Peredhil

This is really good well done. Not only do you express feeling to which many can relate- you do it in an easily readable manner. good job.

Oh! I like! We need more science fictiony stuff.

heh, Makes me want to reread Saberhagen's "Thorn" again...

When I read this, I hear in it my mind as a song. Something like 'six pence none the richer' would sing sorta thing (that's a good thing in my book). I wish I could write the music and send it to you, but it's too quiet to reach the surface. Enjoyable read!

Meep! You do an AABB rhyme scheme every where but ... in the first stanza? I found myself inserting mental commas in lines, but I loved the implicit dry humor you show. This is an ambitious, sweeping piece, but I think it succeeds well with what you set out to do. One question - do you read your works aloud to yourself? I read this and found myself adjusting my syllables to try to fall into rhythms.

Heh, the older I get... Funny how the young think that 'sexy' can't be a quality of the old... Pavlovian conditioning works wonders over the years. I enjoyed this immensely.

Interesting indeed. I could work SO many of your pieces into a fantasy Role Playing campaign...

For me it started strongly, but something stumbled in the 3rd stanza, and again in the 4th. The 5th picked right back up again (although the meter changed slightly) and carried me home. well... you asked!

Interesting word sketch of an emotion... Monsters from mice? heh, caught my attention with that line and I *had* to continue reading. don't be afraid to use apostrophes! (ones -- one's) -P

Bummer. You should write a follow-up of how the mother felt, what distracted her, and how she either deals with the guilt or lets it destroy her. Might be interesting if she had another child, slightly older at home, and how it would change how she related (withdrew from fear of more pain, smothered to prevent it?) to the child. But it's good as it is - just made me think.

erm. Good questions? Just be a leader, if only of you. choose a path, that's what you do. Pick what looks best, and step out strong Adjust as you go in case you chose wrong. Let not pride keep you in poor way In there eyes? but it's you who will pay. Let those who sneer and decry sit on their thumbs they'd hold you back with them and tell you YOUR dumb. Don't let fear cause you Life's invitation to decline remember pain is an indicator, not a stopsign. Learn from it, adjust to it, step out again If you never give up, eventually you'll win.

Hmm. There's some really clever wordplay and a good concept here, but I kept tripping on changing meter...

heh. Dare to be different! Yes! Have you ever noticed how many of the 'teen rebels' conform so tightly to the unwritten codes of the Outcasts?

Heh, here I am trying to catch up and discover this gem. Why do I picture a '60s Beatnik reciting this, while a groovy girl with no expression beats on a bongo drum. Seriously though, it has a thoughtful message. My choice has always been to risk it - I'd rather live and chance pain than just exist. -P

Very surreal, evokes all sorts of thoughts in me. You have a knack of presenting archetypical canvases for me to paint myself onto...

Very neatly done. I had a neato visual off it - until I derailed at: burning it in sage. it just hung me up. in rage? the wise old sage decided to burn it. broke my flow... other than that line, I liked it bunches.

Heh, I could be naughty if I tried! Everyone looks in disbelief. No really. It just would be Rude so I shouldn't. ducks the thrown popcorn

I had to read this twice, it makes me think. On first pass, I think I read into it. On the second I read what was actually written - and it was better.

I could see this as a preface in a Fantasy piece, perhaps chanted/sung by the shaman of an aborigine tribe... Very anthromorphic. Nice change of pace for you.

1) Gone 2) My Prison 3) Dark Clouds 4) Untitled #1 5) The Poets Dream 6) Shadows 7) Peace. Wish I had more time to elaborate.

Heh. Ancient Peredhil gives her a creaky hug. You can apply to the greedy lizard as many times as you'd like, M'dear.... He cackles as he concludes, But he won't move any faster! (well done! I like them both. )

yeah... There is little new under the sun, and the ripples move constantly - but always downstream.

heh, that's pretty clever! I like it.

Peredhil gleefully hugs each of those promoted, and then hugs Ozymandias for doing the Lore Master thang, then hugs everyone else. Rah!

