The Blood Which Binds
In a mucky inlet of the life-giving Erbad river, the sun beating on his sore-riddled scales, Nawaz the Poet limped from the bank. This had been his every morning for the two years since his affliction began. Hakka's strong young hands gingerly...
Seeing White, Part 3
Onja dreamed of hot breath and huge, careful teeth on the scruff of her neck, of snow gliding past beneath her. Her psychopomp limped on three legs, a frostbit stub pulled up to his chest. There were hands under her back, along her face, something hot...
Seeing White, Part 2
Luto's broad paws padded over the settling snow without a sound. His ears perked as sharp as Onja's, silent breaths steaming before their faces. Only a vilkhund could outrun a wraith-- be it hunting or fleeing. Bound about in aketon and boar-leather,...
Seeing White, Part 1
Juniper smoke, heavy with spice and turpentine, hovered over the three hunters, clinging to Onja's fur and gambeson alike. The scent brought blurry memories of her grandmother's funeral; they'd burned it until she never wanted to taste one of the...