#;; ***AND SEE THE DAWN THAT COMES! PLANT THE TREES AND SEE THEM GROW!***

[kaerinio]

which tragic death would you suffer?

THE PROPHETIC HERO

you die saving the world, as you were always supposed to. peace comes only with your blood. the world will remember you for centuries. they will write poems, create art, and film movies all about you. no one will remember what you were before your death. maybe you don't even know it either. you have spent so long saving the world time after time that there is nothing left of you except the heroism. you die never knowing love.

tagged by: my precious @crownednight 💖 tagging: @misericordiis ; @morrias ; @siphonedshadow ; @ofprydain; @castslght ; @cthoniian ; you!

[aglasspomegranate]

I can't get over the one sided love of a deity trapped in stone with a newcomer to their land.

Fields of Misteria has a dragon statue that seemes to be romanceable later on named Caldarus. They are immortal and trapped in stone because they have grown weak and their memory fuzzy.

You nurse then back into power by collecting nature essence by doing things around your farm. Cutting grass, tending crops. Cutting trees, clearing rocks etc.

I can't get over this idea of one sided longing or enamorment now. A mostly silent being who watches from afar as you wake up everyday just before the sun comes over the mountains in the distance and begin your work.

Diligently clearing land, planting and lovingly caring for your crops. The strength you built as an adventurer coming in handy with cutting down large trees and smashing large rocks with ease. The gentle way you handle your farm animals and the bonds you build with the community.

The beam of pride you have when you complete a days worth of work. Tired, sweaty, dirty---but happy and content.

They watch you get frustrated when you get tired and you're so close to being done, when your backpack gets too full too soon, watching you take breaks to restore your stamina and how you treat animals, even bugs, with kindness by shooing them away before clearing the next plot of land.

They see the gentle smile of your face as you water and weed your plants and hear you regale the silent stone with stories of your adventuring days. They see you run past into the village with gifts to give and materials to offer, help to aid those that need it.

They feel sad when you sleep in, noting how unusual it is for you to sleep in late and plead for you to take care of yourself and not push so hard. The mines are dangerous and their power is limited.

The find themselves worrying for you. Did you remember to make food? Are you eating a proper diet? Are you remembering to rest? You can be so stubborn sometimes.

They despise being so weak, they wish to speak to you more, to see your eyes light up with new information and to keep you company. To aid you in your self appointed quest of a manageable farm and happy life.

They find themselves excited for dawn, when you come out and stand in front of their statue--coffee in hand while you plan your day, knowing they can't respond but still treating them kindly, gently.

You make sure to scrub them clean when the rain comes to avoid mildew and moss growing on them. It can't be comfortable and somehow you think of it like a virus for them. They're your friend and you want them to be taken care of, since, as a statue it's not like they can clean themselves.

They think you are devoted to kindness to those around you.

And they wish to reward such devotion.

By returning it in kind.

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Also while I'm on a train of blatant self-projection and my blood boils on the theme of patriotism, I proclaim Nikolai allergic to birch blooms.

They spoon-fed me all that берёзки as a symbol of Russia curated patriotism bullshit from the youngest age and I am so sure that my pure unadulterated hatred towards the tree on account of me being horribly allergic to it played a part of me growing up as un-patriotic as one can be

(This is obviously a joke and I do have my patriotic moments, although much tamer than Nik. But blooming birch is still my sworn enemy. Bitch, you're a plant, procreate sexlessly, why you gotta make my life so miserable every spring, your flowers look like whipped worms anyway)

Sorry for ranting in your ask, you just evoked Feelings in me as you do

Haha, anti-patriotic sentiment through virtue of an allergy is such a mood. Being force-fed propaganda is always the best way to make a young person hate their country, and it's proven ineffective. I'm so sorry about the tree torture. 😞

My example is the union flag. I have an absolute hate-love relationship with it, because it's flown over genocides, oppressed peoples, atrocities. British history is a mire of sins. The world could have been so different without the fingerprints of British imperialism all over it. I'm lucky in that we have never been required to swear a pledge of allegiance, or raise the flag at any point at school, but I was forced into the cadets to try and sort me out, where it was flag-shagging from dawn 'til dusk (and racism, homophobia, misogyny, etc).

But... I took a union flag with me alongside my rainbow flag to an anti-fash protest and actually tore into some middle-aged woman when she told me to put my union flag away because someone might think I'm far right. Uh, no, this flag of my people, and if the far right want it, they can come take it out of my hands themselves. You're essentially condemning an entire country by surrendering their international representation to fascists. The rioters from Cable Street would be disgusted.

