Thats enough gloomy stuff. I've got some reading for you. Your officially my guinea-pigs, feel good?:D
This fantasy, paralle universe stuff.So its not here. And its meant to be weird:
By the way Baeren is for that world the root-word of Barren. I LOVE ae combinations eg: Mae Thaephania...
.......................................................
On the dry, wind swept, plains of Baeren-Fowl, a land without birds.The dust-devils [what are baby dust tornadoes called?] danced their, wild earth smothering patterns.
There was no other noise to be heard here, except the kneening of the wind, this land was empty of life,
well almost...
At first, the sound came on the cooler breeze of the south lands, a rare happening in this every-dry country.
It was the weak cry of a newborn on the southern reaches of Baeren-Fowl, A place the locals called Last Hill.
The babe was weak, nought but a few days old, she was laid in a secluded, small, depression on the north side of Last Hill, with only a wind carved log for protection. Her plainitive crys had reached the dust-dryaids, and these clay coloured women had glided from the mid-reaches of Baeren-Fowl to investigate. They carried this stranger to their dusty hovels, fed her and spoke to her in their various wind voices. Thus the girl grew
This fantasy, paralle universe stuff.So its not here. And its meant to be weird:
By the way Baeren is for that world the root-word of Barren. I LOVE ae combinations eg: Mae Thaephania...
.......................................................
On the dry, wind swept, plains of Baeren-Fowl, a land without birds.The dust-devils [what are baby dust tornadoes called?] danced their, wild earth smothering patterns.
There was no other noise to be heard here, except the kneening of the wind, this land was empty of life,
well almost...
At first, the sound came on the cooler breeze of the south lands, a rare happening in this every-dry country.
It was the weak cry of a newborn on the southern reaches of Baeren-Fowl, A place the locals called Last Hill.
The babe was weak, nought but a few days old, she was laid in a secluded, small, depression on the north side of Last Hill, with only a wind carved log for protection. Her plainitive crys had reached the dust-dryaids, and these clay coloured women had glided from the mid-reaches of Baeren-Fowl to investigate. They carried this stranger to their dusty hovels, fed her and spoke to her in their various wind voices. Thus the girl grew
1 comment:
Interesting! Not sure I caught it all, though...
Glad you're better, too!
~Esther
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