fablesandfragments

[fablesandfragments]

Chapter 2 Snippet from Cara and the Will-o'-the-Wisp

About half-an-hour into the deepening shadows of the woods, Cara’s face stretched out into a wide, beaming smile. Rowan leaned against a tree as she watched Cara step into the grove, her footfalls cushioned each step into the hushed and cool area. Towering red cedars, sugar maples, and pine trees formed a silent, watchful ring around them. The wind died down here, and even the noise of the animals seemed to mute here. She had found a magical spot—something wholly that she had never experienced before.

“Long ago,” Rowan whispered into the wind, just barely for Cara to hear. “A powerful hand had arranged the large, moss-covered stones and boulders in some unknowable pattern.”

The soft grass only grew so tall here, while a little knoll rose from the found, nearly dead center of the grove. Cara rubbed her hand through the grass, plucking a blade before letting it float on the breeze where it spiraled away off on its own adventure.

“They say a coven of witches used to practice their rituals here.” Rowan hopped onto an old tree stump covered in moss, crossed her legs, and watched her new friend. “The librarian, Missus Geneva, said the natives would avoid this forest, but she chalked it up to superstition. I don’t know, though.”

Beyond intrigued, entranced, and engrossed, Cara examined every rock and stone. Ran her fingertips across the rough surfaces—some were moist from the dew, still others sat bone dry, all carried a something about it that interested her. Then she noticed, just outside the semi-circle of all the rocks, stood one in particular, alone and by itself. After several minutes of examining this large rock, that when Cara noticed a face on the back of the rock. Painted upon it many decades ago, now almost completely faded.

“You were right,” Cara hummed and brought a hand up to trace the face. Almost forgotten that she wasn’t alone as the face seemed to gain more coherence to it, more definition. Until she blinked several times and it returned to normal. Then glanced over at Rowan, who seemed so much like a goddess of the forest on her stump throne. Cara said, “this is wonderful, Rowan. Truly a magical place. I can almost feel it, you know? Thank you.”

“No need to thank me. I am just glad I finally have someone to share this with,” Rowan replied. She pulled a knee up to her chest and let out a long-held breath. “Some years ago. Sam was acting like a complete asshole. Though, I don’t remember ‘bout what. So, I ran into the forest. I remember crying, just sobbing. I just happened upon the grove, though. And in early autumn and everything was so colorful and pretty. I think I remember that more than anything else.

“Then I crumbled to my knees, buried my face in my arms on this stump here. Just crying and snotting about whatever it was. Then when my tears eventually dried up. I found myself without words, ya know? The stones, dude, just caught my attention. Studying each one for hours, or so it seemed. Before the twins came to find me and hung out with me here. Sam apologized, as he always does, and everything was okay here.” Rowan let out another long-held breath before she propped her chin on her knee. Her green eyes shone like emeralds in the brilliant sun as she smiled at Cara.

Then, standing up, Rowan pointed back towards the trail. “Wanna go check something else out? It isn’t too far away. It is an even better spot than this place.”

“Even better than this amazing place?” Cara nodded and followed behind Rowan.

****

@fablesandfragments @seastarblue @vesanal @theink-stainedfolk @leahnardo-da-veggie

@aalinaaaaaa @an-indecisive-nerd @write-with-will @the-ellia-west @carb0n-m0n0xide

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@i-do-anything-but-write

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[fablesandfragments]

[fablesandfragments]

Cara and the Will-o'-the-Wisp Excerpt

[Author's Note: I've been fiddling around with chapter one to make it better. And, well, I think it is! So gonna share an excerpt. Most is under the cut.]

In a home from an era long passed, sat perched atop what the locals had always called Little Mountain. Which bordered an ancient forest that had existed for far longer than any memory of the collective consciousness of the locals and the natives before them. It always has and always will be there—it will outlive humanity. Despite, in actuality, being well-maintained in appearance and landscaping, it still seemed ancient and craggy to those without a certain eye. Walls made of hardwood and uneven stone that somehow gave it a beautifully-rustic look and met together in such a way to lock and give the structure a solid hold. A large front door, larger than most even from that time period, that took more strength than one would assume to open.

