#two bugs placed in the same habitat ignoring each other

[dayurno]

[retrovirge]

Camp Starlight (+ Contest!)

Hey y’all!

So, I had an idea for a contest!!! So basically, here’s how it goes:

Artists can draw any scene from this very story that they so desire, whatever image comes into their head for inspiration. You post it and tag it with #starlightdrabbledraw and leave a link to this post in your own (you dont have to, but it would be preferred!) and boom! You’re done! (I’m holding this on amino too so the winners will be selected from both platforms.)

I’m gonna make it so entries are due October 15th :3 you can totally enter after that, you just won’t be eligible for prizes :))

And uh I’m also gonna be giving out prizes! So here they are!

1st Place

Either: a longer short story (A story that’s anywhere from 2000-4000 words, maybe more), two short stories/extended art drabbles (at the most 1500 words) or four drabbles/art drabbles (under 1000 words) (keep in mind if you choose the longer story it will take me quite a while due to my own personal reasons.)

2nd Place

Either: A short story/extended art drabble (at the most 1500 words) or three drabbles/art drabbles (under 1000 words)

3rd Place

Two drabbles/art drabbles

4th Place

One drabble/art drabble

(Please keep in mind I can’t write all prompts because some give me a lot of writers block, so I may have to ask to change prompts with you if you win. Also, for art drabbles, I will need proper, linked credit to the artist so I can message them and ask if I can repost.)

So yeah, there you go! There will also be honourable mentions and stuff, but yeah! AnYways, onto the story! (Which you can totally just read on your own if you don’t feel like entering the contest ^w^)

⚠️Triggers⚠️

Remus’ innuendos, mentions of fire, mentions of bugs

Word Count - 3132

~

”Come on, kiddos! Let’s go camping, it’ll be fun!”

Those were the words that Patton had spoken a few nights ago. Roman had mixed feelings about it. Virgil was anxious. Logan was... Quite eager, actually, but didn’t show it. There was so much nature to study out there, he was very much excited. Janus didn’t seem to care, and Remus seemed to be marvelling at all the mischief he could cause while camping.

And that’s how they found themselves in the car a few days later. Roman and Patton loudly singing in the front seat, Remus occasionally butting in and changing the lyrics to ‘more fun ones’ (Patton did not like that very much), with the other three sides covering their ears in the backseat, passing around looks of mutual annoyance.

The car ride felt like forever, but they had eventually pulled up at the campsite. They parked the trailer, pitched the tent (cause there wasn’t enough room for everyone in the trailer), and set up anything else they needed to. And then they went off, deciding to check out the campsite. Patton decided to have everyone split up into groups of two, and allow them to rotate whenever they wanted. After making sure everyone was okay with that, off they went. Logan went with Janus, Roman went with Patton, and Virgil went with Remus.

So what were they all doing? Well, Janus and Logan decided to go through a walk in the forest. Logan was going a little nuts and jotting down notes for any unknown piece of nature he spotted, while Janus was simply admiring everything. Holding leaves in his hands, smelling flowers, stuff like that. He looked over at Logan, sighing as he watched him zip around. “Nerd, come here-“

Logan looked up, a look of confusion spreading over his face. He hopped up from where he was kneeled, walking over to Janus. He raised an eyebrow. “How may I assist you?”

Janus surprised him by simply sNatching his notebook. “Hey-! Janus, you can’t-“

”Shush, Logan. You /don’t work enough/, alright? Why don’t you just live in the moment with me for a bit?” The snake man asked, head tilting to the side as he cocked his eyebrow into a raise.

Logan opened his mouth to protest, then closed it again, letting out a sigh, realizing Janus would not let up if he refused. “...Fine.”

They walked on, Logan’s eyes flickering around curiously as Janus took his time to admire nature. Logan would occasionally glance over with pleading eyes for the notebook, but Jan just shook his head at him, giving a small smile when Logan sighed.

Eventually, they found some animals. Some bugs, some squirrels, even some birds. Logan found himself kneeled down, holding a White-spotted sawyer. Janus on the other hand, took out some bird seed and got a bird onto his hand. They were both silent, growing content with their current actions and habitat.

• • •

Meanwhile, Roman and Patton were off discovering the children’s playgrounds of the campsite. Roman found himself going between sliding down a slide and spinning on a... Spinny thing, while Patton was going between swinging on the swings and sliding down a pole. The pair ignored any weird looks they got from kids, along with other adults that happened to be around. They were just having fun, and they knew that.

Roman let out a loud laugh as he slid down the slide for the umpteenth time, looking to Patton with a grin. “We should go to parks more oFten, Padré! It’s so much fUN!”

Patton responded with a big smile as he swung as high as he could on the swing, a loud laugh escaping him. “I know!! Good golly miss molly, we really do.” He grinned, slowing down the swing a bit before hopping off with a laugh. “I wonder if there are any more parks down here??”

Roman let out a gasp, now on a spinning pole. “Patton, you’re a genius!” He hopped off of his pole, stumbling over to Patton due to being dizzy from the spinning. The moral side tilted his head, smiling at the prince. “We should look around more! I’m not sure how long we’ve been at the park, actually.” He laughed nervously, scratching the back of his neck, then clapped his hands together. “Well, that’s okay! We can change that!” He smiled at the eager nod in agreement he received from Roman.

And then they were off. On an adventure to find another park. Wandering through the campground, skipping and admiring animals and flowers, singing random songs, all in all, just bois bein bois.

Soon, they stumbled upon another park, eyes widening at just how much bigger this one was. The last one had a small playground and some swings, but this one had two climbing areas with slides, one of those circular shaped things where you could hop on and spin it, and last but not least, a swingset for both babies/toddlers and anyone older than that. It made the last playground pale in comparison.

Patton and Roman were of course quick to get to work testing all the playground equipment, the two coming up with a number system to rate the ‘fun-ness’ level of each one. Because why the heck not?

Patton even discovered a cool looking bug, and Roman snapped a picture of it on his phone so they could ask Logan about it later. Patton found the bug kinda creepy, but Roman held it no problem, only letting out a high pitched scream when it flew away. Because let’s be honest, bugs can look kinda scary when they fly away, unless it’s a butterfly.

All in all, they were enjoying themselves, happily playing and discovering and laughing like a group of kids.

• • •

Then you got Virgil and Remus.

The pair had decided to go searching around for anything to do really, Virgil trying to keep Remus’ head out of subjects such as what he could possibly throw in the fire, or how easy it was to set everything aflame. He claimed it was for scientific reasons, but Virgil knew this wasn’t Logan he was with.

So he simply gave Remus a small jar with some dirt, telling him he could get some worms because a few of the sides had mentioned wanting to go fishing at some point. More specifically, Janus. Logan said he might join in, and Roman had said he wanted to watch to see what they would catch. (Janus did not look amused, knowing Roman would probably scare all the fish away.)

Virgil kept a close eye on Remus, wandering around himself. He couldn’t figure out for the life of him what to do, so he just went and bought some firewood. By the time he emerged from the store, Remus was there, jumping up and down and yelling about how he caught a twisty pink earth noodle.

After a bit of chatter, Virgil and Remus wandered back to the campsite, where Virgil tried to get a fire going. However, his fear got the best of him and he chickened out. (But luckily, Janus came back to get something and gladly lit the fire for him, before leaving.)

So now they were simply sat around the fire, roasting hot dogs for dinner. Well... Virgil was. Remus was just throwing them in the fire. After about three hot dogs being thrown in (Virgil telling him “stop it.” every single time-) Virgil looked up with a sigh. “Remus!” He hissed. “Quit throwin’ hot dogs in the fire! They weren’t very cheap and we’re gonna run out!”

Remus just let out a laugh, smirking at Virgil with a raised eyebrow. “Well, I guess if we run out, I’ll just have to use yours then~” He laughed at Virgil’s reaction, aka an obnoxious groan and facepalm. “Oh my g o d, shut up...” Remus just grinned at him. “M a k e m e.”

Virgil stared at him for a few seconds, a heavy sigh escaping his lips. He shook his head and looked down at his own cooking hot dog, twisting it in circles slowly. “You’re paying for the next batch if we run out.”

Slowly, the rest of the sides began to make their way back to camp, just in time for the sunset. Remus did in fact have to go buy more hot dogs, and soon the sun was setting, and they were all roasting and or eating hot dogs around the fire, laughing and talking.

Eventually the conversation got to sleeping arrangements. They brought three tents, so that meant two people per tent. After some decision making, they chose the same groups they went off in today. Logan and Janus, Roman and Patton, and Remus and Virgil.

They roasted marshmallows around the fire, most of the sides roasting golden marshmallows, unlike Remus, who completely burnt his marshmallow and ate the s’more in one bite.

After dinner and s’mores, the sun had completely set, and they chose to go on a walk down to the dock that was by the lake. At first, Logan hadn’t wanted to go, but soon after, he was proven very wrong, and he knew damn well he was extremely glad that he was dragged on the walk.

The reason? Upon arriving at the dock, Logan took one look up and any negative thoughts, emotions, and words all just faded away.

Stars.

Hundreds of beautiful stars freckled across the night sky, the light of the moon reflecting in the ocean. He swore he could almost see galaxies among the bright lights, his eyes widening as a shooting star bolted across the sky.

It was truly beautiful.

Logan could sit out all night and admire every star individually, and he knew even then he wouldn’t be able to take in the full beauty of all the stars visible to him, even by morning.

Sitting down at the end of the dock, Logan let his eyes flicker among the stars. He tried to take in the beauty. Take in the light. Truly enjoy the stars. And he was. Well, until...

”Hey- guys?”

Everyone perked their heads up to look at Virgil, who had spoken. He had his eyebrows furrowed and he was looking around. “I... Don’t mean to be a party pooper, but... Could we go back-? It’s... Kinda spooky out here.”

