothings] taken by the essence(s). It matters not that the essence takes that guise of say, a pirate sailing on high seas, just after having been an old crafty Lord in his windy castle. The underlying aspects of his exploration has been continuous and coherent: in this case, exploring and making sense of one’s exploration. It is just that a certain appearance has been perhaps more fitting to express certain aspects or qualities of essence, but the exploration has been one, throughout the entirety of the experience.

                « We will let you ponder this, and we will continue our own story, writing about you… »

                September 28 th

                This sand symbol that Quintin has brought up seemed to have come from many directions at once. Each character has connected it, in various ways.
                Armelle (Arona) to her magic, Rafaela (Becky) to her collecting customs, etc. etc.

                Let us say that this symbol is not as innocent as it may seem. There are lots of associations with sand.
                It is solid, yet fluid. In association with water, it can be used to build, and also to erode. It can shift into many forms, one of which is your glass, and your electronic components.
                And most of all, it is, after your very oxygen, the most abundant constituent of your reality.
                It is almost limitless in your understanding.
                As is your magic.

                This magical device we made Quintin see in a visualization is an analogy of your very action of creation as essences.
                The sand which molds itself to make forms and shapes in three dimensions is in fact likened to your consciousness. Each grain of sand represents your links of consciousness that bind together to do your command.
                The shapes are moved by your essences, in which you may see that the essence is no thing at all, but is a continuous stream of action, not separate from others’.

                As Quintin said to Fiona, some individuals do differently when they create and shape their sands.
                In analogy with the coloured sands, some people like Quintin enjoy using other people’s colours in shaping his own characters, while some others prefer to keep their own colours, to create a more definite sense of individuality. But they integrate the others’ movements and shapes nonetheless, regardless of how much they perceive it to be coming from them.

                With that said, let us see how much more will appear from that sandbox…

                September 30 th

                The Wrick family tree as it is now (or “will be” drawn around the time of the twins in 2057).

                The Secret Life of Margaret Wrick , a newspaper cut from 2033.

                October 7 th

                The dragon Naasir’s dream
                A panorama illustrating the portals between the worlds created by each of the participants… But who is dreaming, really?

                And an illustration of Chiara’s encounter with the glutton “dreggun” Buckberry

                #258
                F LoveF Love
                Participant

                  India Louise sat at the end of the extraordinarily long oak dinner table. A tiny figure engrossed in some drawing. The morning sun shone in the window, brightening the otherwise dark room.

                  Lord Wrick walked in, not seeming to see India Louise at first. He held a letter in his hand, and some old newspaper clippings. He sat down heavily at the table, opened the letter, and read it. After reading it, he sat staring into space for a long while.

                  India Louise looked up from her drawing.

                  What is wrong Grandpa? You look sad. She walked over to him and hugged him. See look at this. Look at my drawing of a flower, perhaps that will cheer you up. The painter Bill has been showing me how to use these paint sticks and also how to use my mind to help make the painting have life.

                  It is beautiful India Louise.

                  What did the letter say Grandpa. Why is it making you so sad?

                  It is just an old letter, India Louise.

                  Yes it looks very old. Was it bad news?

                  Just reminds me of things I wish I had said a long time ago, said her great grandfather, Regret is an awful curse

                  The little girl hugged him again. Yes it sounds awful. I think I will draw another flower for you grandpa.

                  He smiled. Thank you India Louise. I will be back soon. I will put the letter away now.

                  Yes, put it away now. I can’t see any point looking at it if it makes you sad, and then come and see the flower I will draw for you.

                  Lord Wrick walked over to the bookshelves and reached up. There was a tin on the top shelf. He opened the tin and got out an old key.

                  He walked down the passage way, to the right and then down some stairs leading to the cellar. There was a door, which had not been opened for some time, and he had to use some force to get the key to work in the lock.