Within this home sat a creaky staircase covered in somewhat muted, crimson-colored carpet, nestled in the shadows of the early morning as the golden honey-light streamed through the arched, dirty windows, which did not affect their brilliance. Beneath the stairs sat an ancient, knotty-wood door, whose weathered surface felt far-too-smooth for how it looked. Its natural dark brown color seemed deeper and darker than any other Cara had seen before; however, to the pre-teen, the door seemed to call and beckon her, much like an enchanting siren-song—she could not resist the temptation.

Despite the early hour, three movers brought in the family’s boxes, which were a multitude as they brought their entire lives with time, and all the vintage and antique furniture that her parents had collected over the year. Cara approached the small door under the stairs with wide, mismatch-colored eyes: the right colored a light blue-green turquoise that her mother proclaimed was a reminder for the Pacific Ocean; whilst the other a deep brown-orange amber, which looked like honey depending on the light. For now, they turned their gaze to that door.

With her parents too busy making sure everything went into the proper rooms and space, Cara used all of her strength in her slender frame to pull the door open with a solid tug. Yet it only opened just past halfway before the rusty hinges stopped their creaking and squealing, refusing to budge any further. When she peeked through into the darkness, which held only wispy spider webs and dust that clouded her vision, disappointed hit her like a wave as all she found was an empty wooden box covered in decades of dust, adorned with a faded Black Cat Cigarettes logo. After she pushed the box aside, stirring up a massive cloud of dust, it caused her slightly-upturned nose to scrunch up in response.

Cara was such a precocious, garrulous girl whose inquisitive nature was a cornerstone of who she was; mother, through some head- and heart-aches, had grown to love this curious nature. Almost like a deranged kitten—in a way. Having discovered this hidden gem just after she pushed open the front door of her family’s new home for the first time. Despite this newfound door, which had given her nothing but dust and a box, she felt not even a single ounce of comfort that Oregon held in every tree, cloud, and blade of grass. Maine did not have that comfort, this home-like feeling to her, not even a speck to it. Neither mom nor dad listened to her complaints when they told her they were moving.

“Give it some time, darling,” mom told Cara on the plane ride. “It’ll feel like home soon enough. Plus, there’ll be plenty for you to explore.”

Dad pulled Cara into a side hug in the cramped airplane seating. “Maine will never replace Oregon, but it did not need to,” he comforted, tousling her raven-colored hair. “Try to find the best things about Mount Desert Island: that old forest I know you would love to explore, all the snow during winter, and your new friends and adventures you will find there.”

She didn’t think it would ever feel like home. As Cara lost interest in the compartment under the stairs, she exited out into the frosty morning air. Where a chilly breeze blew off the ocean, ruffled the leaves, bringing with it a briny scent so much like the ocean breeze from home, yet also quite different. Taking several steps down the cobblestone path that led away from the porch, to take in the rather enormity of the house itself.

Capped with a tall, steepled roof with a singular, narrow tower that rose from the attic and the tallest part of the manor itself, which towered high above anything she saw in the small nearby town of Haven Bay. It provided a spacious attic that Cara wished to explore. As far as she knew, for decades it had been nothing but storage. Yet a couple of years ago, the land-lady, a Mrs. Robyn Clarke, refurbished it into an apartment where a curious old man lived that introduced himself over that long move-in weekend. Jakub Kaczmarek was his name, and he explained he came from Poland, and that he worked as a marine biologist at Miskatonic University for just under fifty years. Now he trained his various cats to do tricks on command.

Cara thought him an interesting man, eccentric, and with a lot of knowledge and wisdom to share. And it did not take her long to find out that when she spent five minutes around him, he was never short of a tale to tell, mostly stories about the ocean or back home in Warsaw. Much of him seemed magical, and he had a natural aura that lingered around. Jakub always reeked of cheap tobacco, cheaper, bitter alcohol, and a tinge of fish.