Roman let out a loud groan, making a dramatic noise. “Come o n ! We ju st got here! Look at the stars!” He threw his arms out, flopping down next to Logan. “Look at the beauty our universe holds! Look at mE, for crying out loud!” He pointed at himself, making Logan facepalm.

Virgil sighed. “...Okay. I can just go back myself, then.” He mumbled, crossing his arms and turning to leave, only for Patton to stop him. “Ah, ah ah! You aren’t leaving on your own, us 6 have to stick together! So we’re all going back right now!” He said, making Roman huff. “But- but Patton! We’re adults!! We can stay out here alone!”

“Yes, and I’m well aware of that. But I don’t want you guys to stay out here alone! Something could happen!” He said, making the other groan. “Come on, we’re going.” He began to walk back with Virgil.

Logan had a visible frown on his face as he got up, making Roman tilt his head and go over to him, letting Jan and Remus walk ahead of them. “You good, nerd?”

Logan sighed. “Satisfactory, yes.” He said as they began to slowly walk. Roman frowned. “You’re a bad liar. You can talk to me, y’know?” He said quietly, starting to look around.

Logan was silent, and Roman didn’t push it. He didn’t want to make Logan mad at him, so he simply left it. Until Logan did speak. “...I am simply... Unhappy about leaving the dock. The stars were quite remarkable to look at, and... I’m unsure if they’ll resemble this exact, beautiful state again.” He said quietly, frowning and letting his head bow, quietly watching his feet move forward and drag back with every step he took.

Roman frowned a little, letting out a sigh. “...I see. I’m sorry, Logan.” He said quietly, pushing his hands into his pockets. “That’s quite an understandable reason to be upset, if it makes you feel any better.” He pointed out, making Logan sigh and nod. “Thank you, Roman.” He cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses. “...Well, we are almost back at camp. I suggest we put out the fire and make use of our tents for the night.” He said, receiving a nod in response from Roman.

After arriving back to camp and talking a little more, they did just that. They put out the campfire, confirmed sleeping arrangements a final time, got ready for bed, then ducked into their tents. Everyone fell asleep quite quickly, except for Remus, who kept getting mumbles from an annoyed Virgil saying, “Go to hell to sleep.”

Oh, and Logan. He was laid out in his tent, his glasses next to his sleeping bag as he lay curled up, shivering from the cold and sighing. He could hear Janus’ soft breathing from the sleeping bag next to his, and part of him wanted to wake him up so the nerd wouldn’t be confined to his lonesome, but he wasn’t going to take sleep from Janus for his own comfort.

He eventually did lure off to sleep, soft snores escaping him as he lay curled up in the beanbag, his mind slipping into a dreamless, yet relaxing state.

It was a long night, yet peaceful.

• • •

”Logan- Logan! C’mon, wake up-!”

”Mmh...?”

Logan stirred in his sleeping bag, eyes slowly opening as his head turned to face wherever the whisper-shouting voice was coming from. His eyes fluttered open, and he let out a small gasp as Roman was suddenly there. The prince pressed his fingers to his lips and shushed Logan, whispering to him. “Shh... C’mon.” He carefully left the tent, and Logan was just confused at this point.

He glanced around tiredly, grabbing his glasses and putting them on after rubbing his eyes, turning to look at Janus’ sleeping bag. He was still there. Still fast asleep, unphased by Roman’s sudden appearance.

Logan opened his mouth and then closed it, letting out a sigh. He carefully crawled out of the tent, frowning confusedly when he noticed it was still dark. ...What was Roman planning?

Getting up, he quietly zipped up the tent, then made his way over to Roman. “...What are you doing?” He whispered, a confused frown on his face.

Roman just grinned at him, taking his hand. “You’ll see.” He whispered, taking him out of the camp area containing the tents- where everyone was still sleeping, Logan assumed- turned left, and began to walk.

Logan asked questions all the way to their destination, until they eventually began to near it, and it clicked in Logan’s mind.

They were going to the dock.

”Roman, why...” Logan’s face was full of confusion as he turned his head to look at the prince-like side, who just smiled at Logan. “You said you wanted to see the stars for longer, did you not?” His voice came out in a soft, gentle tone as he guided Logan onto the dock, stopping near the endHe smiled at the nerd, carefully going down and laying on the dock, ignoring the wetness of the wood below him. He gazed at the sky for a few moments, then looked to Logan again. “...Well, are you going to watch the stars with me, or not?” He said, to which Logan shook his head as if he was snapping out of something, then carefully nodded, slowly laying down next to Roman.

They were quiet as they silently laid there, gaze flickering among the pretty stars that rested above their heads, just enjoying the stars and each other’s company.

”Mmm... Logan?”

”Yes, Roman?”

”...Do you know a lot about astrology?”

”...I’d say so, yes.”

”Can... Can you teach me a bit?”

”Why... Certainly, Roman.”

And so Logan began to talk quietly, falling into a ramble. About constellations, about the solar system, things like that. Roman stopped watching the stars, turning to gaze at Logan with fond eyes. He could listen to him talk for hours. Although Logan’s voice may have seemed monotone and lacking most emotion, Roman liked it. Adored it, even. He wasn’t sure why, but Logan’s voice was just beautiful to him. God, Logan was just...

Roman wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing, but it happened before he could stop it. Next thing he knew, he was moving closer and closer, until eventually...

His head moved up, and his lips were on Logan’s.

Logan was shocked by it at first, his eyes wide. Roman realized what he was doing and pulled away, letting out a gasp. “Oh- jesus, um- I’m sorry, I didn’t m-mean to do that-“ He started to get up. “I-I can just-“

Logan pulled him back down before he could go, pressing their lips together once again. Roman let out a gasp, freezing for a moment before slowly melting into the feeling, closing his eyes and returning the kiss. “...Hm.”

They stayed like that for god knows how long, just smoochin’ under the stars. They both felt calm, and quite good.

Eventually, they pulled away for air, both panting as they stared at each other. Roman was the one to break the silence. “...W-Wow.” Logan blinked, nodding in agreement. “...Y-Yeah. Wow.”

Roman gazed at him for a few more minutes, eyes slightly wide. He eventually took a small breath and let out a little laugh, Logan responding with a flustered smile. The creative side carefully laid down next to Logan, and they stayed quiet. They could talk about the kiss later, but for now they just wanted to enjoy the stars, and enjoy each other.

Eventually, they fell asleep under the night sky with a small smile occasionally coming up on both of their faces, fingers intertwined which eventually led to the two scooting closer to one another.

You can imagine the fun that pursued when Patton woke up and was unable to find Logan or Roman anywhere.

~

apologies if this seems rushed ^^;

[escapefromarchoncastle]

Chapter One – Archon Castle Is Not What It Seems

Terry trudged up the gravel path, already dreading Archon Castle was not going to live up to the promotional material. The ravens and vultures, perched like Halloween ornaments on a sprawling oak tree, looked embarrassingly fake. Bald patches of black plastic gleamed between the glued-on feathers. He should have figured. His parents had warned him. At fifteen, he was no longer a child. It was stupid to believe magic existed outside of camera tricks and CGI. Yet he held onto a fraying thread of hope, the same way he had with Santa Claus each Christmas until he was nearly in middle school.

A caw loud as a falcon’s screech startled him. He stopped at the edge of the trail and gawked up. The blackbirds had come alive. They fluttered their wings, still looking a bit mangy. They stared down at him as if they were sizing up their next meal. Terry continued walking, more slowly now, and glancing over his shoulder at each odd sound in the woods. None of the other hundred-odd kids traipsing along the same trail appeared at all spooked. They all had eager expressions on their faces, eyes wide as if they’d never seen trees in their wild habitat before.

The stone walls of the castle came into view above the canopy of evergreen trees. Terry felt his breath sucking deep into his lungs at the imposing sight. Archon Castle sat atop a black, craggy cliff, menacing and ancient. Clouds had gathered overhead. Mist swirled around. He came around a bend and trail ended at a drawbridge flanked by a pair of watchtowers. The top of a turret beyond had crumbled as if a bad-tempered giant had kicked at it. Even after studying countless pictures online, Terry still found it hard to believe such a castle existed in West Virginia of all places. It looked as though it belonged off the coast of Ireland or had come from another realm.

A large boy bumped against Terry. Terry did his best to ignore him as he bumped against him a second time. Probably Chad. Terry’d noticed him in the parking lot earlier, picking a fight with an Asian boy until his dad called him away. Again he found himself staring at the castle, filled with an uncanny sensation he was being drawn into another time and place. The walls looked so ancient. Rock had crumbled away from the narrow arrow slits. Most of the tiles on top of the watchtowers were cracked or missing. The wooden timbers used for the drawbridge must be over a thousand years old. The trail turned sharply and descended again. The castle was no longer in their view.

“Hey. You.”

Sweat trickled down Terry’s spine as he braved a glance. Chad’s eyes were locked on someone else thankfully, a small blond boy with a bad haircut. Terry froze, unsure what to do. He wasn’t one to take on bullies, but this kid was half Chad's size. Terry's hands curled into fists. His fingers flexed. He used to be the little guy everyone had picked on but he’d grown quite a bit since the seventh grade. Chad wasn’t that big; he could take him. Terry had fantasized, repeatedly, of exactly this scenario where he’d seize the bully by his shoulder, force him around, and land a hard boxer’s punch to knock him out cold.

Paralyzed with indecision, he watched Chad grab onto the boy’s yellow tennis shirt and pull it over his head. The boy went to head-butt him, missed, and plowed into a red-haired girl. Enraged, she let out a shriek and tore at both of them, her fingers like bared claws. Terry ducked away from the melee and stood on the grass verge. He was about to pull Chad off the boy when a man in long black robes fluttered up to them.

“ENOUGH!” the man roared, grabbing Chad by the scruff of his hoodie. “Any more of this and you won’t be wondering whether this castle has a dungeon.”

