Hair and WitchcraftAhead of her, a pair of songbirds fluttered among the low hanging branches, tweeting and chattering and being merry. She watched them curiously, like a young cub watches a butterfly foolish enough to land nearby. Their song stopped as she approached, as did their dancing. They grew still, tiny claws gripping the twigs like their very lives depended on it. Their feathers were dull and boring and brown, certainly no prize or filled with much power to make a charm from. She kept their gazes for a few moments more, before releasing them. They both took off skyward with a terrified screech, as she wandered off to find something better to entertain herself with.
She had been skirting the herd, almost ready to begin her journey back up to her eyrie when she spotted a golden shadow detach itself and begin to move among the trees. Sensing opportunity, she cloaked herself in a mild illusion and followed him.
It was so hard to get the King on his own - the Queen saw to that. Though Gráinne
Shadow and ReckoningIt came from the mountains.
Feather, scale, tooth and claw, flitting here and there, a shadow among the trees. Insubstantial, or maybe not there at all. Dancing, skipping, gliding, falling, rising. From the mountains she came.
Somewhere high above in the trees birds sang, but the deeper she delved into the dark wood, the calls echoed and faded until they were muted entirely by the blanketing canopy, a blackness that swallowed the sky. The blackpines reached out with their branches, with their roots, pressing in and threatening to snare the unworthy or the unwary. The deep boroughs and scars in their bases concealed monsters. She could smell wolf. They could smell dinner, only they found a dark wolf looking back at them, a runt with too big ears. The runt curled its lip and growled softly, and the wolves shrunk back, whimpering. There was no food to be found here.
The wolf padded through the trees, over tangled roots and dried pine needles. It barely seemed to hold form, sometimes tiny,
Child of Blood and Bone
Winter, Year 757 of the New Age
Oakfern, The Warrens
The witch stumbled into a wall, her hooves slipping on the moist stone. She couldn’t tell whether she’d been walking in circles or traversing miles, her sense of direction destroyed. She felt numb as though fire had raged through her insides, not ice. Her pelt was littered with cuts and scrapes from the rough walls and rocks when she fell, but she did not feel them. Wounds would heal, with proper care, they were irrelevant. She couldn’t feel her magic. Something had been ripped from her in the cavern, taken from her. Stolen. The connection was gone. Numb. Non-existant. Nothing.
There were no voices, no tricks that could save her now. Silence reigned save for her own footfalls and the drip of water on stone, her only companion the darkness. Darkness, ever present and inescapable, pressing in around her in
.: Gays are revolting :.Gay people are disgusting
And I certainly don’t think
They are ok
“They aren’t fine for society”
“They aren’t perfectly normal”
I do not believe
They don’t choose to be gay
“Belong in this world!”
Should burn in Hell
We should hate them
I’ll never agree with those who think
Want to separate them
It’s absolutely horrid when the populations
Say they love each other and
Think that it’s nice when they kiss
Just ridicule and mock them,
Really, REALLY hate them
I’ve seen sometimes on TV how they
Let a man marry another man
Those people are just plain sad
They’ll never be the same
It’s funny how they think
That one saying is completely true
They aren’t able to comprehend
They just don’t know what love is
Say mean things
But don’t you dare
It’s perfectly fine