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Weekly Contest #143
Mountain once told me that flowing is the privilege of all things, not just rivers. Between sun and ocean, invisible air becomes water-laden wind, flowing in gyres toward the highlands. Drops of rain flow, first apart then together, becoming streams, becoming ponds, and finally becoming me. I am River, one of many, and within me flow countless motes of earth, stone, life, and everything in between. One day, a boy and his father visited one of my banks. Most creatures of the land tended to take a drink when I afforded them the chance, but ...
Weekly Contest #141
The autumn chill and the scratching of quills stirred around Emery as he worked in the library of the Abbey. In his hand was a quill of his own, fashioned of goose feather and darkened by iron-gall ink. Before him lay a parchment, blank save for a faint sketch of the Sun that he now traced. His was not a naturally steady hand, but he was patient, for he had illustrated many manuscripts before. A faint sienna had seeped into the afternoon sky by the time Emery took leave of his work. He walked the cloister grounds, soaking in the Sun’s lig...
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