urple storm clouds and crackles of lightning swept over the moors. Bolts of white and violet snapped from the clouds like snake tongues melting the darkness. For a brief moment, the night became a curtain. It swept back to reveal a stage of backlit silhouettes. If there had been an audience they would have glimpsed gnarled shrubs, a ribbon of roadway, and a running figure.
my feet as I walk. I’m wading deeper. Liquid slides up my shins, my knees, my thighs. I gasp as it hits my stomach. I splay my arms as it sweeps over my breasts. It sloshes against my neck. I’m swimming.
Wind danced through the tuskar trees. It rustled their leaves, flowing in eddies around ebony-skinned trunks. It flooded up the meadows and surged into the canyons between Kezzor and Azzorim, gaining speed
Pirate Oliver stood at the helm of the Rapscallion, wind ruffling through his fine brown hair and fake beard. Standing on a barrel beside him, squat, pink, and wearing an eyepatch, was his talking pig Fortingras.
The young dragon Aeeilrv charged out of his parents’ cave, tripped over a mammoth skull, and plunged nose-first over the edge of the cliff. “Eeaagh!” he screeched. Fire burst from his nostrils, hit the upward moving air, and spewed straight back into his eyeballs. He twisted and tumbled, not remembering to open his wings until seconds before he slammed into the ground.
t’s cheese, sir,” said Thelonius. He shifted his feet and shoved his hands into the pockets of his habit. He couldn’t decide which intimidated him more: the abbot, or the abbot’s desk. They bore certain similarities, even if one was flesh and blood and the other a carved chunk of graniculate.