But ... I dunno. The St. George's Cross (England flag) is a lost cause. If I see some cunt with that tattooed on them or in their hand, I know they drink Stella, beat their wives and think shouting slurs at minorities is the height of humour.

Anyway. A ramble for a ramble, m'love. ❤️ I am always here for learning about other people's cultures and lives. The world is so Americanised online sometimes, it's like the other few billion people don't exist...

[eri-pl]

Silm Advent calendar 8: Roads**

**Edit: I messed up the prompt, today it should be a different prompt, sorry, anyway it's too late to write a new one, so enjoy!

Elros climbed. He should have thought of himself as Minyatur now, but this name felt stiff, like new shoes not yet walked in enough. At least his actual shoes were comfortable, even on this long road, and the air was pleasantly warm, but not hot.

The road spiralled up, the lower part of it clearly visible, bright in the sun, descending into the still-worked-on main road that cut straight from the east to the west of the island. Andor was beautiful. And yet, there was much to do, and fairly so: if nothing had been left for their work, it would not feel like a real home build with their own hands.

His thoughts went to the white sapling he'd recently planted and named after his grandmother.

It was partially a coincidence, partially an expression of longing. He'd never met her. Nor his great-grandmother, obviously. Everyone said she had been beautiful. Everyone — well, all the Eldar — seemed shocked when Elros made his choice, and not even out of love. How could he explain to them?

And yet the plant — a little echo of the Undying Lands, a reminder of days when the world had been new — was immensely beautiful.

And yet it would die one day.

How did this thought come to him? But it felt true: an echo was not the thing itself, and the tree too belonged to the world of things that passed.

As did Elros.

But before that would happen, he had much to do. Build roads. Find a queen and raise a heir. See the white tree grow. Decide whom to hate and whom to mourn. Build more roads.

Now, he climbed.

Tar-Palantir descended from the tower. It took longer than it used to, and when he'd been there, his eyes grew tired of staring at the fog-shrouded sea quicker than he would expect it. His days were growing short and cold—just as the days of the year—and yet there were many things he needed to finish.

He shouldn't have started this melioration project, it became more and more complex as new problems arose — usually ones needing more gold from the treasury — and there was barely time for anything else. Yet, he needed that time. Maybe if he talked with Pharazôn again... He had been so sweet as a boy, there surely was something left of that... Maybe if he made more speeches to the people... Or lowered the taxes—but the roads—

"Do you need everything, my king?"

Tar-Palantir blinked. He had been standing with closed eyes again, lost in thought. "No, I—"

Something stopped him mid-sentence and —as they sometimes used to— words came to him. "It is close. When Nimloth dies, our downfall shall come."

It then left, leaving him lost and full of apprehension.

The White Tree had been there for nearly three millennia, how could it die? Hadn't it been a gift from those who do not perish? But Númenóre had been such a gift too. And yet, it wasn't free of death. Quite the opposite. Everything on this side of the Sundering Seas was doomed.

No, there had to be hope. Somewhere. Some day.

But his sight was not keen enough to pierce thorough the fog and Tar-Palantir was left shivering in the darkness of a cold autumn dusk.

It was so high. Aragorn was accustomed well to heights and to contasts of temperature, but not so to stunning views. And definitely not to seeing white towers, now intensely repaired, and green hills cut by roads, and knowing he was— he was the king of this land.

And yet, was he? Or was he just a pretender whose claims would fade with his death?

Arwen wouldn't come, surely, he asked for way too much and it was not the time of legends anymore, it was the time of Men and the Fourth Age was dawning and yet he would not choose any queen from the race of Men unless— but surely she would not.

A forest filled his imagination and someone danced there, bright and beautiful and beyond—

Aragorn shook his head and resumed the conversation with his companion.

As he turned at Mithrandir's request, just at the edge of the snow he saw a sapling, its flowers as white in the sun as the untouched snow, its leaves silver like a memory he had no way of remembering, and its smell, the cold, the mountaintop above him— Aragorn halted.

"You can proceed," said Mithrandir softly.

The king took the sapling carefully and turned back to the lands—his lands—below.

[watcher-with-burned-wings]

If you love me, let me go.

Once there was a nuclear war that decimated much of the planet. Only the rich who escaped into protected cities lived, with very few lucky ones on the outside, surviving the bombs. Those who survived in the city set up a government and established order. Oasis in the cruel environment.

