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  • #4470

    Despite using his human form frequently, Tak was at heart still the same little gibbon his friend had found in the bamboo forest.

    A lot of his inner turmoil had been transformed, like a new skin on a wound, especially after the ceremony. He no longer felt the weight of the other lives they had lived, nor the stir of revenge that was festering inside. His heart was like a forest after a fire, growing anew, fresh below the cover of dead ashes.

    During the past months, he had been mostly busy with himself. He couldn’t avoid the classes that Rukshan would teach him in the morning, but it still left a good deal of free time. He would wander in the nearby woods, listening to the sounds, exploring where it felt safe enough, and at times jumping from branch to branch in his gibbon form.
    He could feel Fox was a bit envious at times —struggling too much to retain his human form. It would become more difficult with the age, to stay longer in a form especially if you started to master it later in age. So he had to enjoy and relish the fact he was still young.

    In the forest, he had felt disturbance, but nothing like the ghosts that had chased them a long time back. There was work done at a distance, and it displaced creatures, the forest was angry. His companions too, and Fox was talking about doing sabotage work. Rukshan had asked him to take no part in it, but there was no telling how long he could resist the call.

    When he entered that night back in the cabin, there was a strange smell, something subtle and precious, like smokey and peppered with ambergris and with a feel of dew on a fresh lettuce. It came from a small package on the drawer in the burka lady’s quarter.
    It smelt too good. Surreptitiously he entered the room and opened the little thing, there was a creamy substance in it. Surely some nice spread for freshly baked bread.
    He couldn’t resist, the smell was tantalising. He dipped one finger, licked it, and… wow… in three quick gulps, licked the whole thing clear.

    Tak was at heart still the same mischievous little gibbon his mother loved so much.

    #4465
    TracyTracy
    Participant

      The teleporter in pink raised an eyebrow at overhearing the mention of the refund policy of the auction house: just moments ago she had received a message of satisfaction from an interdimensional auction house on the successful completion of a returned manifestation.

      #4462

      Night had fallen when Rukshan came back to the cottage. He was thinking that they could wait a little bit for the trip. He did not like that much the idea of trusting the safety of their group to a stranger, even if it was a friend of Lhamom. They were not in such a rush after all.

      Rukshan looked at their luxuriant newly grown pergola. Thanks to the boost potion Glynis had prepared, it had only took a week to reach its full size and they have been able to enjoy it since the start of the unusual hot spell. The creatures that had hatched from the colourful eggs Gorrash had brought with him were flowing around the branches creating a nice glowing concerto of lights, inside and out.

      It was amazing how everyone were combining their resources and skills to make this little community function. In the shadow of the pergola there was an empty pedestal that Fox had built and Eleri had decorated with nice grapes carvings. Gorrash was certainly on patrol with the owls. His friends had thought that a pedestal would be more comfortable and the pergola would keep Gorrash’s stone from the scorching heat of the sun. Also, he wouldn’t get covered in mud during the sudden heavy rains accompanying the hot spell.

      Seeing the beautiful pedestal and the carved little stairs he could use to climb up, Gorrash had tried to hide the tears in his eyes. He mumbled it was due to some desert dust not to appear emotional, but they all knew his hard shell harboured the softest heart.

      The dwarf had repaid them in an unexpected way. Every day just before sunrise, he would take a big plate in his hands and jumped on the pedestal before turning to stone. It allowed them to put grapes or other fruits that they could eat under the shadow of the of the pergola.

      Rukshan came into the house and he found Margoritt sitting at the dining table on which there was a small parchment roll. Her angry look was so unusual that Rukshan’s felt his chest tighten.

      “They sent me a bloody pigeon,” she said when she arrived. She took the roll and handed it to Rukshan. “The city council… Leroway… he accuses us of unauthorised expansion of the house, of unauthorised construction on communal ground, and of unlicensed trade of manufactured goods.” Margoritt’s face was twisted with pain as the said the words.

      Rukshan winced. Too much bad news were arriving at the same time. If there was a pattern, it seemed rather chaotic and harassing.

      “They threaten us to send a bailif if we don’t stop our illegal activities and if we don’t pay the extra taxes they reclaim,” she continued. “I’m speechless at the guile of that man.”