She camped without a fire again, cold rations and water. The forest was much thicker than legend had it, and old. Every night was cushioned on gnarly humped roots, trees so grimly competing for space that they erupted above ground before plunging down once again. It was ankle-twisting travel if one was unwary. The look on Patches face when she’d left him stabled at the Last Town on the Edge (a peculiar name for such a small hamlet,) had nearly broken her heart. They’d been through much together, and moved in unison as a team, in travel and combat. She knew he’d worry about her, but nimble as he was, he’d have broken a leg by now. She was just so lonely without him. She shuddered hearing the eerie distant howl of a wolf and pulled her blanket tightly around her, staving off an unnatural chill. She had no fear of natural wolves, pack-friends and playful, fiercely territorial. But these howls had no echoes, and there was no music in their sound. Each howl bleakly spoke of despair and anger, and the need to quench both with blood. Even rabid wolves had a certain dignity. These lacked even that. There was blackest sorcery bound into those tormented howls. And they had followed her for three of her four days travel. She’d been careful to stick to the winding animal tracks and traces, leaving them only when they bent too far from true east. The animals were wisest in their homes, linking water and clearings with a skill no human possessed. Although even the animals were hard-pressed to make trails in this overstuff forest! With such old growth as this, there should be rotting corpses of giant trees clearing out long stretches for new growth. Even bushes couldn’t grow under the vast canopy which made her travels a perpetual twilight. It was as if the only things which died in this area were the animals. Her thought was answered with another mournful howl, calling despair. Two days later she was staggering forward, doubled in pain. The cramps were coming closely now. Leaning weakly against one of the great boles that towered into the unseen sky, she gritted her teeth against the waves of pain washing her. “Not as bad as birth, but close,” she thought in sour amusement. She’d been stupid to have eaten the berries, and doubly stupid to have washed them down with unboiled water. She’d just been so GRATEFUL to find a clearing, an open glimpse of the sky! She should’ve known there was a reason the trees didn’t compete with the low dark-green bushes and their crimson berries. The pain eased and she sipped water before staggering forward again. If she was going to hurt, she might as well travel. It was nearly an hour later when the cramps finally knotted her lower back and groin. She was barely in time lowering her breeches to clear the way for the damnable berries to pass blood-clotted seeds onto the ground. The surges dwindled. Sighing relieved, she thinks, "That must NEVER happen again.” That thought was chased with an amused, “I hope your seeds are eaten by tree roots!” Using some of her monthly cloths to clean herself, with nose wrinkled against the stench, she discarded them as unsalvageable. She silently thought dark curses on the berried bushes and their tasty trap, but was too wise to risk attention by cursing aloud. One never could be certain who was listening. She was low on water by the time she found the clearing. It had been a hot frustrating time, as all paths lead away. She’d ended up fighting through dense trees with inner-twined limbs much lower than such tall trees should have. It made no sense; there was no light down this low to support such branches! At least the wolves had stopped following her when she took the plunge to head due east, true East, making a way where they trees would deny her. The setting sun shown from behind her, as the trees cast grasping shadows far out into the clearing. The marble temple in the clearing’s center glinted pinks and reds in the light of the dying sun. Looking at it, she decided to camp on familiar roots again tonight, and explore it in the morning. She was up before the dawn could glint into her eyes. She’d heard bad rumors about this place, but intriguing teases of wealth within the warnings. Removing the false leather bottom to her pack, she drew out the ribbons of fine ring mesh, and began the laborious process of binding it into a long sleeved shirt. Not terribly strong, but light and able to turn a blade if one was quick enough. The chain shirt took most of the morning. Wrapping her legs was the work of a moment. She hoped to avoid scrapes, but she’d had one bad experience with what a wizard could do with life’s blood and its bindings, and was leery of giving the opportunity to another. Her hand crept to cover her barren womb. She snatched it away trembling when she realized what she’d done. Although if there was any truth at all to the rumors, she was hesitating on the edge of earning a chance for pay-back. She’d not lament being the instrument of justice for he or his demon-spawn. She ate and drank deeply, and voided herself. Waiting seemed forever, but at last the sun was high. She plunged into the clearing and jogged lightly, her shadow directly below as the sun was directly above. She made rapid progress toward the temple, feet whispering through the brittle yellowed grass. The sun was just moving her shadow before her as she reached the open arch into the temple. Looking at the smooth curves and joins, the graceful lines of the white marble, she had the sudden thought this place had been designed by a woman. The thought was strangely reassuring. Pausing to catch her breath, she unslung her light mace and drew her sword. Not many fought two handed, and even fewer women. She’d worked hard to be able to use both weapons, and they were lighter than she’d wish, but the combination worked extremely well. The mace was solid for blocking, and its blunt force crushed bone and armor that the sword could not pierce. She closed her eyes for a moment, and then opened them wide as she plunged into the temple. The interior seemed dim after the noonday sunlight. She was in a short hallway which curved gently to the left, allowing just a small glimpse of a larger room. Moving forward she was pleased to come onto a dome-covered room. Ceiling apertures pierced the dome and let in indirect light, enough to see the passage opposite, and two others heading to the other cardinal points. She was surprised that the sunken altar with its encircling barrier weren’t directly under the dome’s center. The irregularity was oddly disturbing, nagging at her attention. Ignoring it firmly, she moved forward on cat’s feet, testing each tessellated tile step before committing her weight to it. As her