The outsiders begged and pleaded to be allowed in, but the city's citizens refused entry due to the radiation on the outsiders. Getting desperate, outsiders began fighting against themselves for the scarce resources that the destroyed land offered. The radiation changed and manipulated the DNA of the outsider as years passed. This marked the creation of two known groups: The Citizens of Life and The Crimson Outsiders.

A hundred years have passed since the war. The City of Life’s government opened the gate of their city. The message has spread across the wasteland. Many outsiders were curious, and others cautioned. After all, everything comes with a price in the wasteland….

The hot sun shone across the desolate red wasteland. Dead burned skeletal remains of trees cast long eerie shadows, an illusion of a once lush forest. The night was descending upon the stricken dry land. Once darkness consumed the earth, a figure appeared from underneath the roots of the remains of a tree.

He stood up, brushing the soil from his pants, stitched together with practiced hands, and picked up his satchel, made with some sort of purplish leather. He slipped on his patcher work coat over his once white, now rusty red t-shirt. His cyan hair is chopped short, revealing small goat horns beginning to grow.

Scott, better known as Poison Poppy, glances around, his llama-like ears swiveled alert, searching for any life near him. Red and yellow eyes searched the dark wasteland, seeing clearly in the dark. Once deeming it clear, he pulled his dark green bandanna with a red poppy symbol stitched over his nose. He pulled out a fedora and placed it on his head along with the bandanna. His llama ears drooped with the weight of his beloved hat.

Double-checking once more, Scott began to sprint across the bare land. His steps nearly mimicked an elk in gracefulness and a cheetah in swiftness. As impressive as he was, he knew he was at the bottom of the food chain. He was weak compared to Red King and Scarlet Macaw.

He was currently being hunted by both as of this moment. Scott didn’t do anything to anger them. No. It was the opposite. He had them worried and pissed.

It was a tough life in the wasteland. You needed allies to watch your back. To depend on you and depend on them in return. Everyone tended to be loners in the red desert. Scarlet Macaw and Red King were the only two that Scott trusted. So, when Scott sent them a mimic bird that he was heading to Life City, he didn’t expect this type of reaction.

Both had sent mimic birds back, threatening, pleading, begging for him not to go.  Scott had admitted he was curious about non-radiated people. He knew vaguely what his ancestors looked like before the radiation had affected them. Plus, his thirst for adventure was never quite quenched. They met up with him and refused to let him enter the city, saying it was too dangerous. When Scott refused to listen to them, they resorted to trying to take him back to the sandcastle, the base they shared, but Scott is known for being slippery. Once he had gotten away, he immediately started to head north, toward Life City.

Scott kept sprinting, heading north as fast as he could. He could tell he was getting farther north as real grass patches had begun to spring up around him. Scott soon slowed down his pace as the moon had reached the middle of the night sky. Taking a moment to pause, he studied the plants around him. Sure, he had seen and used them in his everyday life, but something about plant life made him pleased. He slowed his pace, only slightly to admire the grass and the sacred flowers.

After hours of more running and walking, just as dawn had begun to rise, Scott had just found a large rock to settle under to sleep the day away, something in the distance had caught Scott's eye. Barely visible, a small black dot sparkled in the distance. Scott’s ears perked up happily. He had found it!

He had just enough time to celebrate his discovery before something else caught his attention. A long mournful howl filled the air, shaking Scott to his core, his ears swiveling and head whipping around, trying to find out where the sound came from. Scott looked over his shoulder, eyes narrowing on two figures in the distance, closing in fast. A screech echoed the howl.

Scott cursed under his breath and snatched up his satchel. Damn it, they found him.  

He took off sprinting in the direction of the city, heart beating out of his chest. If they caught him now, he would be in the cell for a week for sneaking off, and then be guarded like a fragile piece of glass for another month.  He grumbled at the prospect.

He wasn’t helpless. He stole from Blood Moon and got off scot-free. He can survive just fine by himself. But Red King and Scarlet Macaw think that because he doesn’t have powerful adaptations, he is defenseless. But he’s not!

Scott huffed to himself as he ran, periodically looking behind him and above him, looking for Scarlet Macaw in the air. Glancing behind him, he was pleased to see his allies had stopped under the boulder under which he was going to sleep. He could see Red King’s wolf ear twitch under his crown along with Scarlet’s wings ruffled with discontent.  

King shouted, “You won’t get far Poison! We’ll get you. You’ll never make it in the day!”

Scarlet added, “You’ll sooner pass out from the heat than make it all that way to the city! Come on Poison, you’re being irrational!”

