The tome was ancient, the vellum yellowed and brittle, and she was barely able to decipher the scrawly handwriting. This was no luxurious folio like the others she had found in that forgotten Andalusian monastery; no, this was just the notebook of a monk, and perhaps it was mankind’s greatest treasure. Continue reading
Let me tell you about the crossroad.
The Bridleway is only a track, but it leads into a wagon trail and a cobbled street which leads to the city. It’s the way the riders take when they raid the hamlets in the hinterlands, hamlets like mine, for men, maidens or dues. Continue reading
Grey and silver were the colours of their city – grey concrete, silver steel, planes of glass reflecting the washed-out shade of the sky. Corners veiled in the stark black of midday shadows and a few red and blue cars were the only contrasts. Even the few trees that carved out their existence at street corners and in back yards had long lost their vibrant green under the relentless glare. Continue reading
“Go to the city,” they said. “You must if you want to make it. Think of the inspiration you’ll find. The audience you’ll get!”
Inspiration is plentiful and dreary, audience though… not so much.
People are rushing by, eyes cast down. Sometimes someone lingers, having a smoke or staring into their phone, always far enough not to make contact. The wind is harsh in his regular spot between the museum and the mall, sweeping the tunes away. His fingers are sore, the solos sluggish in the cold, and the few coins in the coffer won’t even pay for dinner. Continue reading
“Daughter! What is this?”
Tilly was dozing through the humid midday heat, curled around her litter, and jerked awake when the old vixen peeked through the hole in the metal wall.
“Mom!” Continue reading