      Rukshan smiled, he wondered if Margoritt could ever be rendered speechless by anything except for bad flu. He uncoiled the roll and quickly skimmed through the long string of accusations. Many of them were unfair and, to his own opinion unjustified. Since when the forest belonged to Leroway’s city? It had always been sacred ground, and its own master.

      “I have no money,” said Margoritt. “It’s so unfair. I can’t fight with that man. I’m too old and tired.”

      “Don’t forget we are all in the same cottage, Margoritt. It’s not just you. Eventhough, they clearly want to evict us,” said Rukshan. “Even if we had enough money, they would not let us stay.” He showed her the small roll. “The list of accusations is so ludicrous that it’s clearly a ploy to get rid of us. First, that road they want to build through the forest, now evicting us from the ground.” And those bad omens from the mountain, he thought with a shiver.

      “We are not going to give them that satisfaction, are we?” asked Margoritt, pleading like a little girl. “We have to find something Rukshan,” she said. “You have to help me fight Leroway.”

      “Ahem,” said a rockous voice. Gorrash had returned from his patrol. “I know where to find money,” he added. “At leas, I think I know. I had another dream about my maker. It’s just bits and pieces, but I’m sure he hid some treasure in the mountains. There was that big blue diamond, glowing as brightly as a blue sun. And other things.”

      A big blue diamond? It sounds familiar. Rukshan thought. There was an old fae legend that mentioned a blue diamond but he couldn’t remember. Is it connected to the blue light Olliver mentioned earlier? He wondered.

      “That’s it! You have to go find this treasure,” said Margoritt.

      Rukshan sighed as he could feel the first symptoms of a headache. There was so much to think about, so much to do. He massaged his temples. The trip had suddenly become urgent, but they also had to leave someone behind to help Margoritt with the “Leroway problem”. And he winced as he wondered who was going to take care of that road business. It was clear to him that he couldn’t be everywhere at the same time. He would have to delegate.

      He thought of the telebats. Maybe he could teach the others how to use them so that he could keep in touch and manage everything at distance. He sighed again. Who would be subtle and sensitive enough to master the telebats in time?

      #4453
      TracyTracy
      Participant

        Liz had an idea, and was glad that the others were all out on a day trip to the museum so that she could think about it without interruptions. It had occurred to her that there was probably a theme right under their noses regarding the multitudes of non endings in the stories. Where exactly had they all ended without actually ending?

        Sure enough, the first one she looked at seemed promising with the mention of sheets:

        “Yurick woke up from another spell of dreams. The patterns of the bedsheets where as though his newly inserted tile was creating a strong combination with other tiles.
        In his puzzlement, he forgot to take a physical dream snapshot…”

        Liz had had a personal breakthrough with bedsheets recently, and was pleased with this encouraging start.

        When Liz looked at the next non ending of a story, she wondered if this would prove to be a theme: the characters themselves had gone missing.

        “I haven’t heard a word from Lavender for the longest time, Lilac was wondering, When was the last time? Lavender, where ARE you?”

        Liz had a slight jolt when she saw the non ending of the story after that, worried that she would find a trend of herself being the last writer to comment. What would that mean, she wondered?

        “Minky was looking smug. “Enjoying the ride?”

        Ending with a question? Well, that was something to think about. Liz was relived to find she wasn’t the last writer to write in the next story:

        “For once, Arona was completely unconcerned about continuity.
        “I wonder if we could harness the power of the wind to create a flash mob to amuse and entertain me?” she suggested.
        Vincentius pondered for a moment “I did once employ a hamster to power a night light, so I don’t see why not.”

        Smiling at the continuity remark, Liz pondered the nature of the message in this one. Anything can be created to amuse… can it be that easy?

        Another nasty jolt as Liz read the last entry in the following story, considering the irritating few days she had just had with the online payment company:

        “She clicked with her dysfunctionning mouse and invalidated the transaction again.”

        Well, Liz said to herself, I certainly hope that little chuckle will have helped change the online transaction situation going on here presently!

        #4450
        ÉricÉric
        Keymaster

          Starting from the end of the story, Albie finally understood where the traveler had come from, and why.

          In retrospect, it explained a lot. Why the story was going nowhere for enders.
          It begged to be turned around! — back to its origin. Otherwise, readers of the pages of the story couldn’t help but be taken by bouts of anterograde amnesia.