Scott could feel his ears twitch in irritation. “I can handle myself!” Scott yelled back. “If you two are so worried, why not join me?” He didn’t bother to stop for a response as he was determined to get to the city.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

In the city, another figure had just woken up with the sun. He lay in bed for a moment, admiring his partner's face. He pecked his lover’s forehead before getting up and ready for the day. He got dressed and headed out of the house.

Jimmy, known as the Rancher of the city, along with his partner, Tango, live on the only sustainable farm in the city. Everyone in the city depends on the farm animals and crops that the Ranchers produce. The farm has been in Jimmy’s family since the fall of the bombs. Many others have tried to start farms but do not have enough resources to reasonably produce food. It was one of the many reasons that Mayor Scar chose to open the walls. Another was to see if letting citizens establish homes outside of the city was safe as it has gotten overpopulated over the last hundred years.

Stepping out of the house, Jimmy cased his gaze toward the huge metal gate where guards were positioned. One thing that surprised everyone was the Crimson Outsiders. It had been a normal exploring expedition when the group stumbled across a house made of red sand. The group had explored it and as they were leaving a woman with a red cloak, wolf body, and moth wings attacked them.

Soon another group came across a guy with a mustache who had the body of a panther, sharp fangs, and red eyes. The vampire guy was quite friendly with the Life group. He explained the systems of the wasteland and who the lady was. The group brought him into the city, and he had an audience with the mayor. The day after the mayor declared that people were able to go outside of the wall for short periods. People were enthusiastic about the chance to explore and expand.

Now, the gate was open all the time, and many groups headed out to explore and study the wasteland. Every hour, a group was sent out. Sometimes bringing a wastelander with them. Every new creature that walked through the gates seemed to vanish as suddenly as they were seen. They never left the city; Jimmy knew that for sure. Once a Crimson entered, they were never set free again due to their being dangerous. Blood Moon had proven that.

Jimmy shook his head, sighing to himself. It wasn’t his business. He headed towards the barn to begin work for the day. But little did he know that it would be soon.

_____________________________________________________________

Scott panted harder as the sun rose higher into the sky, each step feeling harder by the minute. He was drenched in sweat. His ears were droopy. He was exhausted from running for nearly five full days. Water was an issue, but he was hoping that he was close enough to the city that he wouldn’t have to think about it. Multiply time he thought about stopping and curling up to sleep, but every time he thought about his allies catching him, he powered on through spite.

Scott stumbled around midafternoon. He landed on his front and groaned, getting a mouth full of sand. He spits and coughs, glaring at the sand that wronged him. He forces himself to push his sore tired body up onto his elbows. He hangs his head down, staring at the sand as sweat drips down his face. It’s got to be close, Scott thought to himself. I have gone this far; I’m not giving up now.

Scott got to his knees and stood up, looking up and gasping. There, in front of him, the city loomed over him. The giant obsidian walls cast a long shadow on the red sand below. He wasn’t close enough to make any details out, but he could see a group of specks, he assumes people, exiting the walls. Scott perked up happily. He was here!

Scott began to head towards the entrance then paused. Does he want to enter straight in? A smirk crossed his lips. Nah, sneaking around is his forte, plus Life citizens probably have some cool stuff to take. He doesn’t want to deal with all the rules he’ll probably be told.

Nodding to himself, Scott headed a bit closer but stopped once he could see the gate more easily. He settled behind a small hill to scout out the front, his llama tail wagging in excitement from underneath his coat. A yawn forced its way out of his mouth as he lay there in the warm sun. His exhaustion swiftly catches up to him, reminding him that he needs sleep. Scott tried to stay awake, but it was in vain. Scott fell asleep within minutes.

A commotion causes Scott to jolt awake. He sits up, his head whipping back and forth. The first thing that Scott noticed was that it was night, second the noise was coming from behind him. Twisting around, he saw Scarlet and King had caught up. The shocking thing was that they were fighting against the city guards. Scarlet had a bent wing and was hopping around aggressively, talons meeting swords. King wasn’t fairing much better, he was bloody, his sunglasses cracked, and his maw bared in a snarl as he clawed at the guards, his tail fluffed up in a show of aggressiveness.

Scott sprung up from his hiding spot, his ears shot up in alarm. Why were they fighting!? Life City was supposed to welcome outsiders. Scott was about to rush into the fray to help but froze when more guards showed up. These guards had more weapons and nets. Both of his allies were too distracted to notice the new guards creeping up behind them. All Scott could do was watch as his friends were taken down, both being knocked out easily once they were in the nets. Their bodies were drug into the city, all the guards following.

