“She hit me?” was all he could whisper to the ocean waves and laughing gulls. Emily had trudged off into the woods a time ago, but Tim couldn’t take his eyes away from those emerald pines. To do so would have betrayed the juggling act between bewilderment and a broken pride. He did all he could to fight the tears. He bit his cheek, swallowed hard and looked to the ground where the paint chipped pony laid, broken in two.
A ghost of silk and clay perches on the highest branch of the boab. Dusky purples fill the sky, illuminating the reds and coppers of the landscape for Tyto as she scans. A hot wind ruffles her feathers in a westward way. Her eyes dart from scrub grass, to rock, to rotted log, to...She has it! She pours out of the tree like milk and in a half beat, the mouse has found her talons. A good start to a long night.
a direct copy of a Charles Gibson Girl, to test a new tablet at work (it works fine). I haven't done a master copy in a while (nor would i truly recognize this as a master copy). It works, but it doesn't have his life. Next time, I suppose.She stared at the yellowed photo, hanging on the wall, of the much younger woman. This woman's hair was done up in the gibson fashion, her stripped one piece betraying the timing of the picture. She closed her eyes. The sweet scent of salt taffy filled her nose. A man's voice beckoned in the background. She could even feel the hot sand tickle her feet. Bristol.
"Mam-Meem?" the child's voice broke her concentration. She opened her eyes, and she was 80 again.
I've been playing too much skyrim...“They sent me to kill the…” She swallowed hard, starring into the cave, “…troll. They sent me, and that’s what I intend to do.”Though her feet remained as solid as ever. A low snort echoed against the caves walls; a warning. She motioned for her spear.“Now how did the words go? Fos Ring Dul? Fub Roh Dang?” she thought, biting her bottom lip. “No matter, I’m sure it’ll come to me.”A roar shook her to the marrow. There would be only one way to find out if she be truly Dragonborn.
The orchid moon glowed in the muggy canopy. The heat, even this late, should have been insufferable. She made her own breeze. It had been too long since she had seen her people. She treaded quietly, for fear of being found. From the road an animal snorted. She watched from behind a large palm as a farmer set his ox cart by the fence. He gently lifted a sleeping babe, kissed its brow and headed into the village. This is what she came to see.
