It is by the will of fate alone that life should begin as such. Confined to a place without walls or borders, without guards or oversight outside of one’s own governance. Perhaps it is a luxury not befitting one which life has doomed to a single place. Perhaps the blessing one should seek after all is to never have the ambition to chase the greener pastures which always lay beyond. Continue reading “Trapped.”

Sagas, Short story, Weekend

Soon the season.

The feel of it sits upon the air, that time where all is still and quiet. Where reflection can be done and the to and fro of that which seems in every moment to be of importance, stops and huddles in its place. The wood is being collected, the meat all stored and salted and the final harvest will soon be reaped as we wait for it to come. Continue reading “Soon the season.”

Lore, Sagas

The walls.

The walls sang along with echoes as the folk would sing, to hope and joy the darkness had always been driven away. Names lay carved into the walls and their foundations, along the sides of every house and inscribed inside the waters of the fountains. Names of those lost in times before, of those who laid the stone and those who wrought it from the quarries and carved it into shape. Continue reading “The walls.”

Lore, Sagas, Short story

In the cold.

It is said that all seasons might come and go in their time but only one is for certain. The winter will claim the land and the sky as its own for its own ends and time. Perhaps its stay will be short, perhaps its stay will be long. But regardless of how long winter holds the world in its grasp, all folk are prepared for its arrival. With food and drink they prepare, with dried wood and meat they await. It arrives with a snow and a chill in the air as all life slows for a while. Continue reading “In the cold.”