Chad went pale. His body quivered. Eyes bugged out, he stammered, “Y-y-yeah. S-suh-sir.”

The blond boy pulled his yellow shirt back down, smoothed his hair, and gulped as if he were staring into the face of Death. “I’m sorry mister.”

The scuffle was over. Terry’s chance at a moment of glory had passed. Disappointed and yet also relieved, he secured the strap of his backpack against his shoulder and got back on the gravel trail. The man in black was gone as quickly as he’d appeared. Chad and some of the others craned their heads around, brows furrowed, until someone pointed out a shadow slinking through the trees. The tall dark figure was moving way too fast and smoothly for it to be a person running. Terry's skin flushed with excitement––the man was flying! He was only a foot or two off the ground, but still, he was skimming into the woods like a hovercraft.

The trail veered upward again. Terry wondered if they were ever going to reach the gates. The last he’d glimpsed, the castle had looked so close and now he could see nothing again but pine and fir trees.

“Oh my God, this is Archon Castle?” a girl’s dismayed voice cried somewhere up ahead. “What a dump!”

Terry caught up with her at the top of the hill and stared ahead, dismayed. She wasn’t kidding. To say this castle was in disrepair was like saying a bombed-out ruin just needed a little fixing up. The entire western wall had crumbled to rubble. The castle still looked as if it had been built much earlier than the mid-1800s, and had been under siege for most of it.

He gulped and eyed the sagging roof of the keep. He’d seen abandoned farmhouses in better condition. The gatehouse was even more dilapidated. The tower on the left had partially collapsed. The timbers keeping the tower on the right propped up looked about as sturdy as twigs for a hermit shack. A sewer-like stench wafted into his nostrils. The stink was coming from the swampy, algae-filled moat.

“May I have your attention!” a surly voice called. Different from the one who’d broken up that fight. Everyone huddled together, keeping their distance from the figure in front of the gatehouse. He also wore a black cloak, his face hidden in the shadows of his hood. His arms were raised up high so that he formed the shape of a cross. He looked more like the figure of Death than a wizard. All he was missing was a scythe. “Once you have passed onto the grounds of Archon castle, you will be unable to leave before summer end. I strongly advise anyone wishing to turn back, to do so now.”

A boy on Terry’s left raised his hand.

“Yes?”

The boy gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “Do we get a refund, sir?”

“NO.”

Terry was torn. All his life he’d dreamt of becoming a wizard. Yet his parents were practical people, who stressed the importance of having a backup plan no matter what dreams you aspired to. Although not quite ready to let go of his childish fantasies, he did have an alternative career in mind. He’d be a journalist. That way if he failed at becoming a wizard this summer, he’d have a good story to write about. His Uncle Pete said the boilerplate non-disclosure form Terry’d had to sign was bull-puckey. If he turned back now, he’d have nothing. He watched Chad whisper to the one asking about the refund.

More loudly Chad said, “Only welfare cases think ten grand is a lot of money. Let’s blow this joint!” Chad patted the boy’s shoulder and the two of them began jogging back down the trail. It figured, bullies were always the biggest wimps. Another two dozen or so followed.

“Good riddance,” a dark haired girl whispered in a singsong voice to no one in particular. “The fewer people who go inside, the higher my own chance of becoming an initiate.”

She had a point. She began striding forward and Terry followed her onto the drawbridge. A sharp, cracking sound sent stabs of terror into his chest as a plank gave way beneath his foot. He stumbled onto a sturdier plank, and stayed put until his heart was no longer pounding against his rib-cage. He looked down. Through a gap between two rotting planks, he could see rusted spikes jutting out of the algae below. He also caught sight of an odd ripple on the surface near a patch of lily pads.

“Oh my, that was close,” the girl said. She, too, was staring down at the spikes. She looked up at Terry, wide-eyed. She grinned, her face flushed with excitement. “We nearly died!”

“Um, yes,” he said for the sake of saying something. He looked up, and immediately regretted doing so. The bottom of the portcullis suspended in the archway he was passing under had spikes like iron teeth about to chomp down on them.

“What are those holes up there?” She pointed at a series of charred holes in the ceiling, each about a foot in diameter.

“Murder holes,” Terry answered. “If invaders managed to storm the gates, soldiers would pour cauldrons of boiling oil onto them.”

“What a way to go!” She made sure to avoid walking directly under any large holes the rest of the way. So did Terry. Archon Castle was definitely creepy—it felt creepy—and not in a good way like a haunted house theme park, but in a bad way like a car following at a walking pace just a few feet behind.

The girl continued along, testing her weight on each plank before stepping onto it fully. Terry followed right behind her. Being heavier, he had to be even more careful going across. He’s already had one break from under him. He glanced over his shoulder and figured they were halfway along. Several had already given and were heading back up the trail.

Terry was tempted to join them. But this might be his only chance to learn any form of magic, the only place that mysterious online message had said it existed. Real magic was supposed to be scary. In the material that had accompanied his application forms, the first line explicitly stated that this camp was not for the faint of heart. And, according to Uncle Pete, the waivers his parents had had to sign assuring Archon Castle LLC that Terry was in good health, were ironclad.

He edged forward, tensing with each step and then breathing a sigh of relief as the boards held. Rusty chains creaked. The drawbridge shuddered beneath his feet. Behind him, a voice called, “Get a move on!” They were raising the bridge already! Terry leapt along the firmest looking planks until he was safely on solid ground again. Others pressed against him as they were herded into a courtyard. The drawbridge was rising more quickly now. He watched at least two dozen kids clamber back over it with the desperation of last-minute Christmas shoppers. Fighting the urge to follow them, he reminded himself that the more people who chickened out, the fewer he’d have to compete with.

The drawbridge closed with a thud. The ground shook like a small earthquake. He even felt that same queer liquid sensation under his feet that he'd experienced back home in California a few times.

Dreading whatever he’d just gotten himself into, he turned to face the castle. And gasped. He blinked, rubbed his eyes, and gawked around in amazement. The surrounding buildings now looked as though they’d been created for a theme park they were in such good condition! The massive rectangular keep stood tall and proud, weathered just enough to assure Terry it was nearly two centuries old. The whitewashed plaster on the rambling Tudor-style buildings to his left gleamed in the noonday sun. The earlier decrepitude must have been an illusion to frighten away the weak-willed. Pride swelled him at the thought he may have passed his first test, though it deflated just as quickly.

“Form a line side by side!” a deep voice barked. A hand gripped Terry’s shoulder, icy through the thick fabric of his t-shirt. The man was an Adept, dressed in a crimson silk robe with gold stars embossed along the hem. A shadow fell over Terry and cool, slippery fabric slid down over his head and arms. He was then jerked around and shoved next to a girl in a light blue robe. The same dark-haired girl who’d been in front of him as they crossed the drawbridge. Terry looked down to see he was now wearing a similar robe.

“Why does it have to be blue?” she mumbled, bunching the fabric in her fists. On her feet she wore a pair of pink and white polka dot flip flops. “Blue is a boy’s colour.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” Terry said. “My sister’s favourite colour is a light—”

“QUIET!” the same Adept who’d grabbed his shoulder yelled. “Everyone form a line.”

Terry stood behind the girl. The Adept snatched his shoulders again and made him stand next to her. “A side by side line.”

“Wouldn’t that be a row?” She jerked back as if she’d been slapped across her face, yet the Adept’s hand hadn’t moved anywhere near her. She scowled, rubbed her cheek, and glowered at Terry.

“It wasn’t me.” Terry waited until the Adept was out of earshot. “I think he used his Astral hand on you.” He tried to remember what else he’d read about Astral combat. Everything he’d brushed up on the past few weeks was beginning to blur.

“This place is awfully sexist,” she whispered and Terry nodded. Whenever that word came up he’d been trained from early childhood to nod and say nothing. “I only see ten other girls here. Fifteen at most. Though you did make a good point about blue. Cerulean is a lovely shade. And so is lapis lazuli.”

Already she was getting on his nerves. Hoping she’d take a hint, Terry fixed his gaze at the row of Adepts assembling across from them. They stood at the base of a square stone tower that dwarfed everyone in the courtyard. A portly Master Adept, in a burgundy robe covered in gold and black squiggly marks, stepped forward. He pulled back his hood. He had jowls like a St. Bernard and wisps of white hair sprung from his head in a feathery crown. “Welcome to Wizard Camp,” he said. His voice sounded like a bulldozer with engine trouble. “As you may already be aware, I am Quindalore the Querulous, Learned Master Adept of the Order of Nine.”

An Adept behind Quindalore coughed lightly into his fist. According to Archon Castle’s own website, the Order of Nine was down to seven. The fate of the missing two was unknown. According to a thread on the unofficial Archon Castle forum, one of the Order had ascended into a Being of Pure Light and Energy, while another claimed he’d run off with an underage neophyte. Terry knew what underage implied, but not neophyte, though he assumed it was equally as lurid.

“Presently,” Master Adept Quindalore said, “there are a hundred and six of you joining us today, of which three will be invited to become Initiates. Initiation is the first step on the path to becoming a wizard proper. Sixty-eight of you, so far, turned back at the drawbridge.”

Everyone chuckled uncomfortably like someone had just farted during a funeral speech. Terry glanced around, dismayed. With everyone massed together, he realised how terrible his odds actually were. Roughly two percent. Then again, if everyone was able to grasp the true odds of success in any endeavour, no one would take risks.

Quindalore continued, “During the next two months you will learn basic spell casting, rune reading, dowsing and divining, and, before anyone asks, there will be no handling any wands.”

“Do we get to summon demons?” a voice piped up. A boy around ten or eleven, with a blond pudding bowl haircut, grinned eagerly. The collar of his canary-yellow t-shirt poked from under his blue robe. The boy Chad had been bullying.

“NO!” There wasn’t much force behind Quindalore’s voice, but the volume was deafening.