          All the forward looking thinking, the futurists, bound to become caught in a loop! Fighting for a patch of the present, while the expanse was to be discovered in the expired. Truth was in the return. Funny how regression seemed a word tainted of passéism, while it could in turn evoke seismic progress — regression therapy!

          So let us start from the end. The traveler had arrived, she’d come from the other side of the page. Turning that back, a whole new story was to be written of what led her to the Doline.

          #4447

          It had taken Rukshan close to a year to clear the fog.

          He had to admit, he’d dreaded more than was necessary. Faes where a bit thick headed and stubborn when it came to honoring vows and sacred words. There had been lessons to unravel for a lifetime in that year span they’d spent on the holy grounds.
          Even the angry God had come around, and he wasn’t the threat Rukshan had thought he would be. Only another lonely soul, longing for companionship.

          Yesterday, Rukshan had finished the book of Kumihimo. Propitiatory work, but he was beginning to see the benefits. He had finished collecting all the pages of the vanishing book, by burying himself in work for the commune, and on the few moments of silence left to himself, reaching towards the source of knowledge and gathering the elements once thought forever lost. Clearing of his Mind Palace.

          Now he had to let it go. The Book was complete, and needed to be offered on the pyre.
          Only then the Shards would be rightfully returned, rejoined and ready to spell the next evolution of their journey.

          The pyre was neatly prepared. Gathering of fragrant herbs of the woods was a specialty of the Potion maker, the gorgeous assemblage of the beams had created a sriyantra-like pattern that seemed like it could easily open a portal to the Gods’ realm.

          All of them had gathered around at the full moon. Gorrash had just awoken, and the feast was joyous and full of sparkling expectations.

          Each of them took a thread to light the flames, and once the Book was put on the pyre with great reverence, all of them, one by one lighted one of the corners.

          They all felt a great weight lifting from their chest, the weight of the sins of their past lives vanishing in the light, and a great joy pouring in from the dancing flames at the centre.

          All was well and fresh on this night, and there was great content, and anticipation for what tomorrow would bring.

          #4446

          Margoritt’s left knee was painful that day. Last time it hurt so much was twenty years ago, during that notorious drought when a fire started and almost burnt the whole forest down. Only a powerful spell from the Fae people could stop it. But today they sky was clear, and the forest was enjoying a high degree of humidity from the last magic rain. Margoritt, who was not such a young lady anymore dismissed the pain as a sign of old age.
          You have to accept yourself as you are at some point, she sighed.

          The guests were still there, and everyone was participating to the life of the community. Eleri, who had been sick had been taken care of in turn by Fox and Glynnis, while Rukshan had reorganised the functioning of the farm. They now had a second cow and produced enough milk to make cakes and butter that they sold to the neighbouring Faes, and they had a small herd of Rainbow Lamas that produced the softest already colourful wool, among other things. Gorrash, awoken at night, had formed an alliance with the owls that helped them to keep the area clear of mice and rats and was also in charge of the weekly night fireworks.

          The strange colourful eggs had hatched recently giving birth to strange little creatures that were not yet sure of which shape to adopt. They sometimes looked like cuddly kittens, sometimes like cute puppies, or mischievous monkeys. They always took the form of a creature with a tail, except when they were frightened and turned into a puddle. It had been hard for Margoritt who mistook them for dog pee, but Fox had been very helpful with his keen sense of smell and washing away the poor creatures had been avoided. Nobody had any idea if they could survive once diluted in water.

          The day was going great, Margoritt sat on her rocking chair enjoying a fresh nettle lassi on the terrace while doing some embroidery work on Eleri’s blouse. Her working kit was on a small stool in front of her. Working with her hands helped her forget about her knee and also made her feel useful in this youthful community where everybody wanted to help her. She was rather proud of her last design representing a young girl and a god statue holding hands together. She didn’t think of herself as a matchmaker, but sometimes you just had to give a little push when fate didn’t want to do its job.

          Micawber Minn arrived, his face as long as the Lamazon river. He had the latest newspaper with him and put it on Margoritt’s lap. Surprise and a sudden sharp and burning pain in her knee made her left leg jerk forward, strewing all her needles onto the floor. Margoritt, upset, looked at the puddle of lassi sluggishly starting to covering them up.
          “What…” she began.
          “Read the damn paper,” said Minn.

