I call this my sword of unsealing, my releasing steel. With these edges, I can cut myself beautifully open and step into the breach. My dreams have been carved slowly out of my dense column of years, and with this sword, I can hew it back into its original, unformed state. When the shadows come…
Do we succumb and offer ourselves as prey? Or do we become elusive and scarce, mean and jagged and toxic?
We fight different demons
We carry the light differently
Different tools in our belts
A sketch of Grimes Glen, a timeless little pocket of water and stone.
Steadfast princess of leather and hardwood, many times tested, waiting just off the path — for she is stillness and shelter, for she is the watcher on the edge of the territory, for she is an invisible line that only the chosen can cross. And who chooses? The one with the bright eyes and the…
