I paint my own book covers for all of my stories! This is (most of) the time lapse for my most recent piece I made for my short story A Testament of Blood (Read It Here) I wrote for spooky season!
I made repaints of the mountains and some of the fur that is now the final book cover! I am hoping have small pocket-sized hardcovers made of this little short story.
The 14thĀ of November 1997ā¦ the full moon rose over the hills of Torrin, Scotland. A primal presence stalked the misty recesses of the vale, hungry, never to be sated. In the gloom of the autumn night, who could endure the torment of the wolf?
"That compulsive feeling tingling at the base of my neck, I gaze backā¦ enormous wide piercing silver eyes loom, the man with dreads sits kneeling, wrists snapped and dangling, but raised like some kind of twisted, woeful prayer, as though venerating the monstrosity in the darkness."
As the long crimson fingers of twilight creep over sun-baked hills, you may see him. Sometimes, an ordinary prong-buck or a figure clad in suede robes adorned in markings lost to time. The Sage Keeper, Chapuātuap, an omen of the coming storms, and the guardian of the sacred herb.
I walked a solitary path on a frigid winter morning. Upon a great black stone, from out of the fog, came a strange visage, starlit eyes, feathers of midnight; the many-faced one. I lost sense of time, and as though just a dream, it vanished.
Riley, our grumpy, unwilling narrator of The Gods of Ghost River! His official art is nearly finished! Canāt wait to have the final up and being made into cool merch!!!
"Light probes the entrance as I sprint down the dry arroyo. Twisting back and forth, the rocks tower above me. Harbingers of what is to come, my only witnesses. Frenzied, I claw against the sandstone, no traction, I canāt climb its steep sides. Running my only option, my boots sink ineffectively against soft grains, slowing my progress. I turn a corner, the passage widening into a basin, long devoid of nourishing water, once rusty minerals now reflecting luminous blue in the shining moonlight. Dead end, my dead end. Iām just a ghost, a strange mirror of the people that passed through me. Gone, I will fade, no memory of my minuscule existence, just a phantom of what once was."