eyes adjusted completely, she could see motes of dust swimming lazily in the air. A trickle of sweat tickled slightly as it slid down her chest and dove into her navel. The air was developing a heat and pressure as she advanced. She paused at she reached the barrier, unbelieving it had been this easy. Suspiciously she looked at the open passageways, the smooth featureless dome, and the altar. The low wall before her was the only color in the chamber. Where all else was white marble, it was carved obsidian, a thick circular bar on stout wooden pillars, encircling the altar without break. She caught her breath. There was no sigh of any dust inside the barrier; no layer of dust marred the altar. Perhaps power slept her after all. Backing up a few steps, she sheathed her sword and drew coins from her belt pouch. Tossing the first, she wasn’t surprised to see it flash as it cleared the obsidian. Not even molten silver remained. She tossed her next coin under the bar. It bounced and clattered loudly before coming to rest. She shook her head at another example of carelessness. Even though it benefited her, it annoyed her when people cut corners when setting wards. With a wry grin at her contrary nature, she replaced the remaining coins in her pouch and drew her sword once more. Easing herself to the floor, she crept forward, only her elbows and the insides of her boots touching the floor. At times like these she was glad not to be busty! It was after her head was inside the barrier that she realized she’d been holding her breath. She released it with a laugh, and wiggled the rest of the way in and retrieved her coin. Standing she looked at the altar and wondered if all this had been worth it. It was empty. She circled it three times, careful to move widdershins, before she noticed the misplaced shadow. Kneeling, she and squinting, she found the level, subtly hidden in a narrow slit at the base of the altar’s side. It took two tries before she maneuvered the leather thong over the level, using her knife to guide it. Perhaps she was too suspicious, but – The drop blade severed the thong AND the knife blade as the lever snapped to opposite end of the slot. She wiped sudden sweat from her hairline as the altar began grinding, pivoting, rising like a wall before her. She barely interposed her mace in time to catch the first blow as she bounded eagerly around the altar’s end to see what had been revealed. Foolish foolish stupid girl not to have expected a guardian after all this! She attacked herself in her thought even as she parried arm numbing blows. She was slightly taller than the skeleton, although its sword was heavier. Her mace already hacked to the point of useless as she used it to delay long enough to recover her balance, mindful of NOT touching the obsidian barrier. While she twisted away from the attack, she assessed her opponent. Some type of gum attached long silver thread to the polished skull. Garish makeup rimmed the sockets of the eyes, and the cheekbones were rouged. A graceful proud arch to the neck that disappeared into the sumptuous robes, so heavily embroidered with gold thread as to serve as armor. For all the weight her opponent must be carrying, she moved lightly. She settled in to the match and fenced. Deft flickering movements of her blade shed attacks; occasionally she swung the mace in attempts to beat the Guardian’s blade out of line. Sweat built as they silently fought. The two blades attacked and parried rhythmically while not one drop of blood had yet dropped to the pristine marble floor. But her sweat was beginning to fall as she tired. The skeleton fought on tirelessly. The heavy sword discovered her armor when she twisted too slowly. She had yet to lay a blade on it! Moments later, the Guardian laid open a shallow gash on her thigh. She felt the windings capture the trickle of blood. She also felt the inevitability of her fate approaching. With a wild flurry of blows, she finally broke through the Guardian’s defense and thrust through its robe into its heart. Only to discover skeleton’s have no heart, and to nearly lose her sword as the ribs tried to trap her blade. This was NOT going as she’d envisioned. She fought a retreating circle, breathing deeply and trying to catch her breath. This thing had to have some weakness. An interior voice sneered at her naivety; why should life be fair? Her armor deflected another blow. That would bruise, she thought, and then laughed at her optimism that she’d survive to bruise. With the thought, her humor returned. I’m going to die. But I’m going to give it my best! I’m not strong, I’m quickly becoming slow, and so I’d best be smart. She fought carefully, shuffling patterns of attack and defense as she conserved her waning strength with minimal parries. Her muscles ached and burned with every beat of the swords, and she was beginning to grunt with each contact. She hated it when she grunted, she sounded like such a piggy. Piggy for the slaughter on the altar. She laughed aloud at the stupid jingle winding through her mind. Her eyes narrowed with a sudden thought, and she took a deep cleansing breath. With a spin to build momentum (forget the sudden streak of pain as the Guardian’s sword rakes your back) she swung down and up and DOWN, her sword knocking the Guardians down and out of line long enough for the mace head to meet Guardian head. Both head and mace burst into Light. The explosion blew her to bounce off the open altar. Lucky fate, not going the other way to burn in obsidian fires, she reflected later when she awoke. The sun had set, and the only light was a residual glow from the Guardian’s robe. Binding wounds, she considered her situation. Offering thanks for her life to whoever ran the temple was prudent. She considered pillaging the bony body, but on noting the way the slivers of bone were twitching and inching across the floor, thought better of it. Let the dead lie undisturbed. She was no common thief, she was vengeance. It took her precious minutes to still her shaking hands enough to light a twist of rope, and even longer to use its smoky light to find the Orb. Clever of someone to have hidden it in the lid of the altar, with so many treasures in the altar’s grave-shaped well to tempt the eye and hand. Leaving the hacked shaft of the now headless mace as a mute offering and apology, she sheathed her sword to have her hands free. Crouching she seized the Orb and uncoiled in a shallow dive under the obsidian railing as the Altar snapped closed behind her, biting in anger and catching the heel of one boot. Running unevenly she sprinted best she could for the passageway and burst into the cool night air. The forest loomed darkly ahead of her.