Dear T
Thank for the artwork - it is far more fearsome than I expected.
I promised a small piece - the prologue. Happy New Year!
Peter
Mount Victoria
January 2011
I promised a small piece - the prologue. Happy New Year!
Peter
Mount Victoria
January 2011
[This is a fragment from the draft novel, "The Wolves of Ragnarök". It follows the Authors Note.]
She drifts on the tides of history
When men first saw her, they could seldom believe their good fortune. Lost, vulnerable, in need of everything a man could give, she inflamed their desires, responded to their touch, bent to their dark, same, wants. But when time came to discard her bruised body, they found themselves bound, and then drained, and then consumed.
Time after time, she feasted on the dreams and passions of these men, and then willed them to be no more. At first she delighted in the simple dreams of these men; those men who studied the currents and farmed the sea. But as she savored each new find, less succor she gained from their shared same lives.
Until, by accident, he came into her reach. A thief. Far from home. He twisted in her gaze with desperate stories from other worlds. As he sang to her of places far distant, he struggled in her web, fighting for his freedom.
She paused, unsure. Drawing him close, he offered to close her wounds, and protested his affection, while he hunted for his escape. She was confused but smiled and pondered her decision.
During the first days of his captivity, he started to tell her the seven stories of the world, singing her the songs of the sky and showing her all he knew of love and war. But as yesterday became today, his diversions ceased to be a game.
One night, as the stars swept over him, she stood beside him as he slept. Suddenly she plucked him from the world, from the past, and dragged him into the future.
When men first saw her, they could seldom believe their good fortune. Lost, vulnerable, in need of everything a man could give, she inflamed their desires, responded to their touch, bent to their dark, same, wants. But when time came to discard her bruised body, they found themselves bound, and then drained, and then consumed.
Time after time, she feasted on the dreams and passions of these men, and then willed them to be no more. At first she delighted in the simple dreams of these men; those men who studied the currents and farmed the sea. But as she savored each new find, less succor she gained from their shared same lives.
Until, by accident, he came into her reach. A thief. Far from home. He twisted in her gaze with desperate stories from other worlds. As he sang to her of places far distant, he struggled in her web, fighting for his freedom.
She paused, unsure. Drawing him close, he offered to close her wounds, and protested his affection, while he hunted for his escape. She was confused but smiled and pondered her decision.
During the first days of his captivity, he started to tell her the seven stories of the world, singing her the songs of the sky and showing her all he knew of love and war. But as yesterday became today, his diversions ceased to be a game.
One night, as the stars swept over him, she stood beside him as he slept. Suddenly she plucked him from the world, from the past, and dragged him into the future.
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