Lover

She is the most beautiful, surprising blessing I’ve ever encountered in my life. Hearing her laugh, talking about nothing and everything with her, sharing such a deep and endless fount of love between us…it’s all more than I could have ever hoped for.

I don’t know that I deserve someone so perfect in every single way. But I do know that I’ll be the best and brightest version of myself until the day I die–because with her at my side, there isn’t any other way to live.

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Sails

We could feel

the crumbling edges of time

begging for full demise

gripping steadfast

unable to reply.

 

My bones speak to me

simply because I listen.

 

They sell small tales

of growing up, up, up

from valleys vast

breaching cliff

smelling rose.

 

Sails, cast aloft

sails, weighing heavy

sails, catching song

fueling foray

whispering

the ocean’s middle name.

Blacksmith

Remy had relied heavily on each and every member of their ragtag mercenary crew, for on his own he could never have explored the depths of the ruined woods without perishing, or becoming otherwise indisposed for eternity.

As a blacksmith, Remy’s work occurred at the outset of their journey. He forged the tools and weapons necessary for the others to carry out their various skills without worry for the quality of craftsmanship. Any blade Remy forged lasted longer, held its sharpness far beyond the average lifespan of what one could purchase from a generic smithy, one whose main goal was to provide endless quantity, with little care for quality.

But these adventurers, along with a handful of others, had found Remy. His work was slower, and his prices were considerably higher than his competition. Though this resulted in some colder nights and an occasional empty stomach, Remy cared not. He would not sacrifice quality of materials or patience in labor just to line his pockets. His work was all there was, and it had to be done right.

This is why he was out here with them, this time around. His work required something more. Something many other blacksmiths has long since forgotten, or cared not to speak of it beyond hearsay and faerie tales.

Remy knew better. He could feel it out here. It called to him.

It had been an uncomfortably long stay in the ruined woods, the tattered forest. Thankfully, his party understood his need for their continued support. He helped where he could—using his skill with tools to administer needed repairs, his strength of arm to collect what wood could still be touched by the heat of flame. Occasionally he would stand alongside the warriors of the crew with his forge hammer, crushing the foul creatures that pursued them in the deepest hour of night.

But even without all of this, even if he did nothing, he believed these brave few would yet stand by his side. His work had lengthened their lives, saved them countless times. The armor he forged caused death strikes to glide off of their chests and shoulders, leaving them light enough to then counter with a definitive blow. The pots and pans he made were crafted specifically for adventuring parties, his signature light iron holding fast and cooking cleaner than other, more crude brands.

They trusted him. Their gold never went to waste, and if he felt his best work had not been done, he would quickly and easily apply a discount. “Fairness of friendship, to all that arrive, and thus may all friends, in darkness survive.” The very thesis of his being, branded into his shop’s outer wall.

And so they were six. Remy the Blacksmith, forger in flame. Terrin the Quick, tempest with blade. Aerin of Way, seeker of light. Denter the Bludgeon, boaster of might. Then comes Sayrin, the silver-tongue dagger. Last along, Vane—hunter, trapper.

Together they journey through forest grown thick, against all foes and shadow-borne tricks. As one in pursuit, for hammer and anvil—they seek Remy’s fame,

the glamour, Mythril.

Lost Pup

The pup barked, its voice bouncing between the willows. It strained itself, attempting to morph the shrill yipes into a strong howl. None such howl resulted, and the pup shivered.

A breeze came from behind, causing the young creature to stumble. Whistling through the wood, it caught the attention of a large, full grown wolf. She cocked her head at the odd sound of the twilit wind, and only then noticed she was short one child.

She released a frightful whine, leading it into a distressed howl. Echoing, it died out, falling and dissipating among the dusty underbrush.

She swallowed…waiting…

A strong, high pitched howl rang out in return.

The mother took off in the direction of it, the pup’s kin stumbling along behind her, playful still in the autumn chill.