          She did. The front page mentioned the reelection of Leroway as Lord Mayor, despite his poor results in developing the region.
          “Well, that’s not surprising,” Margoritt said with a shrug, starting to feel angry at Minn for frightening her.
          “Read further,” said Minn suddenly looking cynical.
          Margoritt continued and gasped. Her face turned blank.
          “That’s not possible. We need to tell the other,” she said. “We can not let Leroway build his road through the forest.”

          #4426
          TracyTracy
          Participant

            Albie pondered Lottie’s words. He’d been trying to forget the doline, but now he realized he’d been avoiding the inevitable. It was no good pretending there were other jobs for him, that much was becoming clear. His mission had been to protect the doline, and he’d failed.

            Or had he? A new idea was glimmering in his mind, that he hadn’t failed at all. At first he’d been so embarrassed and anxious about the security breach that he’d only seen the obvious superficial layer of events. Yes, strangers had entered the doline; true, they were not supposed to let that happen. But now he wondered, were they strangers to the doline? Who were they? Maybe they were meant to enter, and his apparent lack of attention was a providential and timely. How did he, Albie, even know for sure that he was working for the right side? What did he really know about his bosses? And what about that handsome fellow who’d slithered out of the doline, the dark eyed one with leaves in his hair?

            Albie hadn’t even told Alex about him, not after the shit hit the fan about the breach and illegal entry. The last thing he felt like doing was admitting that there had been an illegal escape as well. But Albie couldn’t stop thinking about him, the graceful way he shook the dust out of his hair, the depths of those lustrous dark eyes, his long slender fingers….

            Now, Albie was kicking himself for hiding behind a tree, for not approaching the strange man, or at least following him to see where he was going. His job was to stop people from entering. Nobody had said anything about stopping people leaving it. It was unexpected, and he’d been scared. Was it too late to try and track his movements? He’d come out of the doline, he’d have stories to tell. Albie needed to know, he needed to find him.

            He would find a way to trace him. He wondered if the new dog could help him, if he could find something with the mans scent upon it. Albie was determined to find a way.

            #4424
            TracyTracy
            Participant

              Roberto, silhouetted in the frame of back door, smiled smugly as he fingered the skeleton key in his pocket. He was glad he’d brought a few artefacts back from the doline.

              He sauntered up to the trunk, whistling a tune about his mother, and tapped on the lid.

              “I ‘ave a key that opens everrrrything, including trrrrunks,” he whispered.

              “Who are you, please sir, I have a doubt,” the muffled voice inside the trunk replied.

              “I’m not surprised,” Roberto replied, somewhat cryptically.

              “Please, I need the lavatory only, very quickly need it,” Anna tried another approach.

              But Roberto had wandered into the kitchen to confer with Finnley and didn’t hear her.

              #4419

              In reply to: Scrying the Word Cloud

              ÉricÉric
              Keymaster

                come interest mud completely forget
                follow boring dragon ceiling spell
                latest further dreams liz forgetful
                realised starting towards death run quietly

                #4408
                F LoveF Love
                Participant

                  “My key won’t work! Let me in!” shouted Finnley, banging loudly on Liz’s front door.

                  She saw a slight movement at the dining room window and spun around, just in time to see the new maid’s face furtively disappearing behind the curtain.

                  And then, with a shock of horror, Finnley realised what must have occurred.

                  “That stupid girl can’t even cook toast! You can’t just discard me after all these years of faithful and devoted service. Goddamit let me in!

                  “And,” she added loudly, “there is dust!” Finnley spat the word dust with great emphasis and contempt in her tone. “I saw it. I saw it when the curtain moved!”

                  “Well,” she said eventually, “I’m not one to stay where I am not wanted!” And just as she was about to turn away, somewhat huffily, the front door opened an inch. And then stopped.

                  “Finnley Finnley! is that you?” hissed Liz croakily from behind the crack.

                  “Liz? “

                  “Finnley, thank goodness! You’ve got to help me! I’m sick as a dog and Godfrey is no good … he is completely under the spell of that awful new … “

                  Suddenly, the door slammed shut.

                  #4402
                  F LoveF Love
                  Participant

                    (With thanks to random story generator for this comment)

                    Albie looked at the soft feather in his hands and felt happy.

