Blog

Clik was sitting at the back of the caravan, armoured legs dangling off the edge, as it trundled over the dusty ground. Her brows were furrowed, and a frown replaced the almost constant grin that graced her features.

It was only yesterday for him, though the calendar was exactly the same, and future was past, and past was future, and tenses were thrown out of the window.

Amy sat cross-legged in the middle of her new room, staring into oblivion as she realised that the last hundred years of her life were real, and was coming to the conclusion that a century is rather a long time to only have grown one year.

To tell the stories of old is to sing the legacies of legends and humble folk, of man, guardian, and Ki across this great land of Racë. This story speaks of the curly-haired and bright-eyed Rosemary Bagworth, she who has never rested long enough to call one place home, and her meeting with coal-bearded and quick-minded Dugward Stonefeet, he who was yet to wander the world.

Dedicated to N. Waters, one of my best friends, and victim to rambles, pillows, and unedited first drafts.

I will admit, my goal of writing a book review a week is probably far too ambitious, so you will be receiving these on the Wednesday’s...

What Lyall saw was nothing close to what he had been expecting, and even further away from what he had been ready for.

1947 TA - Ahlden "Hey, hey, look at me,” His hands were on my face, and their stark difference distracted me from the ghost hands I could...

Before time, before space, before anything one can conceive, there was Run’anor. The Father of All.