Once all the furniture and boxes were in the correct rooms, Cara went about exploring. She found beneath the creaky floorboards a wine cellar as ancient and dusty as parts of the house above, which intrigued the twelve-year-old girl. The darkness did her eyes no favor; everything smelled of dust with an underlying musky earthiness. Her imagination conjured up every monster she could think of. Shapes within the darkness turned into a horned face, even if Cara knew it did not exist.

After a moment of searching on the wall with her hand, Cara flicked on the light switch. Which caused a flickering light bulb above her head to turn on, casting shadows that danced and twirled about ancient crumbling crates, disused wooden barrels, and moth-eaten linen sacks. Mid-room sat aged wine shelves, laid mostly barren, minus a few glass bottles with French-sounding names and a layer of dust generations thick. When inquired, Mrs. Clarke reassured the family that anything which remained was no longer fit for consumption. That they could keep the bottles—might even be worth something—though recommended tossing its contents.

It made no sense to her how anyone could like wine—smelled so awful! However, her mother would indulge in it; she kept her bottles in that little wooden cabinet dad made for her. Which would undoubtedly find its permanent home down here. Where Cara would have to head down here to grab whichever bottle her mom wanted. Which made her skin crawl just thinking about it. Even when her parents came down here to marvel at the wine cellar, all the shadows made Cara feel like there were a pair of unseen eyes on her.

Tired of being cooped up inside, Cara left to explore the property. Nestled midway down the hill behind the manor, where he land protruded out before it sloped at a gentle angle down to the ground. Down a cobblestone path with stairs just wide enough to let her feet step down in a safe and comfortable way, lay an ageless, well-maintained garden that held a wonder to it. That it’s only entrance through the tall bushes cut into an almost wall-like shape, a pair of flowering bushes flank the entrance. A wooden sign proclaimed with pride that the garden was first designed and planted in the mid-1800s by a Louis Bennefield, which was only a few years younger than the house itself. Now tended to by Mr. Kaczmarek, which took up most of his time.

It had a certain natural majesty. Weather-beaten trees provided a protective canopy for marble benches adorned with little baby-faced cherubs on the sides. Delicate flowers of all colors lined the pathway within, beautiful shrubbery and small trees. Several ornate birdhouses modeled after several local homes, or so Cara was told. The environment here cast a spell on Cara, as when she sat down on a bench and watched the dappled shadows. Eventually, she had to get up as her mother would be cross with her if she didn’t unpack her room

****

Tag List:

@fablesandfragments @seastarblue @vesanal @theink-stainedfolk @leahnardo-da-veggie

@aalinaaaaaa @an-indecisive-nerd @write-with-will @the-ellia-west @carb0n-m0n0xide

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@i-do-anything-but-write

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[fablesandfragments]

I'm doing something new

I'm starting a journey of learning how to draw. I have always been drawn to visual art like manhua and stuff like that.

I have been inspired by many artists I see daily just doing their thing and I decided I want to be part of that ecosystem so I'm doing it.

I have tried in the past before but I end up giving up because I'm terrible but well... Fuck that

I'm not going to be a bitch about or worse use ai

I'm going to do it the hard and incredibly satisfying way, learn it from scratch.

I have already started, its been about 2 weeks of doing this and it's been incredible.

So like whoever reads this it's your sign go pick up a pen and get some paper and draw.

[fablesandfragments]

me at 3:00 PM: I’ll write after I make a snack.

me at 3:15 PM: I can’t write while eating. I’ll watch one video.

me at 4:00 PM: I should clean my desk so I feel “inspired.”

me at 5:30 PM: the vibe is off. I’ll wait until it’s dark.

me at 9:00 PM: now I’m too tired.

me at 10:00 PM: I hate myself.

me at 10:01 PM: adds “writing” to tomorrow’s to-do list

[fablesandfragments]

Last Line (lots of lines) Tag

Thanks @drchenquill for tagging me!