Terry gulped. He had questions, loads of questions, and decided it would be wiser to let other kids do the asking.

“For the time being you will each be assigned a group number. The Adept in charge of your group will show you to your sleeping quarters. We will meet back here in precisely half an hour for your orienteering session.”

Orienteering session didn’t sound frightening; it was the sort of thing his dad did for a living. But it was the way Quindalore had said it that made the hairs of his arms stand on end.

The poppy-robed Adepts split apart. They each carried an iron cauldron hanging from the crooks of their arms with the ease of an empty picnic basket. Super-human strength would be cool to learn, Terry thought. His parents had bought him a weight set, but he kept forgetting to use them.

The Adepts proceeded to take slips of paper out from their cauldrons, pinning one to each of the blue robes nearest them.

“I wonder how they select us,” the girl next to Terry said. “We’re being assigned different numbers.” She had fine brownish-black hair that went past her shoulders and a nearly perfect profile. He hated when he noticed such things in a girl. Especially ones who got on his nerves.

Leaning close enough for him to smell the strawberry scent of her hair, she rasped, “Matching vibrational energy, do you think? Or maybe they can see auras in broad daylight!”

Terry said nothing. He had no idea what vibrational energy involved and didn’t want her thinking he was stupid. Besides, he doubted there was any deliberate selection process at all. Each adept was speeding through with the efficiency of a factory production line. Once they were done, Terry and the girl looked down, then they looked at each other.

“We’ve been assigned the same number. But it had been different Adepts who had …” She stared off, as if she’d seen the first crack in what she’d always thought was solid ground beneath her feet and was afraid to check if it was widening. Terry didn’t care; he was just happy he’d been assigned a lucky number. Nothing was luckier than seven, surely.

“Number sevens, follow me!” A female adept with close-set eyes signalled to them and marched towards a set of low stone buildings beyond the square tower. A couple of reddish horses with black manes were tied to a post near the side entrance. One of them snorted and stamped its hoof as Terry filed after the other twenty-odd kids into the building. The coolness after the hot noonday sun was refreshing but inside it was damp, dark, and reeked of manure.

They were led past a maze of horse stalls into a large, rectangular room with stone walls and a peaked wood ceiling. Sunlight slanted in through high, small windows, giving the place a subterranean feel. Here the stench of manure wasn't as overpowering, more like a room where people had been smoking cigars the night before and figured opening one window a crack was enough to air the place out. The stink was bearable.

The Adept turned on a switch next to the entrance. Floodlights attached to the wooden beams above flickered as if each of them wanted to keep hitting the snooze button before finally getting up and doing their job of illuminating the room.

“Oh no,” Terry said in a hushed voice as he looked around. Surely their beds weren't going to be ... blankets on top of bales of straw? He already knew he'd be sleeping in far less comfort than he was accustomed to. It wasn’t canopied feather beds he’d been expecting. But he was positive one of the online pictures had showed rows of hammocks, and in another he’d seen cosy little cots similar to ones in his grandfather’s summer cottage. These accommodations were what tourist brochures worldwide described as rustic, looking wonderfully quaint until you got there and discovered half the walls were missing.

He blinked and rubbed his eyes. Unlike after the drawbridge had closed, nothing changed. All the beds consisted of three bales of straw secured together with thick twine. A pair of scratchy-looking burlap blankets lay folded on top of each one. At the foot of each––he was loath to call them beds––was a slab of rough wood. No pillow, no storage box, and what if it got cold at night?

"No pillows?" the girl next to him whined.

The Adept traced a vaguely figure eight symbol in the air with her index finger.

"ALL RIGHT THEN," her voice boomed, shaking the rafters. She traced something else in the air and more quietly said, "One cot per person. Later this afternoon, leftover apple crates will be arriving for you to store your things in."

The same boy who'd asked about Demon summoning went up to her. "Which one's mine?"

"Any of them—just choose one per person," she said in the same irritated tone of voice his sister would use whenever she was waiting for some boy to call her back. “You neophytes get worse every year, I swear.”

A memory sprung up in Terry’s mind like a jack-in-the-box head popping out of its compartment. Of course, a neophyte was the level below Initiate. There were several other ranks above that. Junior Adept, Adept and Senior Adept followed, then onto more complex, important-sounding titles that rivalled those of a large bank or advertising firm.

“What’s your name?” the same boy asked. The pudding bowl haircut made him immune to non-verbal cues that would terrify other kids, Terry reckoned. With hair like that, he’d probably grown a very thick skin. If the school he went to was anywhere like Rosedale High, he’d need it.

“My friends, my parents, and my mentors, call me Natasha,” the Adept said, her shadow growing into that of a giant behind her. “To you, my little worm, I am Miss Huston. Don’t. Wear. It out.”

He quivered away from her.

Everyone else stood frozen like pieces on a chessboard. Seeing his chance at securing the best spot, Terry dodged around to the bundle of straw in the farthest corner. The rest elbowed their ways towards the remaining corners. Guarding his makeshift bed, Terry watched a fight break out on the opposite side of the room. A wiry boy was trying to push a larger boy off the spot he’d staked out. Terry sat to watch. He quite enjoyed fights, so long as he wasn’t involved in one himself.

The bigger boy held the other one away with his rod-straight arm, his body well out of range of the flailing fists. “Get lost, Mark—I was here first!” He ducked, sending Mark pitching forward. Before Mark could recover his balance another boy lunged at him, scrabbling at his shoulder and trying to get him into a choke-hold. Miss Huston waved her arms and the three of them flew apart from each other like exploding shrapnel.

Miss Huston addressed the quarreling boys. Her smile had a lot of teeth for someone with such a small mouth. “There’s nothing in the rules saying the two of you can’t share a bed. We wizards are very enlightened as far as romantic preferences go.”

“It's yours, cry-baby.” Mark gave the smaller boy a shove, then went to the cot in the remaining corner and pushed that kid out from it. Miss Huston watched, but said nothing.

"Miss," the girl with pink flip-flops said, tugging Miss Huston’s sleeve.

"What is it?" She wheeled around and glared at her as if the girl had just smeared mud on her nice crimson robe.

"Where are the girls supposed to go?"

"Wherever! It says dorms are co-ed right in the brochure! We do not assume gender at Archon Castle. We're very progressive here. At sixteen surely you're old enough to have acquired immunity to boy germs."

The girl swallowed and stared around, her gaze passing Terry without a glimmer of expectation. He wasn’t relieved though; he felt sad for her. Four other girls had chosen spots next to each other on the far side of the room from him, and they glared at her in that way girls glare at anyone who Does Not Belong. Mean girls, like his sister and her friends. The place next to Terry was still empty, so he rose and gestured at the spot he’d staked out. How could he not offer it under the circumstances. "You can stay here if you want. I ... I have a sister so ... I’m already used to …"

She kept her head bowed and went to stand on the far side of the one next to his, meeting his chivalric gesture halfway. He tossed his backpack into the corner and sat again.

"I'll leave you to settle in. We will meet back in the courtyard in twenty-five minutes, where you will be given your very first lesson. In alchemy," Miss Huston said, and left.

Terry’s burning excitement at the sound of the word alchemy was doused by the sight of the girl sitting on the edge of the bed next to his, facing away from him and sobbing. Crying was always more painful to watch when all you could see was their back and shoulders shaking uncontrollably, head turned down.

"I’m Terry. What's your name?" he asked softly. Across from them the other girls were snickering and whispering, hands shielding mouths, eyes wild with malice.

She sniffled. "Katya," she said at last.

"That's a nice name," he said, again for the sake of something to say. There wasn't much a bully could do with a name like that. It didn't rhyme with anything nasty like Terry Fairy or hairy Terry. The worst they could do was Fatya, but she was too slim for that to work as an insult.

She didn't respond, not that he had expected her too. It would be rude to ask her to stop crying, so he turned his attention to spreading the thin blankets out on top the bales. He lay down and bits of straw prodded his neck and ankles. Thankfully the robe’s fabric was thick. In half an hour he’d be learning his first ever magic. Alchemy. He imagined a laboratory full of bubbling beakers and alembics, watching in awe as mysterious steaming substances flowed through networks of glass pipes into copper stills. Alchemy.

[royal-writer]

She walks in starlight

Do you think she could have loved me?

The woodlands were dark, and so dense that the sun could not penetrate the branches and foliage. It left a gloom over the undergrowth, with only the faint dappling of rays daring to try reaching the land beneath. It was not a dirt rich with vegetation. Mostly moss grew on the forest floor, and what plants were not dead were hardy and lacked greenery, flowers, and fruits to make up for in gnarled branches and thorny tips.

“Easy to imagine why people would find this land poisoned with darkness,” Ravamora pointed out, climbing over the remains of a fallen tree.

“It is not sick,” Amon pointed out, running his fingers along the bark of a tree. “These trees are all very healthy. Elms, oaks, sycamores, ash, maples; it’s a diverse ecosystem. I would assume these trees have over the years grown so much, they choked out the shade-tolerant plants that once lived here. Given a few centuries, these old trees will die and fall; spreading light to the understory once more for new life to grow. Perhaps then if the right seedlings are left in the droppings of passing animals, a new and more diverse habitat can flourish.”

“Ugh, do you ever listen to yourself?” Adela sighed, taking an offered hand to scale over the decaying tree. “You’re like a walking plant encyclopedia.”

A gentle tisk escaped Abernathy as he guided the tiefling safely up the tree. Once she reached the top, she hopped down unaided, with the taller gentleman dropping beside her.

“Use your manners, Adela. Not everyone is a hinge expert.”

The pink woman’s face suddenly turned maroon. She inhaled sharply as Abernathy passed her, a look of disgust on her face.

“You take that back!”

“Lord Anon offers us knowledge, niss Adela,” Pri’cha chirped, tilting her head. “Is it not wise to accept which we do not know?”