Scott gritted his teeth as his dual eyes glowed in the starlight. He caused this; he was going to recuse them. Scott sprinted towards the city, a new determination in his heart.

Once he reached the towering gate, Scott sucked in a quick breath and slammed himself against the wall as two guards stood near the entrance. They were deep in conversation thankfully and didn’t notice him. Scott frowned and bit his lip, trying to figure out how to get past them when he locked eyes with one of the most awesome animals he had ever seen. He had only heard of it but it was a llama! A real-life llama! A thought came to him, and he grinned.

“You are going to be my ticket in here,” Scott whispered to the llama. The llama tilted his head at Scott and baed. Scott bleated back softly and kicked the fence down, scaring the llama in the process, causing it to charge towards the guards. The guards cried out in surprise as Scott ran into the llama pen, heading towards the barn to hide for the time as lights began turning on around them.

He quickly looked around before settling on hiding behind some hay. Scott sighed as he settled down to wait.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It had been a night for Jimmy and Tango. A llama had escaped in the night and was terrorizing the guards. It took nearly an hour before Tango managed to lasso it and bring it to the pen, only to discover that the fence had broken. Tango brought it to the other pen while Jimmy grabbed some wood from the barn.

As Jimmy entered the barn, Jimmy had sworn he had seen something in the hay, but brushed it off, thinking it was a rat. He grabbed the wood and fixed the fence. Once he was finished, he apologized profusely to the guards for the llama. The guards brushed it off and said it was okay, accidents happened. He and Tango immediately went to bed, completely exhausted.

The next morning when Jimmy went into the barn, he knew something was wrong. The door leading to the llama pen was wide open, which he knew neither he nor Tango opened.

Said llama was lying in the hay, eating happily. But the llama wasn’t alone. A figure was fast asleep cuddled into the llama’s side, his llama ears were drooped as he slept, a troubled expression on his face. His matching llama tail twitched with every muttered phase.

Jimmy wasn’t sure what to do. He had a cute mutant in his barn, cuddling with his llama. Jimmy simply turned around and headed back to the house. It was too early to deal with this without coffee.

Jimmy walked into the house, startling Tango who was making breakfast.

“Done already? That was fast.” Tango commented.

Jimmy stared at the coffee pot as the brown holy water filled his cup. “Haven’t even started. An outlander is sleeping in the hay.” Jimmy replied.

“Oh, that makes sense.” Tango nodded happily before the words registered. “Wait What!?” Tango said.

“Yeah, I don’t know what to do,” Jimmy said as he pulled out his coffee and chugged it down in one go.

“Call Scar, of course!” Tango exclaimed. “All Crimson need to be brought to town hall before they can be free to roam around!”

Jimmy frowned as he looked at his empty cup, then looked at Tango. “You go take a look at him; he's so cute compared to all the outsiders I have seen.”

“Fine! I will.” Tango leaves and comes back a few minutes later.

“See what I mean?” Jimmy said as he raised an eyebrow towards his partner.

“He is cute,” Tango said, red dusting his cheeks, “Especially his ears, that still doesn't change the fact that we still need to call Scar.”

Jimmy protested. “I doubt that he’s dangerous! At most, he could probably stab someone like every other person in the city can!”

“Exactly! He could stab someone! He is from the Crimson! He’s going to be violent!”

“He just seemed scared!” Jimmy argued. “Why don’t we wake him up and have a conversation before he judges him!” Tango seemed taken aback by the idea but relented.

“Okay. But I am bringing the phone and pitchfork in case.” 

____________________________-------------------------------

Scott whined as he woke up to something licking his face. He pushed it away, assuming it was one of the creatures of the Crimson. When it persisted, Scott opened his eyes to glare, only to be assaulted by more licks. He stutters and laughs as he remembers falling asleep next to his llama friend. He pats the nose of the llama, and his ears perk as he hears voices coming closer to the barn.

He quickly gets up from the hay and climbs up the ladder to the loft. He hunched down as he watched the barn door. Two people walked in. One had sunshine blond hair, and eyes like the rare cocoa bean he found. At least to say, he was gorgeous.  The other was a little taller, he had brown eyes that nearly looked red and had blond hair as well.  It looked like flames in the light of the doorway. They both were undeniably handsome.

The two looked toward where he was, then looked at each other, then back at the spot.

“Dammit. Where did he go!?” The flame head said. Frantically glancing around, like he was going to get attacked.

“Tango, relax. He’s around here somewhere. We would have seen him leave. “The other reassured and called out, “Excuse me, Mister llama man? Can you come out, please? We just wanted to talk.”

