No Fool

“And? What did you end up telling him?”

“Hmm? The merchant?”

“Yes! What did you end up telling him?”

I was desperate to know.

Lorent smiled at me, taking a sip from his goblet—gold glinting wickedly off his irises as he took his time.

He sipped, and he grinned. Wicked, like a sidhe cat, before he spoke. Continue reading “No Fool”

Kings and Thrones

A king is only as strong as his throne.

That’s why the Right of Kings is so important. Such a special, meaningful occasion. It’s a way for the king to make a declaration to the people. For him to show what it is that he’s about. What kind of ruler he will be.

The Right of Kings is when the king reveals his throne to the people. A throne that is of his own choosing, his own design, because, as I’ve said:

A king is only as strong as his throne.

And my throne?

It will be the strongest of all.

Continue reading “Kings and Thrones”

Silent Knight

It was that day in the rain.

It didn’t mean much to me then, but I keep going back to it. Like wandering through the same roads. Converging at the same points. That day in the rain didn’t mean much then, and, even now, it probably still doesn’t. Or, at least, it wouldn’t.

If it weren’t for the fact that:

I keep going back to it. Continue reading “Silent Knight”

Oak Speaks

They say he died in the middle of that small, small pond. Defending a human child from some wild beasts. They say he died valiantly against a manticore—or maybe it was a drakken. They say that, when he died here, the pond grew. Ten feet longer, eons deeper. A small island sprouted in the midst of the pond, right in the center. Right where he took his last breath. A small island formed, and then, atop that small island, an oak tree grew. Tall and grizzled looking. Branches reaching outward, arms open, as if ready to embrace any who tread upon that small island.

Only…

That’s not true, is it?

That small island was not meant for just anyone.

No.

It was meant for only a special someone.

Only meant for one.

One who seeks. Continue reading “Oak Speaks”

Ash And Ash, We Make Dust

Everything burns.

If you put the right kind of fuel to flame, anything will burn.

Anything.

Buildings. Monuments. Governments. Structures of power, of might. Whole nations can crumble. Can fall.

Can burn.

If only you have the right fuel.

Anything will burn.

Even this:

Blood.

Time.

…existence.

It will all burn. Continue reading “Ash And Ash, We Make Dust”

Passion

There is something to be said for passion.

It can turn the tides, that’s for sure.

Anyone can be a pro, an expert, and still be beat.

But only if their opponent has passion.

Only if they have passion.

Passion can break rocks. Dry oceans. It can turn the sands of the desert without the help of wind. It can crack the very foundation of a thing.

Of a person.

Passion is powerful, yes.

That’s why we must be careful with it.

Continue reading “Passion”

The Danger in Starting a Fire

He strode forward, his horse practically roaring.

And for good reason.

The king was not charging into a battle for the sake of fighting a war.

He was charging into battle for the sake of fighting against it.

Which, if you weren’t aware, you ought to know:

The latter is far more dangerous.

Far more.

Continue reading “The Danger in Starting a Fire”

Mine Alone

“We are not our bodies, we are what lies within our bodies.”

I heard that somewhere once. My guess is that someone wise said it.

Or someone who was butt-ugly.

Or someone who was both.

Though, I don’t think they’re wrong. We are more than what we seem, and more than what others see. That’s simply fact.

Too bad people don’t actually think that way though. Continue reading “Mine Alone”

Marching Clocks

I was not thrilled when I was referred to the Clock Maker.

Not because he had a reputation for being strange—though he certainly did—and not because it meant climbing a mountain to reach the clock tower.

I wasn’t thrilled to see the Clock Maker because I wasn’t sure. Not at all.

And I knew that, if I spoke with the Clock Maker, I would be.

After all these years, I’d know just what time meant to me.

Could there be anything scarier? Continue reading “Marching Clocks”