                    He walked over to the window and reflected on his silent surroundings. He had always loved haunting the village near the doline with its few, but faithful inhabitants. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel happiness.

                    Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Ma. He felt his mood drop. Ma was ambitious and a mean-spirited bossy boots.

                    Albie gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was an impulsive, kind-hearted, beer drinker. His friends saw him as an amusing foolish clown. But he was kind-hearted and once, he had even brought a brave baby bird back from the brink of death.

                    But not even an impulsive person who had once brought a brave baby bird back from the brink of death, was prepared for what Ma had in store today.

                    The inclement brooding silence teased like a sitting praying mantis, making Albie anticipate the worst.

                    As Albie stepped outside and Ma came closer, he could see the mean glint in her eye.

                    Ma glared with all the wrath of 9 thoughtless hurt hippo. She said, in hushed tones, “I disown you and I want you to leave.”

                    Albie looked back, even more nervous and still fingering the soft feather. “Ma, please don’t boss me. I am going to the doline,” he replied.

                    They looked at each other with conflicted feelings, like two deep donkeys chatting at a very funny farewell.

                    Suddenly, Ma lunged forward and tried to punch Albie in the face. Quickly, Albie grabbed the soft feather and brought it down on Ma’s skull.

                    Ma’s skinny ear trembled and her short legs wobbled. She looked excited, her emotions raw like a rabblesnatching, rare rock.

                    Then she let out an agonising groan and collapsed onto the ground. Moments later Ma was dead.

                    Albie went back inside and had himself a cold beer.

                    #4401
                    TracyTracy
                    Participant

                      Aunt Idle:

                      Amazing how you can change your mind about things in the twinkling of an eye, and as I said to Bert (when he’d come down off those mushrooms or whatever was in those brownies that passing hippy gave him on the way to the guru camp over at the old copperworks place), I said to Bert, Bert I said, if you own the place lock stock and barrel, our financial worries are over. He said don’t be daft, you can’t eat the windows and doors, and what about all these dogs to feed, they can’t eat wooden beams, and I said, no listen Bert, I’ve had an idea. We don’t like banks, that’s true, and we don’t like debts, but why stand on principle and shoot yourself in the foot, I said, and I’ve heard about this thing with old people like us, that you can get the bank to give you loads of cash, and you don’t even have to pay them back until after you’re dead, and then he said, don’t be daft, how can you pay them back when you’re dead and I said Exactly, Bert! This is the beauty of it, and who knows if there will even be any more banks by the time we kick the bucket anyway, why not have our cake now and eat it, that’s what I said to Bert. And so he says, Well go on then, tell me why the bank would give us cash an I told him that they give you money because you own a house, and then when you snuff it, they have their money back. So Bert says, Yeah but they take far too much money, it’s another bank scam! And I said, Who the fuck cares, if we get the cash now when we need it? And then he said, Yeah, but what about the kids? I was gonna leave it to the kids, and I said, and I’ll be quite frank here, Fuck the kids! Who in the hell knows what the future will be like for the kids, and I told him straight: You can’t plan you’re own future, let alone trying to plan the kid’s future. Now is what matters, and right now, I need a new camera, and I need to get those tax hounds off my back. Then Bert started to smile and said, Hey, I could get me them new false teeth.

                      #4400
                      F LoveF Love
                      Participant

                        Inquisitive Bert
                        A Short Story
                        by trove flacy
                        Bert had always loved rambling Fish Inn with its boiled boarders. It was a place where he felt happiness.

                        He was an inquisitive, depressed, tea drinker with skinny ears and tall sheep. His friends saw him as a moaning, mashed monster. Once, he had even saved a nasty old lady that was stuck in a drain. That’s the sort of man he was.

                        Bert walked over to the window and reflected on his brooding surroundings. The rain hammered like jumping dog.

                        Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Mater . Mater was a bigoted flower with attractive ears.

                        Bert gulped. He was not prepared for Mater.

                        As Bert stepped outside and Mater came closer, he could see the lovely smile on her face.

                        Mater glared with all the wrath of 1553 honest hilarious hippo. She said, in hushed tones, “I hate you and I want information.”

                        Bert looked back, even more ecstatic and still fingering the new-fangled car. “Mater, I own the inn,” he replied.

