The music washed over her. Not in waves, but in deep, blue water swells. And Mamma Universe danced. She’d had…
Arthur Wingsmith Posts
Adjustments, within limits, are always possible. Certain conditions must be met, and there are few locations from which changes can…
“Are you sure that this information is correct?” Ajax looked up from the scroll he had been examining, and gave…
The Hounds of Fate gusted southerly. Down from the equator, towards the Tropic of Capricorn, they hunted and scavenged. They…
In Stag Hartford’s opinion, this was exactly how forests should look. They should, as this one appeared, be unmanaged, wild,…
Quinzel brooded. Not that it liked to brood. To be fair, though, the armchair in which Quinzel was seated did…
Just below the threshold of consciousness, there were voices. It was hard to judge how many. Perhaps a multitude? Perhaps…
THRUMM, thrumm, thrump. A chorus of drums beat the rhythm of old powers. THRUMM, thumm, thrump. Each drum tuned to pitch a complementary…
Rain. It’s an environmental condition that sits beautifully in a narrative. Perhaps it hammers against a pane. Perhaps, softly, it…