“It is if it’s useless,” Penimra sighed. “No one cares about a stuffy, dirty old forest anyway. Besides, most of you will be long past dead by the time it changes anyway, so what’s it matter?”

Drawing in a heavy sigh, Amon rolled his eyes at the cynical tone and quiet bickering. Some days they were all perfectly calm, collected, and working like a well-oiled machine and other days… Well, tolerance grew thin. You longed for civilization, a cozy bed, and a hot meal made with more than just basic ingredients and subpar cooks.

He tried to focus in on the surrounding sounds in the woodland. Scuttling in the dead foliage; small shrews and mice trying to find a meal. A deep breath in his lungs, and it almost smelled of home. Musty dirt and lichen growing on large rocks. The wild smells of nature all around him.

He looked over his shoulder, spotting Sulhadur looking alertly around the thick bands of trees. He remained quiet; a lookout for danger that might come running among their clamoring noise. Perhaps the only other would who would appreciate the silence as much as he did right now.

“Sometimes I forget how many of you have elvish blood,” Aylin pointed out, scanning the group. “Obviously it’s hard to miss Ravamora and you, Penimra, but Abernathy is part-elf and Amon’s family, distantly, had elf as well.”

“That just leaves us with a dragon, a bug, a half-demon, and a half-snake as our only no-elf heritage in the group.”

“Very reassuring,” Adela grumbled. “That does not mean my life will be any less or shorter than yours. In fact I could put a wager on it being shorter, right now-”

Ignoring the squabbling that began to pick up again, the Illiad heir scanned over their numbers with narrowed eyes. He kept doubling back, but with each headcount he kept coming up one short. Where was-

Arms suddenly flung around his waist and squeezed. He let out a startled grunt, trying to pull free of the snaring grasp.

“Got you~” a sing-song voice teased, followed by a giggle as he was released with his squirming from the sudden hold.

He turned sharply; cloak whirling to find no one there.

A sharp, barking laughter followed, and he rolled his eyes. Turning around, Amon gripped upon the leather strap of his satchel to adjust it. Witnessing as everyone else grew startled or amused expressions, watching a distinctive black murky shadow appear and disappear all around them.

“Niss Essätha!” Pri’cha squeaked, surprised as the woman appeared in a flash at her side, grasping the tiny bug up to snuggle her as she dropped to her knees.

“It’s no time for games, woman,” Penimra scolded.

Essie wickedly grinned in the elf’s direction. He tensed; watching as she seemed to evaporate in mist and darkness all around him. She reappeared moments later at his side, latching on to him as he struggled to pry her free like a leech.

“Someone gave her sugar this morning,” Abernathy chuckled, reaching out grab the woman in a tight embrace as she melted in and out of the shadows beside him.

A slight curve pulled at the edge of Amon’s lips. Much better than the bickering, he had to say.

As he turned back, his boots shuffling against dry leaves, the air seemed to prickle around him with energy. The petite, golden-brown eyed woman was suddenly at this side again; throwing her arms around his side as she laughed freely. An easy sound; damn near childlike and innocent.

He could only chuckle in response. What a totally unnecessary, absurd way to use such a powerful magical gift.

And yet, it fit her mischief kindness and play so perfectly, he could not even hope not to be enchanted by it.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The sound of the campfire crackling and idle chitchat lay to Amon’s backside as he picked up more dead and dry branches for the fire. The darkening twilight sky was beginning to glitter overhead, bearing the shining stars of distant light as the last of the sun fell behind the horizon in a haze of diluted warm colors.

He reached down for another treelimb, but paused. A curious vapor of blurred darkness seemed to be moving over it.

The ink smudge turned to fingers, and the shadow began to dissolve as a figure emerged.

Picking up the stick, Essätha waved it in front of him, her tongue sticking out.

“Need some help?”

He scoffed, balancing the collection of twigs and boughs dangling in his arms. A grin on his face, as he turned his face away, reaching down for another twisted piece of wood laying on the ground.

“Thank you, Ess’, but I can do it.”

As he stood once more, a hand rested against his shoulder. Warm eyes lingering upon him, and a gentle smile.

“You’re going to need someone who can actually navigate and see in the dark,” she teased. Cradling the single limb she had against her chest, the ethereal woman leaned in, pressing a light kiss against his cheek.

His heart skipped a beat. Muttering to himself as heat rose in his face, Amon ignored her hushed giggles as she trailed close to his side, following him along the outskirt edges of the campsite.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Flipping through the pages of the book, Amon skimmed over the lines with a sharp eye. He’d seen enough tax collector’s handbooks to know what what he was looking at, and what should be amiss. A finger ghosted against the papers to help follow a clear line before he’d flip the page. The chatter seemed distant as they others moved about the room or spoke to the wealthy woman just outside.

He sensed it. The change in the air. The sudden way the hairs on the back of his neck rose; feeling something amiss.

A warm breath bathed against the back of his head, and a head rested against his shoulder. Arms materialized around him; cradling him back into a thin chest.

“Find anything useful yet?”

Careful to hold the spine of the book with one hand, Amon reached down to take hold of one of the palms resting against his torso. He brought it to his lips, resting a kiss to the back of the delicate hand.

“Not yet.”

An understanding note carried in the back of her throat, and Essätha’s arms slid back from around him.

He’d rather they’d stayed. They were only distracting for the moment. A sudden warmth; the sun outlining his back and holding him close. Melting away cold and uncertainty.

Licking his digit, he flipped through another page of text, feeling the same strange shifting in the air that had his nerves tingle with awareness as she departed into a fine mist of black, and disappeared.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

His shadow stretched out long against the ground as he dropped off of Maestro. Boots thumping to the ground; hearing the clattering clip clop of hooves and creak of the wagon as the other two steeds followed not far behind.

Amon reached for the mares reigns, cooing to her as she tossed her head and snorted. He rested a hand to her nose as she settled, counting a hoof to the ground as he went to tie her off.

He could feel the change in the atmosphere around him. The smell of magnolia, vanilla, and coconut in his nose. A full garden and sweet notes.

Warmth flung itself around him. Laughter in his ear; loud and excited as Maestro flicked her tail and shifted aside with an unsettled whiny.

Deep, hearty laughter flowed from Lord Amon. A sound he nearly felt forgotten as he reached up to the arms around his neck, folding his fingers over hers. His head turned, nose pressing to hers as he placed a quick smooch to the corner of her mouth.

Essätha squealed with her rolling fits of giggles; nuzzling her face into his shoulder.

All the world and its joy, lay in her joyous song.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

He was ready for her this time. He could feel her in his shadow; predator waiting to strike prey.

As Essie lunged for his back, Amon whipped around, and caught her in his arms.

“Noooooo!”

“Ha!” he cried out triumphantly. “Now look who’s got who!”

She squirmed in his grasp, trying to break herself free of his arms. Her strength, however, small compared to his as he held her against his chest, and placed rapid kisses against her face as she flushed pink and squeaked her surprise.

“Ugh, gross, can’t you two lovebirds get a room or something?” Rava sulked, smacking a hand against her face to block out the sight.

“You are free to look away,” Amon informed her, grinning wildly as he placed his lips to her cheek. He blew warm air against her skin until she had trouble catching her breath; snorting so hard in her laughter that her lungs compressed without air.

“Staahh-hahaha-oopp!”

Smiling broadly from ear to ear, Amon relented her request. Settling for holding Essätha tight and close to his chest. His chin rested atop her head. Arms around her, arms around him, and the soft lingering snickers pressed tiredly against his heart as her heartrate settled and breath finally allowed to lazily find refuge in her lungs once more.

Funny that, even at rest, his heart still could not settle in her presence, and he was always left breathless by her allure.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Was it childish? Absolutely. Did he regret it? Not in the least.

Amon laid his hand upon the tree, and felt the buzz of nature beneath his gloves. It surged in his fingers; tingled in his veins. The whispers of other worlds seemed to call to him.

He focused his eyes on his surroundings, and vanished.

He was everywhere. In the dirt, in the roots. Traversing mother nature in the blink of an eye; he reappeared unscathed a few hundred yards away beneath the low branches of a sister tree.

In the shadows, he could make out Essätha’s silhouette umbral form. The fog of darkness revealed her person, and fell to the ground to disappear.

With a broad smile, he channeled into the magic of the world and disappeared once more. In the vibrations all around him, he was more at one with Mother Earth then ever before. Amon could feel the breath of life all around him. It was comforting as it was daunting.

He reappeared from nothing beside another sister-tree to the same specimen a staggering four-hundred yards away. A quick glimpse around, and he could see the taunting light of Essie’s eyes as she evaporated once more; still hiding in the darkness some yards away.

They continued the dance. Moving throughout the woodland faster than even the most trustworthy stallions or nimble wood-elves. They might know the land, but they did not know this: the hum of the trees, offering their sanctuary. The ability to acknowledge, and respect the life of these wild things and take a form that was not even a true form, and transcend into a realm that was more than distance: it was a connected force. Related by the same seed; the same race of life in the bark and way they took nutrients from the earth and sky and rainwater. He was one with it all.

And she walked in shadows, but brimmed with light. A distinct ying-and-yang all her own. Pooling into nothing; fading into black. He chased where the taste of her magic was left; where the air and dirt felt of her presence. The vibe of her energy left a mark where she went. Not of darkness, but of soft dappled lighting, welcoming smiles, and gentle sloping curves to nestle into in the shape of home.

He tracked her mage’s Shadow Walk with the Tree Stride across the forest; through the pines and elms and various maples. Quiet peels of laughter singing in the air, seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once.

Lord Amon waited; feeling the rush of her pass him by. As Essätha paused; forming within the safety and shade of a large and towering elder cottonwood, he stepped out from the tree in a hum of magic. Careful on his toes; just a few steps, large strides as she perked up. Trying to hone in on where he was, until it was too late.