A long-term ally of Kensei-sama, and he made a hint of his time spent training with them. As they were a center of learning for a specific type of special ninjitsu. With a goal to fight back against the threat of oni, yōkai, and onryō—demons of a sort, powerful spirits, and ghosts who were left over from some hideous way a life ended that the soul came back for revenge. He described his time with them, just over a year before he was called back to fight for the shogun. Their use of kuji-kiri, a form of powerful magic that he did not have enough time to master. “They desire a new pupil to master their ways,” Kensei-sama finished with a heavy breath. “And I informed them you would be honored to join and learn their ways. Come tomorrow morning, there will be a trader heading north. They aren’t going that far, but I expect you to act as a guard. It will get you to Kyoto. From there, head to Mitoji. It should be easy to find the forest from there. As far as the clan? Well, that’s part of the learning process.” Kyu understood this wasn’t a request. Living to serve the man who had guided her life; she nodded a polite, gentle inclination of her head. “As you desire,” she spoke in a clear voice. “I shall make ready tonight, and be gone with the trader by morning.” She bowed deeply at the waist, her face close to the tatami-covered floor.

I just tag my tag list lol

@fablesandfragments @seastarblue @vesanal @theink-stainedfolk @leahnardo-da-veggie

@aalinaaaaaa @an-indecisive-nerd @write-with-will @the-ellia-west @carb0n-m0n0xide

@inadequatecowboy @kitkins13 @watermeezer @shepardstales @dyrewrites

@i-do-anything-but-write

[fablesandfragments]

I am not a "content creator" I am a writer and artist. I do not make the works that an audience demands, or that I think will be popular. I make the works that I'm passionate about, when I'm passionate about them.

[fablesandfragments]

Music tag game? MUSIC TAG GAME.

Holy moly, I was tagged by @world-of-iridensia, like I'm alive and exist in the world and other humans are aware of it. THANK YOU. I will be listening to your answers to the questions today because I need some new stuff and I also love metal, and the incomparable Chester Bennington.

Answer the questions and tag your mutuals.

I EXIST!

Song currently stuck in your head: Hardly Gods by Alter but also Notre Dame by Paris Paloma.

Favourite vocalist: Marko Saaresto from Poets of the Fall.

Favourite lyrics: Okay, I have to give you a few, because this is too hard. I always knew there was an order to this / the wind in the trees whispering mathematics / I always knew I'd try my best to talk back / refract the wisdom to heal the abyss -- WILLOW I couldn't give this shit up if I tried / if I ever said I could then I lied / it's the way I stick with it through thick and thin / it's bleak it's grim / and I'm still standing / and I'll still throw a punch falling backward -- Sofi de la Torre Just enough to keep it together / never enough to make it work -- Lamb of God The silence is whispering to me / in voices only I hear / of memories I wish to live once more / memories I hold most dear / in the light of dying fires / divine beyond what I'm allowed / I glimpse the spurs of runaway sighs / before they flicker out / and I long / to sleep eternally / peaceful in my release / free me at last from my promise to stay / I long to go beyond -- Poets of the Fall The gray light filters through roof slabs / and the flagstones glow / bright from the stained glass / a hundred feet below / as I tiptoe / creeping over prayers / pleading with their maker / crying with the choir / I'm not immune to the sincerity below me / makes me feel it makes me holy but through tears I understand that I do not belong / no I do not belong / watching the figures all the saints but mostly sinners / come and go and some are desperate but the others have the sense that they do belong / and I do not belong / some only turn towards the heavens when the end is feeling desperate have the overwhelming feeling / that there's nobody who's looking down / at least I'm looking down -- Paris Paloma

Song that brings back memories: Learning to Fly by Pink Floyd, Four to the Floor by Starsailor, With or Without You by U2.

Song that makes you cry: You Know Where to Find Me by Imogen Heap, Dancing on Broken Glass by Poets of the Fall, Run by Snow Patrol and Goodbye by Apparat feat. Soap&Skin. (Find out / I was just a bad dream) Too close to home.

Song that makes you happy: Long Legged Larry by Aesop Rock. Bach To The Future by Armin van Buuren, BLR, and Kirby by Aesop Rock.

Most listened to album: Of All Time: Spirit World Field Guide by Aesop Rock | Recently: Black Hole Superette by Aesop Rock.