“Jimmy!” Tango hissed, “He could be dangerous, he is a crimson. We don’t want to invite him out!” Scott's expression soured and his ears flicked. He wasn’t that dangerous.

“Tango! Be nice. You are judging someone before you properly meet him.” Jimmy chided him. Scott tilted his head, curiously.

Before Scott or the others could do anything, the llama bleated upwards at Scott. Jimmy and Tango looked at the llama before following the llama’s gaze. Scott locked eyes with Tango, his ears pinning backward and tensed. Tango opened his mouth to shout but Jimmy stepped on his foot, causing him to yelp. Jimmy steps forward.

“Hey there,” Jimmy smiled at him. “Sorry for scaring you. I’m Jimmy and this is my partner, Tango. You are from the Crimson, right?”

Scott sneered. “I think you know damn well that I am. I heard your conversation.” Tango's cheek flushed and Jimmy winced. “And for your information, I’ll be out of your hair as soon as I find out where your people took my allies.”  

“Wait, what do you mean?” Tango asked.

Scott rolled his eyes. “Oh, don’t pretend you don’t know,” Scott glared. “Guards are grabbing any Crimson that dares to get near the gate. My friends assumed that I was grabbed, and they were caught.” Tango shared a lost look with Jimmy, who looked somewhat guilty.

“I didn’t know that Mayor Scar was kidnapping people, I thought they willingly chose to stay in the city. Scott barked out a cold laugh.

“Of course not, we would rather be out in the desert.”

“But you just said your allies were captured because of you wanting to come here.” Tango had pointed out.

Scott snapped, “I was curious to see if the rumor was true,” Scott slid down the ladder. “I didn’t think it was true.” Tango looked stunned for a moment, Jimmy sharing a similar expression with a blush dusting his cheeks. “What?” Scott asked, crossing his arms around his chest.

“You’re adorable.” Jimmy sputtered. Scott scowled and bared his teeth.

“I am not! I am called Poison Poppy for a reason.” Jimmy looked concerned.

“Is that your real name?” Jimmy questioned. Scott shook his head.

“No, but all Crimsons have nicknames as names have power in the red sand.” Scott flicked his ears as he looked away from them with a huff, blushing slightly. “I suppose since we’re in the city I can give you my real name, only because you gave me yours. You can call me Scott.”

Tango and Jimmy were silently awed at the reaction. Scott turned to them again.

“Do you know where my friends could be kept?” Scott asked. Tango thought for a minute.

“Hey, Jimmy. Do you remember when Scar asked us to bring straw to town hall?” Tango pointed out.

“Oh yeah, they are probably still being held there since we were supposed to bring any creatures we found.” Jimmy winced and added, “No offense.” Scott shrugs.

“None taken. Thanks for the help. Just tell me the way to the town hall and I’ll be off.” Scott said.

“Hold on, you’re just going to go alone?” Jimmy said concerned.

“Well yeah.”

Tango facepalmed. “That sounds like a stupid idea. We could come with you and help.” Scott stared at him in surprise.

 “Really?”

Jimmy nodded. “Yeah! We know our way around. We can help you get your friends out as well.” Scott narrowed his eyes, staring them down before reluctantly agreeing.

“Okay. Only because I need help. So, what’s the plan?” Tango and Jimmy shared a grin.

-----------------------

Scott's nose itched as straw tickled it. He lays still as the wagon rolls up the ramp of the town hall. He had vaguely heard Tango and Jimmy talking to someone earlier when the wagon stopped once. His heart pounded in his chest. He was nervous and excited. He would free the others then they would be gone.

He tensed as the wagon stopped again.

“Pst, Scott, it is safe,” Jimmy whispered. Scott popped his head out of the straw and grinned at Jimmy before hopping out. Scott realized that they were in an office of some sort. Tango’s voice could be heard down the hallway along with an unknown one.

“Let’s go!” Scott whispered-shouted before he started to look around. Jimmy followed suit. Jimmy watched Scott carefully.

Scott got excited as he found a hidden lever and pulled it. He took a step back as a hidden door opened, revealing a staircase leading down. “I found it!” Scott called to Jimmy before he dashed down the stairs, not waiting for Jimmy to follow him.

Scott dashed down the staircase and when he came out to the bottom, he was in a cell block of some sort. Mutants filled each cell. Blood Moon was pacing around in one, another was the Fairy Queen with her iconic fairy wings and black headband. There were many more in the other cells.