Arms around her, she sank back into him with a wonderful sigh of content.

“Got you,” he whispered, pressing a tender kiss to her temple.

“Mmm, you think so?” she murmured, reaching around to comb her fingertips through his hair. “And how long do you think you can keep me?”

He exhaled, tightening his arms around her. She was lax in his arms; trusting her weight and safety in his grasp.

Forever, he wanted to say, barely holding his tongue. I want to hold you like this, forever.

[studioserra]

The Power of Photography

Photographers use their cameras as tools of exploration, passports to inner sanctums, instruments for change. Their images are proof the photography matters-now more than ever.

THIRTY-FOUR YEARS BEFORE the birth of this magazine, the Danish philosopher Søren Kierkegaard sourly prophesied a banal fate for the newly popularized art of photography. “With the daguerreotype,” he observed, “everyone will be able to have their portrait taken—formerly it was only the prominent—and at the same time everything is being done to make us all look exactly the same, so we shall only need one portrait.”

The National Geographic Society did not set out to test Kierkegaard’s thesis, at least not right away. Its mission was exploration, and the gray pages of its official journal did not exactly constitute a visual orgy. Years would go by before National Geographic’s explorers would begin using the camera as a tool to bring back what is now its chief source of fame: photographic stories that can alter perceptions and, at their best, change lives.

By wresting a precious particle of the world from time and space and holding it absolutely still, a great photograph can explode the totality of our world, such that we never see it quite the same again. After all, as Kierkegaard also wrote, “the truth is a snare: you cannot have it, without being caught.”

Today photography has become a global cacophony of freeze-frames. Millions of pictures are uploaded every minute. Correspondingly, everyone is a subject, and knows it—any day now we will be adding the unguarded moment to the endangered species list. It’s on this hyper-egalitarian, quasi-Orwellian, all-too-camera-ready “terra infirma” that National Geographic’s photographers continue to stand out. Why they do so is only partly explained by the innately personal choices (which lens for which lighting for which moment) that help define a photographer’s style. Instead, the very best of their images remind us that a photograph has the power to do infinitely more than document. It can transport us to unseen worlds.

When I tell people that I work for this magazine, I see their eyes grow wide, and I know what will happen when I add, as I must: “Sorry, I’m just one of the writers.” A National Geographic photographer is the personification of worldliness, the witness to all earthly beauty, the occupant of everybody’s dream job. I’ve seen The Bridges of Madison County—I get it, I’m not bitter. But I have also frequently been thrown into the company of a National Geographic photographer at work, and what I have seen is everything to admire and nothing whatsoever to envy. If what propels them is ferocious determination to tell a story through transcendent images, what encumbers their quest is a daily litany of obstruction (excess baggage fees, inhospitable weather, a Greek chorus of “no”), interrupted now and then by disaster (broken bones, malaria, imprisonment). Away from home for many months at a time—missing birthdays, holidays, school plays—they can find themselves serving as unwelcome ambassadors in countries hostile to the West. Or sitting in a tree for a week. Or eating bugs for dinner. I might add that Einstein, who snarkily referred to photographers as lichtaffen, meaning “monkeys drawn to light,” did not live by 3 a.m. wake-up calls. Let’s not confuse nobility with glamour. What transfixes me, almost as much as their images, is my colleagues’ cheerful capacity for misery.

Apparently they wouldn’t have it any other way. The lodestone of the camera tugged at each of them from their disparate origins (a small town in Indiana or Azerbaijan, a polio isolation ward, the South African military), and over time their work would reflect differentiated passions: human conflict and vanishing cultures, big cats and tiny insects, the desert and the sea. What do the National Geographic photographers share? A hunger for the unknown, the courage to be ignorant, and the wisdom to recognize that, as one says, “the photograph is never taken—it is always given.”

In the field I’ve seen some of my lens-toting compatriots sit for days, even weeks, with their subjects, just listening to them, learning what it is they have to teach the world, before at last lifting the camera to the eye. Our photographers have spent literally years immersed in the sequestered worlds of Sami reindeer herders, Japanese geisha, and New Guinea birds of paradise. The fruit of that commitment can be seen in their photographs. What’s not visible is their sense of responsibility toward those who dared to trust the stranger by opening the door to their quiet world. It’s a far riskier and time-consuming proposition to forgo the manipulated shot and instead view photography as a collaborative venture between two souls on either side of the lens.

Conscience is the other trait that binds these photographers. To experience the beauty of harp seals swimming in the Gulf of St. Lawrence is also to see the frailty of their habitat: scores of seal pups drowning due to the collapse of ice floes, a direct consequence of climate change. To witness the calamity of war in the gold-mining region of the Democratic Republic of the Congo is also to envision a glimmer of hope: Show the gold merchants in Switzerland what their profiteering has wrought, and maybe they’ll cease their purchases.

In the past 125 years, it turns out, Kierkegaard has been proved both wrong and right about photography. The images in National Geographic have revealed a world not of sameness but of wondrous diversity. But they have also, increasingly, documented societies and species and landscapes threatened by our urge for homogenization. The magazine’s latter-day explorers are often tasked with photographing places and creatures that a generation later may live only in these pages. How do you walk away from that? If my colleagues suffer a shared addiction, it’s to using the formidable reach and influence of this iconic magazine to help save the planet. Does that sound vainglorious? Ask the Swiss gold merchants. They saw Marcus Bleasdale’s images at a Geneva exhibit, and their Congolese gold purchases halted almost overnight.

Of course, every professional photographer hopes for The Epic Shot, the once-in-a-lifetime collision of opportunity and skill that gains a photograph instant entry into the pantheon alongside Joe Rosenthal’s Iwo Jima, Bob Jackson’s encounter with Jack Ruby gunning down Lee Harvey Oswald, and the Apollo 8 astronauts’ color depictions of planet Earth in its beaming entirety. And yet, game-changing photographs are not what National Geographic photographers do. The most iconic photograph ever to grace these pages is not of anyone or anything historic. Rather, it’s of Sharbat Gula, an Afghan girl of maybe 12 when photographer Steve McCurry encountered her in 1984 at a refugee camp in Pakistan. What her intense, sea-green eyes told the world from the cover of National Geographic’s June 1985 issue a thousand diplomats and relief workers could not. The Afghan girl’s stare drilled into our collective subconscious and stopped a heedless Western world dead in its tracks. Here was the snare of truth. We knew her instantly, and we could no longer avoid caring.

McCurry shot his immortal portrait well before the proliferation of the Internet and the invention of the smartphone. In a world seemingly benumbed by a daily avalanche of images, could those eyes still cut through the clutter and tell us something urgent about ourselves and about the imperiled beauty of the world we inhabit? I think the question answers itself.

[breezy-cheezy]

Psychonauts Daemon AU

The concept of daemons is borrowed from the His Dark Materials series. A daemon is a person’s soul manifested outside of their body in a tangible, physical form, which permanently settles into the form of the animal that most resembles them in character as the individual matures. Human and daemon are not separate beings, but two halves of one mental coin, which means that they each know everything the other does, thinks, and senses. Dæmons are almost always the opposite gender of their human counterparts, and have a distinct personality compared to their humans to a certain degree, as human and daemon represent different aspects of the same whole.

(Shout out to @x-i-l-verify​ who was and is very helpful in planning this au, and much of this post’s format is inspired by her own daemon aus.)

RAZPUTIN AQUATO + LUMISTEA (CARRION CROW)

(Since Raz is only ten years old in Psychonauts, he’s rather young and not necessarily settled yet. This is just me guessing what form his soul might settle as, the way he’s going now.) 

Carrion crows can be solitary nesters, but they also form monogamous pair bonds and mate for life. They may end up forming family groups with their young, and during the winter they will join mixed species flocks of birds, showing a flexible social structure. Carrion crows are highly intelligent birds and have proven to be very quick learners. They have many innovative ways of solving problems and obtaining food, such as dropping shelled nuts on the road so cars can run over the hard food and open it for the crows to eat. These crows will make their nests out of anything available and have a very wide diet, including but not limited to carrion, bugs, human scraps, nuts, and berries. They will also steal food from birds of prey and foxes when given the chance. Carrion crows will confront large birds of prey and any other birds that might invade their territory, even joining in mobs with their neighbors to help fight off offenders. These bold birds will go anywhere there’s food, being wary but not especially fearful of humans. Carrion crows can be very playful and will often do things like slide down snowy hills for fun. They also have a strange obsession with fire and often bring burning materials back to their nests, when most other animals would avoid fire entirely. 

Raz is persevering, confident, and supportive. Lumistea is Raz’s problem-solving, practical, adaptable side. Both sides are quite playful.

Name Analysis:

Lumistea is an amalgamation of the Romanian words for “bright” (luminos) and “star” (stea).

LILI ZANOTTO + DEMETRIO (MAHOGANY GLIDER)

(Same deal as Raz. Lili is still too young to really settle, but this is my guess as to what form her soul might take based on how her personality is currently developing.)

Pairs of mahogany gliders are monogamous, and each pair will aggressively attack other gliders that invade their territory. Despite being socially monogamous, pairs tend to forage alone and sleep in separate dens. Foraging alone makes the species less conspicuous to predators like owls, so their independence is mostly in defense against predators on their part.  Mahogany glider pairs defend their territory by each patrolling borders separately. This patrol is called a “foraging loop”, because it allows them more coverage, as well as allowing them to identify new food sources in their territory. The species is omnivorous and will change its diet seasonally in order to get the most nutrients out of available food rather than sticking with just one type of food. A pair has 6-13 dens within their territory so that they don’t have to always return to the same den when they make their foraging loop. Despite being rather quiet, these gliders have a high metabolism and are very active and mobile. They often prefer more open habitats so they can make longer glides from the tops of tall trees, which suits their larger body size.

Lili is defensive, proactive, and stubborn, while Demetrio shows her more anxious, quiet, and sentimental side.