Favourite music video: Weapon of Choice by Fatboy Slim (it can't be excluded), Dancing on Broken Glass by Poets of the Fall, Symptom of Life by WILLOW, Wanted feat. Kamasi Washington by WILLOW.

Last album you listened to: From Start to Finish: Black Hole Superette by Aesop Rock | Recently: Oohs and Aahs by Say Hi

If you could be in a band what role would you have?: Either vocalist or lead guitar. I'm not good, but these are my aspirations.

Tagging @marim-bruh, @angeliferous, @chipmunkweirdo, @critterwhisper, @jeg10, @thelaughingbird, @fancy-1ucky-star, @cpntredbeard, @nobody-expects-the-inquisitorius, @op-isopoly, @fablesandfragments, @ap0calypsepr1ncess, @thaisilva2023, @heartvoguee, @the-end-society, @audreyrose7, @svdcvnt, @adorablediscoveries, @ihateamor, @reedandstorm, @catfayssoux, @menp23, @xx1v0ry-st0n3sxx, @hatenocheese, @rifftybark, @storyteller-kara, @4sekundy, @kaitcrafted, @ryuuenx, @lagoliri, @orpheusismefr, @wysely

I had no idea I have so many mutuals.

[fablesandfragments]

[fablesandfragments]

Thanks a lot,

Sorry for like demanding your time just need someone to see it.

Will be revising it later

Thanks again

Excerpt of a new short story Wip, it's a lightly edited first draft

Genre: Dark fantasy

Prologue

The candlelight flickered precariously. 

Solin reached out to shift it's holder away from the direction of the sudden breeze, when the light was stable he adjusted his spectacles and went back to work.

His eyes refocused on the barely legible scrawls on the old ratty journal before him and continued to read.

Found it… extremely powerful… glorious destroy them.

Weapon, fly. Powerful…

He leaned in closer trying to make sense of the crossed out words, he focused on it for a moment before letting out a frustrated sigh.

‘Even in your death, you hamper me.’ He mummered quietly.

He flipped the page.

More scrawls in increasing chaos. It looked like the work of someone mad.

Glorious time, the weapon… under the mountain.

The image of his father flashed in his mind for a second. Maybe it had been.

Three raps on the door drew his attention away from his reading. He straightened in his seat and cleared his throat.

‘Come in.’ He called.

The door opened, it was Brother Barahk. 

The tall stoic man walked till he was in front of Colin's desk. Solin looked at Barahk’s dark eyes and knew immediately.

‘Greetings Master Solin.’ Barahk bowed and uttered the customary greetings.

‘Greetings Brother,’ Solin replied, ‘What brings you here tonight?’

‘The weapon Master,’ Barahk spoke voice impassive. ‘It has killed three more of our brothers today.’

Solin was quiet for a moment. He let out a sigh and leaned back in his chair.

Casualties again.

‘Was there any provocation?’ Solin asked.

Barahk shook his head before answering. ‘None that I know of’

‘Same manners of death as before?’ Solin asked.

Barahk paused.

‘They were castrated before being decapitated’ 

Solin nodded. There was something about this detail that seemed important, like an important piece of the puzzle. He looked up.

‘Anything else Brother?’ 

It was a perfunctory question, Barahk never obliged to speak his thoughts or speculations, never spoke more than was necessary. 

“This lowly one does have something to say this time.’ Barahk spoke slowly.

Solin nodded intrigued and gestured to him to speak.

‘I fear this weapon is not for us to control… I fear… our efforts may…’ He stopped like he was struggling to put his thoughts into words.

He spoke finally, eyes filled with an emotion Solin could not name.

‘I fear this weapon may destroy us.’

At this words Solin felt a visceral fear make his body rigid.

‘I apologise for my impertinence Master.’ Barahk spoke after minutes had passed in silence.

Solin shook his head and waved a hand to dismiss Barahk. He didn't trust himself to speak.

Barahk nodded and bowed before leaving.

Alone Solin’s ears were still ringing with Barahk’s words.

Tagging @keeping-writing-frosty what do you think of it

I'd love to hear any other person's thoughts.