Scott felt a chill go down his spine that something was wrong, but he shook it off. He started calling out.

“Macaw? King? Where are you?”

“Poison? Is that you?” The response came from the other side of the prison. Scott took off at the other end of the hall to find Scarlet King.

“King! You’re okay!” Scott said relieved. “Where is Macaw?” He asked as he looked around for a key or something to pick the lock.

King walked up to the bars. “Please call me Ren and you have to run Poison.” King- Ren pleaded, looking worse for wear.

Scott was taken aback. He had never seen King this scared and he had revealed his name. Crimson only revealed their names to each other if they felt like they were going to die or never see the other again.

“King? I mean Ren? What do you mean?” Scott said concerned, pressing against the bars. “And where is Scarlet?” Ren just shook his head.

“Go, quickly. For he returns and gets you too.” Ren begged. “Grian was taken yesterday by him and I don’t know where.” Ren took his hand and squeezed it.

Scott teared up. “No! I caused this. I need to let you out.” He held Ren’s hand tightly. “I’ll fix this.”

Ren looked saddened at him. “Go Poison.”

Scott wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and mumbled, “Scott. Call me Scott.” Ren smiled.

“It was a pleasure, Scott.” Ren said, “I will always consider you my brother.” Ren's gaze snapped behind Scott and he started growling.

Scott stepped away from the cell and turned around. Jimmy and Tango were standing there, and who he assumed was Scar was there as well. Scott tensed.

“Tango...? Jimmy…?” Scott asked as Jimmy gave him a weak smile and Tango looked guilty.

“We didn’t want you to leave,” Jimmy said softly. “So we told Scar…” Betrayal struck Scott to the core as the guy in purple stepped up.

“Hey there! I am Mayor Scar. I know this may seem bad but this is all a part of my rehabilitation plan for Crimsons.” The guy introduced. “You sir seem civil and ready to be a part of my lovely city. Jimmy and Tango even offered to house you with them.”

Scott hardened and glared at Scar. “No. I’m leaving.” Scott tried to push past him but Scar grabbed his arm.

“Sorry, but we can’t have you wandering out there. You could hurt one of the citizens.” Scar stared at him. “So you won’t be leaving here at all.” A dark tone crept into Scar's voice. Jimmy and Tango stepped up to grab Scott.

Panic gripped Scott's lungs. He did something he only saved for emergencies. He spit.

Scar cried out in pain as acidic saliva hit his hand, making him let go of Scott for a moment, giving Scott a second to run. Jimmy and Tango both lunged at him but he dodged. Taking the stairs three at a time, he bursts out of the hidden door. He ran out of the office and down one of the hallways. His ears twitched as he heard footsteps echo behind him as he turned a corner.

He realized it was a dead end but he couldn’t turn around. He saw a room at the end of the hall and tried the door. Locked. Scott kicked it as hard as he could. He heard the door creak. The voices were getting closer. He kicked harder causing it to splinter. He stumbled into the room and slammed the broken door closed. He shoved a dresser in front of it before backing up.

“Poison?” Someone asked behind him. Scott jumped and was met with Grian on the bed in a nest of blankets.

“Grian!” Scott said and hugged him. Grian looked shocked as Scott called him that.

“How did you know?” Grian asked as he hugged back. A rattle caught Scott’s attention.

“Ren told me. And call me Scott.” Scott responded before he looked down at Grian’s ankle, spotting a chain. “Oh… Grian..” Scott said then jumped as the door was pounded on, Brian's eyes wideing.

“Out the window.” Grian directed. “That’s you’re the best chance.”

Scott nodded and jumped off the bed. He opened the window and looked back at Grian. “Thank you. I promise, if I get away, I will live the best life.” Grian smiled a bit then tensed as the door cracked even more.

“I know you will. Now go!” Scott leaped out the window into the bushes. He climbed over the large iron fence and leaped from the top, wincing in pain as he felt his ankle twist as he landed. He stood up and began running down the street, startling many citizens. Guards who noticed began giving chase through the crowded streets.

As Scott ran, the houses thinned out and he could see the farm and the gate. His ankle screamed in agony as he pushed himself more, having more guards on his heels. The gate guards were oblivious to what was happening as he approached. His eyes lit up with hope as he drew near. He was so close. Just a little more.

Blinding pain flashed through him as an arrow embedded itself into his leg. He screamed as he crashed to the ground. He rolled, hitting his head hard on the stone. Blood dripped down his forehead as he reached towards the entrance before he passed out from hitting his head too hard.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Scott leaned against the wall of the room he was in. His leg and head were wrapped in bandages and his ankle propped up. An ankle chain was put on his good ankle when he tried to climb out of the second-story window. His eyes blank as Tango tried to encourage him to eat.

