Suga was awakened from a deep sleep, his body quivering like jelly.
Forrest and his best friend, Bear. That’s what friends are for . . . email@example.com Gail Cullen Ratliffe, Photography — Joan Spilman
The high, wild cry of a falcon filled the air.
Bee on native Virginia “mystery plant”. Photograph by Gail Ratliffe
The bottles ranted and roared, but her whispers were heard.
Of course, gossip had to speak last. It was her nature.
Bringing the bog to my blog!
More Bog to the Blog!
“I’m Anger,” said the Red Bottle. “I was eaten by wolves and that’s all I have to say about my past.”
I store the unseen with what can’t be heard.
Kitchen Fairies: Gourds Adorned by Gail Ratliffe
The fox has many tricks; the cat has only one.
Cats and Dogs!!!!
The Blue Jay is a trickster!
Mirella, having given her life up for lost, was determined to guard the prince.
“Frost is in the Air”
Paintings by Allan
Where was the prince?
The Red Bottle, brilliant as a ruby at sunrise, held a spirit of murderous rage.
He had been caught in a Bottle of Breath. Suddenly. Bridon wished for the Void.
When Cardinals appear, angels are near
A master touch with a brush brings nature to the fore.
The Owl Gourds: Gail Cullen Ratliffe, Artist
Nature serves as her inspiration.
At all costs, the bottle must not be broken.
With that much gold, he could buy a young wife. Faw thought for a moment. With that much gold, he could buy two.
“Do you know of a tavern called The Fish Belly?” Oren’s voice was mild.
“A dragon?” Her voice was mild, but he wasn’t deceived. “Only the Dark One has a dragon.”
She wondered at the Sacred Servant who’d gathered the Monkshood. Surely, he was dead.
May the flag ever wave!
On wings and wind, flies Glory!
Cry to the Nation!
He was creating something. Instantly, she knew what it was.
Any sane man would stay inside. But they weren’t sane, they were desperate.
Chapter 81 Bridon was not as solitary as the rest of the Brethren; in fact, he found living on the side of hill in a stilted house… Read more “Chapter Eighty- One”
Plague had entered willingly, the breath fresh from a young child, until all the bottles had been filled but for the blue. This had been reserved for Bridon of the Blue Stone.
The Long Road Home: Paintings by Allan
Contact: Allan Harbour at firstname.lastname@example.org for available paintings.
Chapter 79 Mirella wasn’t sure how to struggle. If she’d been alone, she’d have run. In the hills surrounding the Shivelite camp, she’d kept pace with the… Read more “Flight, Chapter Seventy Nine”
“Any Given Sunday”
Painting by Allan
The team reared and suddenly the wagon was careening wildly, dangerously, down the street.
As they crossed the bridge, fear crawled in her belly like a small animal. They were feeding on something. The thought came to her that it might be a man.
She would take the prince, Mirella resolved, and protect him with her very life.
Oren could tell that the boy was frightened, yet he turned at the sound of his voice. “Help me!” he rasped.
He struggled to his feet without the use of his hands. they’d been stomped on. He’d been left to starve in the small, squalid cell.
She walked to the oaken doors with the grace of a large cat.
I sense a mother’s concern and a secret that must be kept.
Given a choice, Elymas would have welcomed the woman with the boar’s head.
“Old Betsy” by Allan Harbour
The shadows woke, gathering around her like snakes.
Rise to our American Pride, painting by Allan Harbour
Chapter Ninety Eight When Bridon shot through the roof, the cart overturned as well. Broken and breaking bottles flew everywhere. The spirits wailed in protest, Anger gnashed… Read more “Flight, Chapter Ninety Eight”