[fablesandfragments]

Excerpt of a new short story Wip, it's a lightly edited first draft

Genre: Dark fantasy

Prologue

The candlelight flickered precariously. 

Solin reached out to shift it's holder away from the direction of the sudden breeze, when the light was stable he adjusted his spectacles and went back to work.

His eyes refocused on the barely legible scrawls on the old ratty journal before him and continued to read.

Found it… extremely powerful… glorious destroy them.

Weapon, fly. Powerful…

He leaned in closer trying to make sense of the crossed out words, he focused on it for a moment before letting out a frustrated sigh.

‘Even in your death, you hamper me.’ He mummered quietly.

He flipped the page.

More scrawls in increasing chaos. It looked like the work of someone mad.

Glorious time, the weapon… under the mountain.

The image of his father flashed in his mind for a second. Maybe it had been.

Three raps on the door drew his attention away from his reading. He straightened in his seat and cleared his throat.

‘Come in.’ He called.

The door opened, it was Brother Barahk. 

The tall stoic man walked till he was in front of Colin's desk. Solin looked at Barahk’s dark eyes and knew immediately.

‘Greetings Master Solin.’ Barahk bowed and uttered the customary greetings.

‘Greetings Brother,’ Solin replied, ‘What brings you here tonight?’

‘The weapon Master,’ Barahk spoke voice impassive. ‘It has killed three more of our brothers today.’

Solin was quiet for a moment. He let out a sigh and leaned back in his chair.

Casualties again.

‘Was there any provocation?’ Solin asked.

Barahk shook his head before answering. ‘None that I know of’

‘Same manners of death as before?’ Solin asked.

Barahk paused.

‘They were castrated before being decapitated’ 

Solin nodded. There was something about this detail that seemed important, like an important piece of the puzzle. He looked up.

‘Anything else Brother?’ 

It was a perfunctory question, Barahk never obliged to speak his thoughts or speculations, never spoke more than was necessary. 

“This lowly one does have something to say this time.’ Barahk spoke slowly.

Solin nodded intrigued and gestured to him to speak.

‘I fear this weapon is not for us to control… I fear… our efforts may…’ He stopped like he was struggling to put his thoughts into words.

He spoke finally, eyes filled with an emotion Solin could not name.

‘I fear this weapon may destroy us.’

At this words Solin felt a visceral fear make his body rigid.

‘I apologise for my impertinence Master.’ Barahk spoke after minutes had passed in silence.

Solin shook his head and waved a hand to dismiss Barahk. He didn't trust himself to speak.

Barahk nodded and bowed before leaving.

Alone Solin’s ears were still ringing with Barahk’s words.

Tagging @keeping-writing-frosty what do you think of it

I'd love to hear any other person's thoughts.

[fablesandfragments]

A fallen aristocrat and a fortune-telling slave must both forge new lives from the ashes left behind by the collapse of a nation at war. But not everything in their pasts managed to burn… Uneven Keel is a mature slow-paced fantasy drama; exploring the complicated intersections between queer romance, friendship, mental illness, personal identity, class, and power. Help support the printing of the first volume on Kickstarter!

You can read the comic at https://uneven-keel.com !

[fablesandfragments]

Happy pride month everyone

[fablesandfragments]

Ok have fun 😊

WIP

Okay all I am doing with this new wip idea I have. Just wanted to get an intro paragraph to expand on when I am done with Astrid's story.

In the pre-dawn hours, a steady, yet gentle, rain fell at just a slight angle. Such a soft pitter-patter that played a beautiful, natural symphony on the metal roof just a few feet above her head. A soft candle flickered in the darkness, casting dancing shadows across the makeshift wooden walls. All the while, the wind would pick up as brief, but intense, gales that shot the rain at the structure and bring a chill to the air. Her mismatched eyes focused on the paperback book in her hands. Its cover long since ripped off, she had read these words dozens—no hundreds!—of times, and the adventures of Alanna never grew old for her. But she couldn’t linger too much longer, two days in any one place is one-too-many. So, closing the book, she tripled-checked that her bag held everything she needed before stuffing the book within its well-worn folds. Pulling on her boots, she took a bite from the dried meat, something she could gnaw on for the next little while. Grabbed her rifled by its smooth wooden stock and stepped up to the entryway, which was nothing more than a threadbare curtain that flapped in the wind.

