The North wind shreiks around the old graveyard where Dudy Cottle, a 5 year old mortal use to hide out behind the crumbling gravestones and where little ghost child still lies dreaming. He
whistles around the
weathered slab of river rock and across the cold ground where the poor child's skeleton lies forgotton beneath a nameless grave, with two wooden dolls clasped beneath it's fleshless arms- the only remaining relics left intact to testify that the bones was somebody's beloved child. A child whose tender baby flesh was lovingly caressed by the same big hands that had so painstakingly whittled the lttle figures from good stout hickory, and had placed them in the casket before the lid was closed for the last time. Christmas gifts that the child would never see in life- having died on Christmas eve at the first falling of snow.
'You are immortal O wind of the north and its not your nature to grieve, the pines remind through long needled tongues. 'Besides that you can't be grieving for someone as savage and crude as the wicked Dudy Cottle and that old vengenlette bird 'Jalollybad' that she nested to her buxom like a child. 'We will weep in your stead. 'We will weep for fot the two little mortals and for the poor little ghost child that lies dormant in it's tomb. 'We will weep for all the beaten paths long destroyed by developers and loggers in the piney wood hills. 'We will weep for the poor whippoorwill that has been forever silenced by the rape of the forest. 'We will weep for the bones lying entombed beneath our branches, these that have no one to remember who they were- if they ever were- And who now lie like scattered plants beside everyone they knew and loved in life. 'We will weep for the old woman who dug us out of the red hills in our youth and planted us here. 'We will weep for the old man who toted moss from the dark hollow and covered the graveyard with soft green carpet.' And saying that- moisture seeps down the tough bark of thes tall old pines. Sticky sap colored tears of sorrow. They weep until their tounges fall in showers of green rain. Then their naked branches kneel tongue-less on the hill. But they have wept in vain. The fate of Dudy Cottle had been sealed and not even the tears of weeping mothers could break that seal, for it has been written that God cannot go back on His word. And it is with rage that the north wind blows up one of the worst snowstorms that ever was, and that was ever to be. By first light Eastern Kentucky is covered in a deep whitness such as no mortal had ever seen.
This book is written Applachia style. I use the old lingo that the old folks used and still use in the hills of Kentucky. Words like Plime- blank [To look alike] pert nert [almost or nearly]
Peartest thang [smart, cunning, or cute]
This is book 2 of my new fantasy trilogy, The Twins of Moon. As Quimbre warns Eefa, 'No world is more riddled with secrets than the eldritch waters we now blithely sail.' Here in the Sea of Stars the twins discover their extraordinary true destiny.
I am proud to say the Vanx Malic series has reached #1 on the Fantasy Bestseller charts a few times over the last months. Here is a freebie for you guys! Thanks for reading, MR.
Deep in the Lurr Forest, there is a valley called Saint Elm's
War is fought, not only on the field, but also within the mind.
Nothing is what it seems, take nothing for granted.
The 10 Mariard Volumes have surfaced. The gifted are fighting for you. Do you have the right to become an entity? Take the cha
The North wind shreiks around the old graveyard where Dudy Cottle, a 5 year old mortal use to hide out behind the crumbling gravestones and where little ghost child still lies dreaming. He