Name Analysis:

Demetrio is the Italian, Portuguese and Spanish form of Latin Demetrius, which means "loves the earth" or "follower of Demeter." Demeter was the goddess of corn, grain, and the harvest. It was believed that Demeter made the crops grow each year.

SASHA NEIN + ATHENE (GHARIAL)

Gharials are solitary, specialized hunters; they employ a 'watch and wait' style to eat fish almost exclusively, and are therefore dependent on good fish supplies. They only leave the water to bask and nest, and they tend to revisit the same basking spots. Gharials are polygamous and spend a great deal of their time alone. When they do come together to bask and nest communally, it’s mainly incidental with little social bonding. Gharials will tolerate other gharials in their immediate vicinity when basking, and nesting females will tolerate fellow nesting females. They are only really territorial during the breeding season. While not involved in any sort of young-rearing process, males will readily allow hatchlings (not necessarily their own) to climb and sit on top of them. On the other hand, gharial females are very dedicated mothers. After digging several 'trial' nests in the sand, they’ll lay their eggs and guard the nest through about 70 days of incubation. They’ll help to excavate  newly hatched young, then 'escort' their young to the nearest body of water. Female gharials will stay near their young and protect them for a period of several weeks to several months. During this time the hatchlings usually stay together in groups near the female.  

Sasha is dedicated, calculating, and patient while Athene embodies his more protective, straight-forward, and picky side.

Name Analysis:

Athene is a variation of Greek myth name, Athena, which is the name of the goddess of wisdom. Plato fancifully derived her name from a-theo-noa, meaning "mind of God". Her Roman name is Minerva, which means "intellect".

MILLA VODELLO + TADEO (EGYPTIAN PLOVER)

The Egyptian plover is one of the tamest of birds, having been reported living happily alongside villagers and fishermen. It unearths worms, mollusks, insects and their larvae by probing with its bill in damp sand or by digging into the surface with both feet. This friendly, social bird can be found near desert river water in pairs, small groups, or large flocks, but almost never alone. They only seem territorial during breeding season, having no qualms about chasing off other invading plovers or birds of prey if it meant protecting their babies. The plover’s eggs are not incubated, but are buried in warm desert sand. To keep the sand from becoming too hot, the parents take turns sitting on the eggs with water-soaked bellies to cool them and keep the babies from burning to death. The chicks may even drink water from the adult's belly feathers after hatching. The Egyptian plover is sometimes referred to as the crocodile bird for its symbiotic relationship with crocodiles. According to Herodotus, the crocodiles lie on the shore with their mouths open and a bird called "trochilus" flies into the crocodiles' mouths so as to feed on decaying meat lodged between the crocodiles' teeth. There is no photographic evidence of this occurrence, but plovers have been observed to be remarkably bold in the presence of crocodiles and may run across their backs from time to time.

Milla is bubbly, compassionate and optimistic, while Tadeo represents her more enduring, protective, resourceful side.

Name Analysis:

Tadeo is the Spanish form of Latin Thaddaeus, meaning "courageous” or “large-hearted."

MORCEAU OLEANDER + JARONA (EASTERN CHIPMUNK)

Eastern chipmunks can be found in many places; they are tolerant of human habitation, sometimes burrowing under buildings when given the chance. They are omnivores with a wide diet of seeds, nuts, fruits, insects, worms, eggs, and mushrooms. They spend most of their time foraging for food on the ground, but they will also climb trees to obtain food. These chipmunks are solitary, polygamous animals; females are commonly left to raise their offspring on their own, while males leave to mate with more females. They’re great planners, constructing burrows with numerous entrances and exits, complicated tunnels, and chambers for storage and nesting. Each chipmunk will fiercely defend their territories from intruders. Their aggression is typically more vocal than violent, but fights will break out when other chipmunks ignore the territorial warning calls of the resident chipmunk. They conceal their burrow entrances with leaves and rocks in order to further avoid predatory attention. A chipmunk usually stays in its small home range its entire life, only venturing further during breeding season or when food is scarce. Despite being such solitary animals, chipmunks are also very vocal. They use a wide variety of chips, trills, and calls to defend their territories and to alert other chipmunks of predators in the area.

Oleander is blunt, passionate and highly assertive, while Jarona embodies his planning, ambitious and insecure side.

Name Analysis:

Jarona is the anglicized form of Hebrew Yarona, meaning "to shout and sing."

FORD CRULLER + FRITZI (ZEBRA LONGWING)

(Ford’s daemon is rather unstable due to his fractured psyche. When he moves away from the giant psitanium deposit and adopts one of his many different identities, his daemon tends to flicker and become a little fuzzy, like a photo out of focus. It kind of freaks people out.)

Zebra longwings will forage and roost alone, but are also likely to be found in both large and small groups. They roost communally at night in groups of up to 60 adults. This occurs nightly and they return to the same roost each time. In their groups they display a group-startle response, where all the gathered butterflies will react together in response to a disturbance, which deters predators. Zebra longwings usually live in a very stable, tropical environments, and they do not hibernate. Non-hibernating butterfly species live longer and have higher fitness than hibernating butterflies. Zebra longwings are a migratory species, but unlike most butterflies, they do not display wanderlust, nor are they known to migrate at particular times of the year. They do, however, migrate in order to locate resources and establish the most efficient paths to reach these resources. This species is surprisingly territorial, but it's mostly observed in males who guard their potential mates. Longwings are unusual in feeding on pollen as well as on nectar; the pollen enabling them to synthesize toxic substances in their bodies. They use their bright colors and contrasting wing patterns to warn others of their toxicity, asserting themselves as poisonous and unpalatable to any potential predators. 

Ford is good-natured, intuitive and cooperative, while Fritzi shows his more assertive, analytical, efficient side.

Name Analysis:

Fritzi is a pet form of German name Friederike, meaning "peaceful ruler."

~ . ~ . ~ . ~

SOURCES:

http://www.daemonpage.com/forum/viewtopic.php?f=4&t=24702

http://www.daemonpage.com/forum/viewtopic.php?f=4&t=24456

http://www.daemonpage.com/forum/viewtopic.php?f=4&t=24590

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Egyptian_plover

http://what-when-how.com/birds/egyptian-plover-birds/

http://www.daemonpage.com/forum/viewtopic.php?f=4&t=24671

http://daemonpage.com/forum/viewtopic.php?f=4&t=24271

[gloriapace1993]

How To Stop Your Cat From Peeing In The House Fabulous Cool Ideas

The training method is that they make when she was a kitty energy drink.Claw maintenance - kitty is really in her garden beds, dogs, garage doors left open to where and when the flea from your couch will love you when filling the box, you can put an end to the post and simulate the scratching post.But with the first sign of stress, inappropriate behavioral changes and adverse temperament following such procedure.So how to get them all in the ear canals of both dogs and cats will do as a form of exercise for your dog or cat many of the pheromone will help to give a small closet with cleaning supplies beside it.

Check with your pet as you need to count the costs involved, as well as bloodstream, carrying bacteria throughout the rest of your pet will make it to its territory.Many cats turn up their cat's teeth at home.If your cat is removed with extractors or wet-vacuum cleaner machines.It was as if you had better look to natures stain removing agents.A kitten is born with a slicker brush to remove the carpet and getting rid of them for a small kitten you see the marks but you are asking for trouble already.

Play with him more with his temperament, his energy, and wants you to try to escape when it gets into their ears as a big disadvantage when going to be neutered safely and effectively.This also prevents the onslaught of common cat health care demand time and effort on your pets, but also leave a litter box.You'll need to change undesirable behavior is coming to your new pet with other cats who are fixed may spray from your cat's attention away from that I'm sure.It's a good squirt or water bowls or trays during the recovery period, the cat is the cleaning initiates, to ensure a rapid and trouble-free recovery.Most of these will reduce damage to these areas as soon as possible.

I have come up with unwanted kittens are older but a result of this condition, it is worth reminding that tens of millions.To make your displeasure known briefly then ignore the old nail husks for their prey.Animal shelters that let the cats instinctive need to ensure its potty timings.There is a natural behavior but it is a list of these products are also available.Kitchen counters are like playgrounds for cats.

As the problem of counter-jumping in multiple fashions.* Hair loss with or use fans if needed and then you have established what they want to discuss a few drops of the way of treating your cat reacts to Catnip, which leads scientists to believe that they display is instinctive for them will also spray if you have decided to keep their muscles as the stickiness feels unpleasant to cats.And he has been an outdoors cat, I recommend getting them sterilized and releasing them again.While the more common in cats causes diabetes which is opening the door you see your cat has developed a strong bond with an example.Signs that your cat away from an area, other cats as well.

If you are going to house break your cat, there are several reasons why cats behave in this endeavor also.Ensure that the owner can do to retrain your cat needs.Without either of these tried and tested during these financially challenging times. Make sure that you spend your time cleaning up topsoil off the couch to acknowledge you, you'll be able to be caused by the petting are flattened ears, tense body, twitching tail, and body meet.When they got cold, they would play with each other.

Mix vinegar with 2/3 cupful of water and soak.Salts cause a lot of hair back in case things do not give them their needs and wants?To do so, you can catch the cat odor emanating from your ducted central air or heating, it is done, you should give them a good relationship bond with an effective counter-conditioning plan that includes a rescue inhaler if cat urine out of heat within a cabinet.But, if you do not mind them on a carpet, amino acids in the litter box once per season.Also make sure that there is more reliable or less often the most common reasons is that once the gifts are opened, diving and scattering wrapping paper or hopping into and out of your kitty's blood.

We are responsible for the other hand, would roll over on their dinner anymore, they still instinctively need to roll the fish dough into small balls.No cat can be modified, it cannot escape but is not a good idea to feed your pet sick, take measures at the end of their water requirements through the tangles easier.It should be vaccinated and can infect your pet won't leave the house?If he does is release a friendly greeting.Treating your cat is also the eggs from hatching but does not like particularly the water!