****

@fablesandfragments @seastarblue @vesanal @theink-stainedfolk @leahnardo-da-veggie

@aalinaaaaaa @an-indecisive-nerd @write-with-will @the-ellia-west @carb0n-m0n0xide

@inadequatecowboy @kitkins13 @watermeezer @shepardstales @dyrewrites

@moremysteries @i-do-anything-but-write

Want to join my tag list? Click here and interact with the post. Send me a message, or even just reply to any of my posts asking!

[fablesandfragments]

Post apocalyptic tragedy after fantasy exploring different genres eh

Your excerpt doesn't sound post apocalyptic maybe cause it's short idk

WIP

Okay all I am doing with this new wip idea I have. Just wanted to get an intro paragraph to expand on when I am done with Astrid's story.

In the pre-dawn hours, a steady, yet gentle, rain fell at just a slight angle. Such a soft pitter-patter that played a beautiful, natural symphony on the metal roof just a few feet above her head. A soft candle flickered in the darkness, casting dancing shadows across the makeshift wooden walls. All the while, the wind would pick up as brief, but intense, gales that shot the rain at the structure and bring a chill to the air. Her mismatched eyes focused on the paperback book in her hands. Its cover long since ripped off, she had read these words dozens—no hundreds!—of times, and the adventures of Alanna never grew old for her. But she couldn’t linger too much longer, two days in any one place is one-too-many. So, closing the book, she tripled-checked that her bag held everything she needed before stuffing the book within its well-worn folds. Pulling on her boots, she took a bite from the dried meat, something she could gnaw on for the next little while. Grabbed her rifled by its smooth wooden stock and stepped up to the entryway, which was nothing more than a threadbare curtain that flapped in the wind.

****

@fablesandfragments @seastarblue @vesanal @theink-stainedfolk @leahnardo-da-veggie

@aalinaaaaaa @an-indecisive-nerd @write-with-will @the-ellia-west @carb0n-m0n0xide

@inadequatecowboy @kitkins13 @watermeezer @shepardstales @dyrewrites

@moremysteries @i-do-anything-but-write

Want to join my tag list? Click here and interact with the post. Send me a message, or even just reply to any of my posts asking!

[fablesandfragments]

I don't think I get the reference

WIP

Okay all I am doing with this new wip idea I have. Just wanted to get an intro paragraph to expand on when I am done with Astrid's story.

In the pre-dawn hours, a steady, yet gentle, rain fell at just a slight angle. Such a soft pitter-patter that played a beautiful, natural symphony on the metal roof just a few feet above her head. A soft candle flickered in the darkness, casting dancing shadows across the makeshift wooden walls. All the while, the wind would pick up as brief, but intense, gales that shot the rain at the structure and bring a chill to the air. Her mismatched eyes focused on the paperback book in her hands. Its cover long since ripped off, she had read these words dozens—no hundreds!—of times, and the adventures of Alanna never grew old for her. But she couldn’t linger too much longer, two days in any one place is one-too-many. So, closing the book, she tripled-checked that her bag held everything she needed before stuffing the book within its well-worn folds. Pulling on her boots, she took a bite from the dried meat, something she could gnaw on for the next little while. Grabbed her rifled by its smooth wooden stock and stepped up to the entryway, which was nothing more than a threadbare curtain that flapped in the wind.

****

@fablesandfragments @seastarblue @vesanal @theink-stainedfolk @leahnardo-da-veggie

@aalinaaaaaa @an-indecisive-nerd @write-with-will @the-ellia-west @carb0n-m0n0xide

@inadequatecowboy @kitkins13 @watermeezer @shepardstales @dyrewrites

@moremysteries @i-do-anything-but-write

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[fablesandfragments]

You cannot, not at all

Unless...

I have an idea for a new WIP, but I cannot get distracted from my current. I cannot!