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Favourite Brands"You've got to be kidding me," Theresa said with a drawn-out groan. "You're really bring that up again?"
Tawnya grinned mischievously from behind the heap of fabric that was slowly beginning to resemble the multi-layered skirt that it was intended to be. "I see no reason why not to," she retorted.
Mariah laughed pausing in her pinning for a moment as she stretched her cramping hands. "What on earth are you two going on about?"
"The old favorite brands joke," Tawnya replied immediately.
At Mariah's slightly bewildered expression, Theresa finally gave in and explained the years' old teasing, and within three minutes, all three girls had abandoned their sewing projects, laughing too hard to see their needles.
"You really asked the manager of the store?" Mariah gasped, "What on earth were you thinking?"
"I have no idea," Theresa replied, forcing herself to remember to breathe. "All I know is that it's a good thing he's forgotten my face. That store has some of the bes
Of Arms and HorsesThere was a certain look of resignation on his face as he knelt at the river's side, meticulously washing the blood from his hands. Downstream, the peacefully flowing river flowed crimson, stained with the blood that still dripped steadily from the fingers devoid of life, attached to the arm devoid of a body.
"So, you've done it then."
Gaiden barely stirred in response to the familiar voice of his companion and friend until the last specks of dried blood were gone from his hands and arms. As he stood, he slid the gleaming blade back into the sheath at his side with one smooth gesture.
"It had to be done." Gaiden replied, "He knew too much. He had spoken at great length of what could only be the touch of what we seek to keep hidden."
"And so you destroyed what evidence of that there was left," Lorthon said, slowly, "but it seems that you've forgotten that such evidence can be rendered anew by those with the power to do so."
"I knew that you followed, and so left t
Should Have BeenShould have been
You should have been there, it was sight to see, or so I've been told. I, thankfully, had been out cold since the pallet of scrap metal had fallen from the top shelf. Within minutes of the spill, the entire after-hours staff had gathered in the storage warehouse, already assessing the damage and counting the number of their colleagues, hoping that no one had been there when the shelf finally gave in.
It was not until the shift boss arrived did any notice the limp arm that was barely visible from around the corner.
Though the majority of the large metal scraps had fallen forward off the shelf, rather then to the side, a good number still did.
By the time anyone noticed, it was too late. My hand was shattered, and as many thought while the paramedics carted me out to the ambulance, impossible that I'd ever be able to use it again.
You should have been there, at the grueling six hour long surgery as the team of the best surgeons in the state
Ripped StockingsRipped Stockings
They hung, empty, from the end of the empty bed, a reminder of seasons long past, and the many bittersweet seasons that lay before us yet. They were, of course, her stockings. Threadbare, ripped, but above all, loved. They had been the stockings that she wore on her final night with us- just three short years to the day. Had any outsider seen the row of children's stockings hanging from each of their beds, no one would have guessed the weight that the empty pair of gaily colored stockings meant to us. Hers was a life taken far too soon, the reason we fled our old home to come here, where there was at least a hope for safety and protection from the armies that would claim the lands beneath our feet.
There was once a time when we'd leave our shoes out at the foot of the bed, left empty in hopes of the treasures that we might find stuffed in them the next morning, but even that tradition fell beneath the marching feet of the relentless arm
Courtly Matters -BradrichHe had once held the magnificent blade with such an ease that the glistening steel appeared weightless. He had once been a formidable warrior, a force to be reckoned with in the heat of battle. He had once been the pride of the household, the strength and honor of his liege lord and king. Now though, he had nothing but fallen glory to his name. With disgust, he glanced at the limp hand that lay on the bedspread over his legs. That hand was his. That brutally mangled, mostly healed, twitching lump of flesh was his hand. The fingers moved, he knew, but only with the aid of another.
With a grimace, he thought of his longtime friend, chirugeon, and most recently, his personal physician. The words from that mornings' conversations echoed in his mind, tolling like a bell as they spelled his future.
"You cannot fight again for many months, at best. If you do, and if you were to bruise the hand, it may never heal. The blood cannot flow as it should, and if you were to start bleeding,
Held Each Other CloseWe held each other close. It was the only thing that we could do at that point. Arrows whistled above our heads as I sheltered his badly bleeding body. Spears thumped uncomfortably near my feet, deeply embedded in the ground. The battle raged around us, but the only thing I could think to do was to shelter you, to hold you close in desperate hopes that you would not forsake me that night, for day had indeed vanished in the blackness of night by that point.
All that time though, you didn't say a word, didn't move a muscle save to let out the occasional wordless groan of pain as your lifeblood continued to flow out around you, despite your desperate attempts to keep it in. It was when you stopped groaning though that I began to fear. It pulsed through me like a wild beast, trying to rip itself out of the confines of what remained of my sense of self control. I held you close still, filling the empty spaces of your missing groans with prayers that seemed to pour from the depths of my hear
Choretime"I still don't see why Marcheil couldn't keep milking the cow," Rayin grumbled under her breath as she trudged outside, following behind her elder sister Nemia so that she could walk in her tracks in the crispy snow. "And I don't see why she has to be milked so early- the sun's not even up yet!"
Nemia groaned inwardly at her younger sister's many protests but couldn't help laughing slightly at the same time. "Marcheil's old enough to start working the farm," Nemia replied, her tone one of well practised patience as though she had had this conversation man times before- or perhaps, been on the receiving end of it one too many times. "And you are old enough to help with the milking."
"Why can't Thrya do it?" Rayin persisted as they trudged closer to the low standing building on the far side of the garden. "And you still didn't say why the cow has to be milked so early!"
"Thrya can't because she's too little." Nemia replied. "She's barely sleeping in her own cot now," she added as she sto
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