                        They looked at each other with annoyed feelings, like two delicious, damaged donkey laughing at a very free house sale, which had piano music playing in the background and two sanguine uncles shouting to the beat.

                        Bert regarded Mater’s attractive ear. “I feel the same way!” revealed Bert with a delighted grin.

                        Mater looked puzzled, her emotions blushing like a loud, little letter box.

                        Then Mater came inside for a nice cup of tea.

                        THE END

                        #4397
                        TracyTracy
                        Participant

                          “How’s the new dog settling in, Ma?” asked Albie, playing for time.

                          “Oh, she’s doing fine, don’t you worry about that, and don’t try and change the subject!” retorted Freda. “Lottie told me all about it this morning. You had one job to do, one job!”

                          “That’s what Lottie said,” replied Albie, looking down at his shoes and halfheartedly attempting to knock the dried mud off them on the chair leg. “Sorry, Ma,” he added sadly. “Shall I take the new dog for a walk?”

                          Freda sighed. “Oh alright then, but don’t let her off the lead. And make sure you get back before the rain. And stop kicking mud all over the floor!”

                          #4395
                          Jib
                          Participant

                            Daisy the dung beetle’s daughter applauded when she finished her creation. She had completed a big mandibala of coloured sand, patiently extracted the previous years from dungs her uncle had brought back form the outside world. He had said some of it came from a faraway land where their ancestors had been worshiped by giants. Daisy had tried to imagined being worshiped, but her limited experience of life and of the world made her Goddess dream short lived.
                            But what she liked most was that she could put all those pieces of faraway lands in her own composition. She looked at the result, satisfied. At a certain time, she knew a cone of light from outside the Doline would come directly warm her mandibala and her wish to see the outside world would be granted.

                            #4391
                            TracyTracy
                            Participant

                              It had been a long time coming, but Lillianne had known there was no rush. There had been a flurry of interest many years ago, but nothing came to fruition. All the ingredients were there for a banquet of discovery, but no cooks to combine the ingredients successfully ~ until now.

                              They’d been very careful to cover their tracks, even laying red herrings along the way. Others were interested, they knew that, and they knew they’d been followed, sensing the lurking energy trails behind them. But the main thing was, they got there first. Now was not a time to relax, despite the urge to just pause and revel in the accomplishment.

                              “But I’m knackered, Lillianne,” whined Petra, running her hands distractedly through her tangled hair. “Surely we can take a little nap before we continue. Over there behind those rocks, look! Let’s just nip behind there.”

                              Lillianne pursed her lips. There was no point in arguing with Petra when she was tired. And the more she thought about it, the more a short rest sounded enticing. The climb down into the dense wooded gorge had been arduous, and her ankle ached where she’d twisted it on a loose rock.

                              “Come on then, but only half an hour!”

                              #4387
                              ÉricÉric
                              Keymaster

                                The Doline was brimming with unseen life, glistening below the twinkling star-lighted sky overhead. Albino geckos were dancing on the walls of ancient stones, while the twirling bats were hunting near the flowing streams of pristine water. Cooing late birds were singing old stories, while the scurrying rodents shuffling the leaves coverage ventured outside, carefully out of the gaze of nocturnal birds of prey.

                                There was a traveler that day who had found the entrance long forgotten. The trees had parted to let her gain access. So it began.

                                #4370

                                The memories of the strange vision had faded away. Only the feeling of awe was lingering in his heart.

                                Fox was walking in the forest near Margoritt’s cottage. The smell of humid soil was everywhere. Despite it being mostly decomposing leaves and insects, Fox found it quite pleasant. It carried within it childhood memories of running outside after the rain whild Master Gibbon was trying to teach him cleanliness. It had been a game for many years to roll into the mud and play with the malleable forest ground to make shapes of foxes and other animals to make a public to Gibbon’s teachings.

                                Fox had been walking around listening to the sucking sound made by his steps to help him focus back on reality. He was trying to catch sunlight patches with his bare feet, the sensations were cold and exquisite. The noise of the heavy rain had been replaced by the random dripping of the drops falling from the canopy as the trees were letting go of the excess of water they received.

                                It was not long before he found Gorrash. The dwarf was back in his statue state, he was face down, deep in the mud. Fox crouched down and gripped his friend where he could. He tried to release him from the ground but the mud was stronger, sucking, full of water.

