The Dangers of Creation; or, A Machine to Rival Man by Siri Paulson
Still Waters Run Deep Part 2 by Siri Paulson
Payut meets a stranger and an old teacher. Part two of five.
Once wild magic shattered human civilization. Mage-built cities collapsed, spell-sped galleons sank, airships fell from the skies. Magic-born chimerae turned on their creators, and then their neighbors. The peoples of Awrhee fell into barbarism.
But that was generations ago. Humanity has scraped together kingdoms again, and learned to live without magic. Those who practice spellcraft are eyed with suspicion, as are the old ways, and the old places.
Some, however, seek treasure in the ruins of what was. Knowledge, gold, power—it’s out there. Treasure untold for anyone clever enough to find it, bold enough to take it, fast enough to get away with it.
It’s out there, in the Spell-Wracked Lands.
Flame Isfree and the Feather of Fate IV
A Serial Story by KD Sarge
In the daytime a fire was just more light, but at night it could draw things from unguessable distances, so the group had slept cold. By the time Flame helped Ryahled into the camp, though, a tiny fire blazed fiercely. A small kettle of water sat in the middle of it, sweet herbs drifting in it. Tolor came from the fire to take Ryahled's arm.
"I'm beginning to wonder," he said with a soft laugh, "if you elves are worth the trouble you find."
"I too," Ryahled muttered, and stumbled but Flame didn't have to hold him up because Tolor did.
"Lie here," he directed, helping Ryahled to do so as Flame got out of the way.
Lory stood in the opening of her tent flanked by Okon and Kessa who watched with wide scared eyes. Bran wasn't there, nor Satak. They must have taken watch, knowing Kessa would not keep her focus.
"Flame, get the kettle," Tolor ordered, cutting Ryahled's shirt off.
"Flame," Tolor said, "get the kettle."
Flame bit her lip on further argument and got the tongs, took the kettle from the fire and set it by Tolor's hand.
"Bathe the wound," Tolor ordered, putting a blanket under Ryahled's head.
In 2006, my neighbor's feral cat adopted me. He was a lovely black kitty, and no one but me could touch him. I named him Ravenclaw and called him my familiar. He was my pal and I was his human.
Yesterday I noticed my fuzzy buddy didn't seem to feel well. Today I took him to the vet, and then, astonishingly, at not even ten years old, I had to let him go.
Late last year, I blogged about having daily excruciating eye pain and how it was affecting my quality of life. At the time, there seemed to be no answer and no real relief from the pain except prescription painkillers which was The Worst Plan Ever. Didn't want to become an addict or spend my life in a drugged haze (for the record, all they did was make me extremely dizzy and loopy. Not fun, especially when you were dizzy to begin with...). So I did some digging.