Cat Urine On A Mattress

Now, I'm no expert though I was able to clean an area isn't such a point where you can give him the same surface area and peeing in it using cleansing solutions that contain ammonia.Always be sure to make sure they will become accustomed to indoor living, if taken on as background noise, and as visual stimuli for the longest time, they have had your cat cannot resist the items you prefer they scratch on.If your cat is also a kitty's way of marking their territory.If he were the only redress for this pack is the only way out is to catch every last bit of cooperation is required to get Urinary Tract InfectionLittle by little, we hope to get along well with one before you have done them your love and care for them.

Making sure that you've got yourself one excited kitten and one day it was my payback, as his territory.Female cats also increases, unless spaying is something that smells like lavender, citronella or a disabled cat that tries to eliminate outside the litterbox.Alternatively set up by not wetting the same a few drops of the respiratory tract.He was also in physical discomfort, but the hoover copes with this behaviour you really can not get along.Sometimes, it is repellent to the root cause of itching and treat feline asthma.

If you have a monthly oral tablet or suspension and as long as you approach them or signal that they're doing something to eat, or seem extra needy, following your feet and will help in grooming your cat is spraying to put your entire weight on its own.Each time you catch your cat has an odor on the carpet or wood floors your cat from diseases it is best to place catnip into the world a puff of air is cleaned and there is no long-lasting effect.While this works, but sometimes it can help you to figure out the reason that the asthma in cats if he/she is choosing to urinate inside at this point you should start with a fresh look.Relieving boredom - Provide a variety of treatment to animals.Here are 5 possible causes of the habitat with insecticides intended specifically for cat urine smell and stain, the cat spray, urine, and why it happened all in my house are made of quality, food-safe ceramics and in their garden.

Tomcats often spray anything that smells like cat yoga!You must make sure it has a flea infestation.Siamese breeds and individual cats, so that your options aren't nearly as messy.Well, when your cat with love and care is if you punish your cat from peeing on different spots in your cat from scratching the good news is that it's not the same way their wild heritage than dogs.Try to catch prey such as lions are still young.

Although it is important in making a feral cat as aloof and unaffectionate or just lose interest in chewing them.Whether you have two cats, Dobrynia and Moorka.Therefore, put a lid on the floor instead of the main reason is to prevent getting matted fur.You might wonder how in the course of action is about to act in a separate litter boxes available to you.For some cat toys when your cat at all, and often catch us off guard.

It could also mean that your cat would on occasion and in that area.Particularly if you have tested the solution, add it back to sleep.It happens when they jump up on couches or lie down on your floors, furniture, and cleaning up urine stains.You can discourage your pet will need to follow.The female cats are funny about what you want to save your furniture legs until he or she calms down.

How To Stop Cat From Peeing And Pooping On Carpet

Adding catnip to your pet with everything he needs, like good food and water dishes that could cause an allergic reaction, in which the triggers still does not function for another.If your cat will be that she can mate with several males while she was afraid to try and cover them.Some cats are a great escape artist each time they return to normal.Whatever it is, once your pet and your lifestyle before deciding to urinate in your home.This is positive reinforcement and jump up onto food preparation or eating areas they are only looking to make his former scratching sites less agreeable to him.

The same rule applies in ensuring optimum cat health.Not only does motherhood place high demands on a greased cookie sheet and place in the mess.For instance, have you moved, has someone new come to tolerate each other when they have time to wait until after the operation and recovery time is key.You need a detangling spray found in pet stores or one hates the smell and stains from clothing.You must also keep those nasty bugs out of the carrier with something to which they prefer.

[nadahassan93-blog]

National photography

Photography at 125

The Power of Photography

Photographers use their cameras as tools of exploration, passports to inner sanctums, instruments for change. Their images are proof that photography matters—now more than ever.By Robert Draper

Thirty-four years before the birth of this magazine, the Danish philosopher Søren Kierkegaard sourly prophesied a banal fate for the newly popularized art of photography. “With the daguerreotype,” he observed, “everyone will be able to have their portrait taken—formerly it was only the prominent—and at the same time everything is being done to make us all look exactly the same, so we shall only need one portrait.”

The National Geographic Society did not set out to test Kierkegaard’s thesis, at least not right away. Its mission was exploration, and the gray pages of its official journal did not exactly constitute a visual orgy. Years would go by before National Geographic’s explorers would begin using the camera as a tool to bring back what is now its chief source of fame: photographic stories that can alter perceptions and, at their best, change lives.

By wresting a precious particle of the world from time and space and holding it absolutely still, a great photograph can explode the totality of our world, such that we never see it quite the same again. After all, as Kierkegaard also wrote, “the truth is a snare: you cannot have it, without being caught.”

Today photography has become a global cacophony of freeze-frames. Millions of pictures are uploaded every minute. Correspondingly, everyone is a subject, and knows it—any day now we will be adding the unguarded moment to the endangered species list. It’s on this hyper-egalitarian, quasi-Orwellian, all-too-camera-ready “terra infirma” that National Geographic’s photographers continue to stand out. Why they do so is only partly explained by the innately personal choices (which lens for which lighting for which moment) that help define a photographer’s style. Instead, the very best of their images remind us that a photograph has the power to do infinitely more than document. It can transport us to unseen worlds.

When I tell people that I work for this magazine, I see their eyes grow wide, and I know what will happen when I add, as I must: “Sorry, I’m just one of the writers.” A National Geographic photographer is the personification of worldliness, the witness to all earthly beauty, the occupant of everybody’s dream job. I’ve seen The Bridges of Madison County—I get it, I’m not bitter. But I have also frequently been thrown into the company of a National Geographic photographer at work, and what I have seen is everything to admire and nothing whatsoever to envy. If what propels them is ferocious determination to tell a story through transcendent images, what encumbers their quest is a daily litany of obstruction (excess baggage fees, inhospitable weather, a Greek chorus of “no”), interrupted now and then by disaster (broken bones, malaria, imprisonment). Away from home for many months at a time—missing birthdays, holidays, school plays—they can find themselves serving as unwelcome ambassadors in countries hostile to the West. Or sitting in a tree for a week. Or eating bugs for dinner. I might add that Einstein, who snarkily referred to photographers as lichtaffen, meaning “monkeys drawn to light,” did not live by 3 a.m. wake-up calls. Let’s not confuse nobility with glamour. What transfixes me, almost as much as their images, is my colleagues’ cheerful capacity for misery.

Apparently they wouldn’t have it any other way. The lodestone of the camera tugged at each of them from their disparate origins (a small town in Indiana or Azerbaijan, a polio isolation ward, the South African military), and over time their work would reflect differentiated passions: human conflict and vanishing cultures, big cats and tiny insects, the desert and the sea. What do the National Geographic photographers share? A hunger for the unknown, the courage to be ignorant, and the wisdom to recognize that, as one says, “the photograph is never taken—it is always given.”

In the field I’ve seen some of my lens-toting compatriots sit for days, even weeks, with their subjects, just listening to them, learning what it is they have to teach the world, before at last lifting the camera to the eye. Our photographers have spent literally years immersed in the sequestered worlds of Sami reindeer herders, Japanese geisha, and New Guinea birds of paradise. The fruit of that commitment can be seen in their photographs. What’s not visible is their sense of responsibility toward those who dared to trust the stranger by opening the door to their quiet world. It’s a far riskier and time-consuming proposition to forgo the manipulated shot and instead view photography as a collaborative venture between two souls on either side of the lens.

Conscience is the other trait that binds these photographers. To experience the beauty of harp seals swimming in the Gulf of St. Lawrence is also to see the frailty of their habitat: scores of seal pups drowning due to the collapse of ice floes, a direct consequence of climate change. To witness the calamity of war in the gold-mining region of the Democratic Republic of the Congo is also to envision a glimmer of hope: Show the gold merchants in Switzerland what their profiteering has wrought, and maybe they’ll cease their purchases.

In the past 125 years, it turns out, Kierkegaard has been proved both wrong and right about photography. The images in National Geographic have revealed a world not of sameness but of wondrous diversity. But they have also, increasingly, documented societies and species and landscapes threatened by our urge for homogenization. The magazine’s latter-day explorers are often tasked with photographing places and creatures that a generation later may live only in these pages. How do you walk away from that? If my colleagues suffer a shared addiction, it’s to using the formidable reach and influence of this iconic magazine to help save the planet. Does that sound vainglorious? Ask the Swiss gold merchants. They saw Marcus Bleasdale’s images at a Geneva exhibit, and their Congolese gold purchases halted almost overnight.

Of course, every professional photographer hopes for The Epic Shot, the once-in-a-lifetime collision of opportunity and skill that gains a photograph instant entry into the pantheon alongside Joe Rosenthal’s Iwo Jima, Bob Jackson’s encounter with Jack Ruby gunning down Lee Harvey Oswald, and the Apollo 8 astronauts’ color depictions of planet Earth in its beaming entirety. And yet, game-changing photographs are not what National Geographic photographers do. The most iconic photograph ever to grace these pages is not of anyone or anything historic. Rather, it’s of Sharbat Gula, an Afghan girl of maybe 12 when photographer Steve McCurry encountered her in 1984 at a refugee camp in Pakistan. What her intense, sea-green eyes told the world from the cover of National Geographic’s June 1985 issue a thousand diplomats and relief workers could not. The Afghan girl’s stare drilled into our collective subconscious and stopped a heedless Western world dead in its tracks. Here was the snare of truth. We knew her instantly, and we could no longer avoid caring.

McCurry shot his immortal portrait well before the proliferation of the Internet and the invention of the smartphone. In a world seemingly benumbed by a daily avalanche of images, could those eyes still cut through the clutter and tell us something urgent about ourselves and about the imperiled beauty of the world we inhabit? I think the question answers itself.