                  The room was dark, musty, mostly full of what would seem to be junk, which had been thrown there when people did not know what else was to be done with it. There was an old chest of drawers against one wall. He pulled open the top draw, fingering gently some of the items, more old letters, a feather, some pebbles, a diary, some old paintings and photos. He knew each object had a life of it’s own, memories which create worlds. He added the letter and the newspaper article.

                  As he left the room, he wondered whether to lock the door again, and decided not to. He had a funny feeling within himself as he made this decision to leave it open, a shift, as though his simple decision had changed things, somehow.

                  Silly old fool he thought, laughing at himself. He would go and see the flower that India Louise was drawing for him.

                  #226

                  Jadra Iamamad stared intently at his left hand. He had been looking closely at it now for nigh on 2 hours since awakening that morning. He held it up and compared it with his right hand. He shook his head, a mixture of astonishment and disbelief, however there could be no doubt about it. A rather extraordinary thing had occurred whilst he had slept. It was truly momentous. He wanted to dance and shout and raise his voice to the heavens and praise the mighty Gods who had bestowed such an honor upon him.

                  Ha! They call Jadra Iamamad a fool, a madman, but it is the God’s who have spoken now. Who are the fools now? It is the God’s who have chosen!. And he fell prostrate upon the earth.

                  Not for long though, for Jadra knew what he had to do. He had been entrusted with this mighty honor and he must guard it carefully. He ripped off his shirt and tied it carefully around his left hand in order to protect it from spying, prying eyes. And there were many such eyes in Jadra’s world. He could feel them upon him even now. He knew full well there would be many who would wish to deprive him of the special privilege the Gods had bestowed upon him.

                  He had to take his hand to the cave.

                  Jadra could not restrain himself from doing a small dance.

                  Carefully, carefully now Jadra, he whispered gleefully.

                  #192
                  F LoveF Love
                  Participant

                    Fiona awoke from a terreggfying dream. In her dream her friend Quintin had published extracts from her diary, sensitive extracts where she spoke of her desire for an endearing baby dragon, and published them on his website.

                    Thank God it is just a dream, thought Fiona.

                    #177
                    F LoveF Love
                    Participant

                      That morning Fiona’s boyfriend asked her to marry him. He even had a date in mind. Over the weekend she had told him how she was feeling. She thought she had spoken plainly enough and he had gone away. She had a bad weekend but yesterday felt she was starting to be more herself again. So it came as a surprise, and she had to explain again.

                      And then she went to bed, and pulled the covers over her head, and let the sound of the rain falling outside soothe her.

                      She had a funny dream. She was in a courtroom seated on a little wooden chair, wearing a beautiful dress made of exquisite lace. In her arms she held a baby. She had dreamed of the baby before, but in the previous dream she had felt only repulsion for the funny little thing with its exhausted tiny body, and extra long hair. This time she was holding it protectively.

                      On one side of the courtroom were a group of people looking very serious and professional. She felt them to be mainly doctors and lawyers and they wore dark suits. On the other there were people chanting and waving placards. Some were meditating, others were dancing and they looked like crazy hippy people.

                      The two groups of people were fighting over something, shouting backwards and forwards, and it seemed to be something to do with her. She was getting more and more tense as she sat on the little chair with her head down and listened to the two sides, till it seemed she might explode.

                      Suddenly she looked up and she saw a funny Chinese gentleman, smiling and winking at her. He held out his hand to her and, holding the baby gently with one arm, she took it gratefully and they escaped from the bedlam.

                      When Fiona eventually decided she could emerge from beneath the covers the rain had stopped.

                      Bugger this! she said

                      She put on music loudly and danced around the house doing the housework…..

                      #172
                      F LoveF Love
                      Participant

                        But the brave front Arona had put on for the dragon crumbled as she looked at the door.

                        She sat down on the ground and started to cry, and once she started she found she could not stop.

                        She was so afraid. The courage she felt earlier had deserted her and been replaced by a sadness she did not really even fathom herself.

                        I am tired of this no man’s land, this endless searching. And I am so afraid that behind the door is just yet another dark tunnel. I hate riddles, people should say what they mean, and yes, I am very tired of this heavy black cape.

