At the center of my memory is the image of a horse, a horse the color of orange cream, rearing up, and glancing at me, with an oceanic glint in her eye. She has wings. She has fins. She is fast. I remember. She was fast. Slicing through the water like a ray of sunlight.
So I don’t know how it could have happened. But I have to do something.
Rinidra’s ears went flat and her tail went stiff. The mottled blur moving toward her was fast, too fast. If she had heard it a fraction of a heartbeat later, she wouldn’t have even seen it.
Her heartbeat. It was hammering now. A surge of raw force filled her chest. In an instant, her body unfroze. Her legs sprung beneath her. They swept her to the side. The mottled blur zoomed past her. She felt its whiskers brush her side.Continue reading
There is a valley, where grow flowers of every hue and kind, colors and fragrance in harmony. They sing songs, it is said, in spring and summer, songs whose ghosts and echoes can be heard in winter and fall.
These flowers are singular, for each is inhabited by an animating spirit.
I could not see the edge of the knife, but I felt the promised bite of the blade at the base of my tail. Courage is a strange thing. For when you think you have it, you are wrong. And when you think you don’t have it…you are wrong.
When I stepped ever-so-carefully onto that dais where the Ritual was to begin, I thought I had all the courage I would need.