                                “You can leave him there and wait the soil to dry. You can’t fight with water”, said Margorrit. “And I think that when it’s dry, we’ll have a nice half-mold to make a copy of your friend.”

                                Fox laughed. “You have so many strange ideas”, he told the old woman.

                                “Well, it has been my strength and my weakness, I have two hands and a strong mind, and they have always functioned together. I only think properly when I use my hands. And my thoughts always lead me to make use of my hands.”

                                Fox looked at Margoritt’s wrinkled hands, they were a bit deformed by arthritis but he could feel the experience they contained.

                                “Breakfast’s ready”, she said. “I’ve made some honey cookies with what was left of the the flour. And Glynis has prepared some interesting juices. I like her, she has a gift with colours.”

                                They left the dwarf to dry in the sun and walked back to the house where the others had already put everything on the table. Fox looked at everyone for a moment, maybe to take in that moment of grace and unlikely reunion of so many different people. He stopped at Rukshan who had a look of concern on his face. Then he started when Eleri talked right behind him. He hadn’t hear her come.

                                “I think I lost him”, she said. “What’s for breakfast? I’m always starving after shrooms.”

                                #4364

                                Rukshan had stayed awake for the most part of the night, slowly and repeatedly counting the seconds between the blazing strokes of lightning and the growling bouts of thunder.
                                It is slowly moving away.

                                The howling winds had stopped first, leaving the showers of rain fall in continuous streams against the dripping roof and wet walls.

                                An hour later maybe, his ear had turned to the sound of the newly arrived at the cottage, thinking it would be maybe the dwarf and Eleri coming back, but it was a different voice, very quiet, somehow familiar… the potion-maker?

                                He had warned Margoritt that a lady clad in head-to-toe shawls would likely come to them. Margoritt had understood that some magical weaving was at play. The old lady didn’t have siddhis or yogic powers, but she had a raw potential, very soundly rooted in her long practice of weaving, and learning the trades and tales of the weaving nomad folks. She had understood. Better, she’d known — from the moment I saw you and that little guy, she’d said, pointing at Tak curled under the bed.
                                “He’s amazing,” she’d said “wise beyond his age. But his mental state is not very strong.”

                                There was more than met the eye about Tak, Rukshan started to realize.
                                For now, the cottage had fell quiet. Dawn was near, and there was a brimming sense of peace and new beginning that came with the short silence before the birds started again their joyous chatter.

                                It must have been then that he collapsed on the table of exhaustion and started to dream.

                                It was long before.

                                The dragon is large and its presence awe-inspiring. They have just shared the shards, each has taken one of the seven. Even the girl, although she still hates to be among us.
                                The stench of the ring of fire is still in their nostrils. The Gods have deserted, and left as soon as the Portal closed itself. It is a mess.

                                “Good riddance.”

                                He raises his head, looking at the dragon above him. She is quite splendid, her scales a shining pearl blue on slate black, reflecting the moonshine in eerie patterns, and her plastron quietly shiny, almost softly fiery. His newly imbued power let him know intimately many things, at once. It is dizzying.

                                “You talk of the Gods, don’t you?” he says, already knowing the answer.
                                “Of course, I am. Good riddance. They had failed us so many times, forgot their duties, driven me and my kind to slavery. Now I am free. Free of guilt, and free of sorrow. Free to be myself, as I was meant to be.”
                                “It is a bit more complex th…”
                                “No it isn’t. It couldn’t be more simple. If you had the strength to see it, you would understand.”
                                “I know what you mean, but I am not sure I understand.”

                                The dragon smiles enigmatically. She turns to the lonely weeping girl, who is there with the old woman. Except her grand-mother is no longer an old crone, she has changed her shape to that of a younger person. She is showing potentials to the girl, almost drunk on the power, but it doesn’t alleviate her pain.

                                “What are you going to do about them?”

                                The Dragon seems above the concerns for herself. In a sense, she is right. It was all his instigation. He bears responsibility.

                                “I don’t know…” It is a strange thing to say, when you can know anything. He knows there are no good outcomes of this situation. Not with the power she now possesses.

                                “You better find out quick…” and wake up,

                                wake up, WAKE UP !

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