Wind blew along the corridors, crackling with heat. It snuck moisture from the bricks. In its wake it left the crinkled skeletons of once-green ivy. A girl stumbled along with the wind. Tears and snot wet her cheeks and upper lip, transforming into salt-crusted trails as the wind dried them.
Solia Faris slammed on the brakes of her armored jeep, released the seat harness, and launched herself out the driver’s side door. She tumbled down a steep grade, bounced, rolled, and then slammed to a stop against a pillar of goraxian rock. Solia spat blood from her mouth and scrunched into a ball.
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
She put her hand on Miss Dorman’s desk. It felt cool and smooth. Her skin left sweat marks where it touched. The ruler whistled down. Whap! Whap!
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.
Rain sheeted down, wetting the window panes. On the street outside, cars splashed through puddles. It was a melancholy day. A day for sitting fireside with tea and books and company. But she had no fireplace or chimney, no logs to burn. Her house was too dark and quiet to be cheery.
My name is Galaxy Fiona Adonis and I was born with the superpower of laughter.
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.
“What’s the commotion?” Agnes Whittaker called out. First the party line went off. Then Tim, the neighbor boy, shot out of his front door, his face the color of baking soda. He hopped on his bike and pedaled furiously down the sidewalk. At the sound of her voice, he skidded to a halt a few feet shy of the porch.
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.