One never expects the fanciful and fantastic to occur anywhere outside of stories. Only in legends and half forgotten memories do Gods ride upon the elements and heroes roam the world. So many places hold a relic, or even a spirit from ages past, it would be hard to believe any claims of authenticity, even if the fruits of those words stared one straight in the face.
The wind started to pick up in the early afternoon. The sky was red at dawn, so I hastily finished all I had needed to in that day.
She was always strange, that woman on the hill. A mother of many, she guarded her children behind the walls and hedges she’d grown and built for years.
Certainty is a luxury, held captive by fate, dreams and reality.
Of the many things in the world to which one should be made aware, there are some, rare and half forgotten which should never fade from memory. They live and linger near and far from folk of every walk of life regardless of whose banner their land falls under. Only the Sages know for certain, but outside them it is almost lost to the noise of new importance. Until trials and tribulation come as can be seen in the land of Roves. Continue reading “The yellow fox and the Clúanaire [archived].”