                        And so saying Arona angrily took off the cape and threw it to the ground.

                        She cried and cried and cried, and the little glukenitch lying unseen in the darkest corner luxuriated in the extra dampness her tears added to the ground.

                        When she had done crying she found her strength again, enough to keep going with the journey

                        #165

                        Illi woke up and groaned. Her back was aching and she felt like she’d fallen down a hill, or plummeted into a hole. I thought sleep was supposed to be relaxing, she grumbled as she shuffled off to make coffee. Ten pairs of eyes followered her every movement, assessing her mood. Some of the eyes winked at the other eyes, and nodded…yes, let’s remind her, she’s useless at these clues, ok guys, everyone ready…steady…GO!

                        Illi jolted unpleasantly and painfully as a dreadful cacophany of dog barking erupted around her, and warm squirming bodies tumbled everywhere.

                        How can I possibly focus on SELF, you stupid creatures, when you keep barking like that! Illi sighed, she knew she was getting it backwards, but her whole world was topsy turvey, nothing was as it seemed anymore. Which comes first, the dragon, or the egg?

                        dragon or the egg, hhmm, egg before the dragon? or the dragon before the egg….irritated because the dogs barked? or dogs barked because I was irritated? eggs, dragons, eggs, dragons, dogs, eggs dragons eggs…..

                        Illi sighed, and made another cup of coffee.

                        And then as if by magic an extraordinary thing happened….

                        #163

                        Hells Bells muttered Arona to herself , this had better not be some sort of a test that dragon is putting me through

                        As she stepped forward into the darkness of the chosen path, she had a sudden sense she was walking off the edge of a cliff.

                        Arona had been practising quietness for a long time. The journey had been lonely at times and offered her many opportunities to practise her skills. There were so many parts of her wanting to have a say, discuss, analyse her every move, so that she would become paralysed and unable to move at all. In desperation almost she had learned to still the voices and find that part of herself she most believed herself to be. The part which believed in the existence of magic.

                        Well done, and shall you fly?

                        Arona hesitated. It was that voice again. She was not sure if this new voice came from her own thoughts, but she felt not.

                        Great, she thought, perfect time to finally lose it. Stuck in a dark cave with a troublesome dragon.

                        Shrugging her shoulders she went still inside and moved her body forward.

                        Leormn (with two little dots above the “o”) felt deeply humbled when he saw the extraordinary bravery of Arona.

                        It was hard for the proud dragon to consider, but he did wonder if sometimes he went too far with his joking. After all for him the cave was a playground, clay he could mould at will, or at a whim. Perhaps one could even call it a work of art, he thought proudly.

                        But he did realise that for the girl, who was newer to the ways of magic (although showed the most tremendous potential he grudgingly had to admit), he realised it represented something far deeper, a dual potential, the hope of light, but also the possibility of the deepest darkness.

                        For a moment he even considered revealing his whereabouts.

                        She is fine , Malvina answered his thoughts, she loves the challenge. It is what drew her here.

                        #156
                        TracyTracy
                        Participant

                          Sanso stood at the entrance to the cave, looking out over the valley. He loved the rich orange-red rocky cliffs and towering stone pillars, and recognized them at once. He remembered this place! A vague nostalgia swept over him, he’d loved it here, hadn’t wanted to leave…… A song started playing in his head …… ‘we wept when we remembered Zion’… mmm mmm mmm mmmmmmmmmmmmmmm……… when we remembered Zion….

                          What an extraordinary cave it was, Sanso thought, when he’d wiped his eyes and his nose on his indigo blue shawl. Every time I see a light at the end of one of the tunnels and follow it to the cave entrance, it leads me to another time and place.

                          The rain started to fall, gently at first, and then the valley was filled with the strange pale green light of an approaching thunderstorm. Reluctantly, Sanso made his way back into the cave.

                        Viewing 17 results - 141 through 157 (of 157 total)