“Come on Scott…” Tango begged. “You haven’t eaten in two days... I know you’re upset, but please.”  Scott weakly glared at Tango and turned his head away. Tango sighed.

Jimmy entered the room with a soft knock. “He still refusing to eat?” He asked, carrying a bowl of broth.

“Yes. And he’s refusing to speak again.” Tango reported to Jimmy.

Jimmy walked over, setting the broth down on a table, and hugged Scott. “I know you hate us right now, but I hope you and the other Crimson will see that this is better.”

Scott didn’t respond verbally but a tear rolled down his cheek. Tango sees and hugs Scott's other side. Soon, Scott was a sobbing mess. He mourned his freedom, his friends, and his home. Scott soon fell asleep, exhausting himself from crying with the ones who loved him too much to let him go.

[horny4hetfield]

Rockies Christmas - Day 14

Warnings: Fluff, Marvel Universe Referenced, New Years celebrations, (Hang on!  It’s cumming!  {see what I did there}) Finger Fucking, NSFW

Guide: CBF = Cali’s Boyfriend / CGF = Castor’s Girlfriend / MBF = Marcella’s Boyfriend {I didn’t want to give them names}

The day dawns bright.  Right into my eyes.  Patting the bed, James’ side is empty.  Then I hear the toilet flush.  I slip out of my side and pad into the bathroom.  James scoops me into his arms, planting a kiss on me.  “Morning gorgeous!”

My hands find his shoulders, “Morning handsome!” and kiss him.  Then I sniff.  And look at him.

“Shower.”  He picks me up and carries me into the shower stall.  As I wash his body, I am amazed at how quickly he’s healing.  James sees the look on my face, “What?”

“Are you sure you’re not part Wolverine?” as I gently caress his bruised face.

“I might be.  I was back onstage 15 days after the fire.”

“How the hell where you able to do that?  You had to have been in serious pain.”

“Just stubborn idiocy.”  He rinses my hair.  “And I didn’t want to disappoint the fans after what happened.”  He gently kisses me.  “I promised myself after that happened, if at all possible, I’d get my ass on stage.”

“You should be proud of yourself.  You’ve done pretty good.”

He turns off the water, “It was because of me that the Australian dates had to be cancelled.”

I kiss his wet back, “That was needed.”  I turn him, “And I am proud of you.  That environment is tough to stay sober in.”

“Hey lovebirds!  Pancakes!” comes from downstairs.

I am almost dumped on the shower floor as James bolts to get dressed, “PANCAKES!”

“Go!” comes from downstairs.

It took me a little longer to get dressed before I could make my way to the kitchen.  I snort a laugh as I see James sitting at the table behind a stack of about eight cakes on his plate. 

Marcella is at the stove grinning.  As she flips another cake, “I made a whole batch just for Dad” she tells me.

When everyone is done, I kick the kids out of the kitchen and start with the clean-up.  James helps with the unload on the dishwasher.  He puts the big platters away in the high cupboard.  He smacks my ass when I bend over to put the cookie sheets in the drawer under the range.  I stand up rubbing my butt, “That one hurt.”

Pulling me to him, “I can kiss it and make it all better” he grins at me.

“Gross Dad!”  “Take it upstairs!”  “There’s kids here!” comes from the table.

We snort in laughter.

As we finish with loading the dishwasher and starting it, CBF comes into the kitchen.  “Out.”  We quickly depart the kitchen.  Cali sits on a stool and watches her man with a grin, hand on her belly.

“Hey Dad, are there still skis downstairs?” Castor asks.

“No.  I donated those to the ski school a couple of years ago.  Why?”

“I thought about doing a couple of runs.”

“You could call the run and see if they can help out.  You’d need them to be brought here and a tow to the lift.  I’m not driving today.”

Castor uses the house phone.  By the look on his face, it’s not what he wanted to hear.  “They don’t have someone to do the tow.  I guess a bunch called in sick today.”

James pats Castor’s knees as he sits on the sofa, “Sorry about that buddy.”

“Mind if bang awhile?”

James gives his son a look, “When did you grow up?”

“When you did” Castor gives his Dad a look.

“Will you two please go bang away!” Marcella gives them both a look.

“Race ya!  First one gets the drums!” James is grinning broadly.

“Now!” Marcella yells and they bolt from the room.  Laughter is heard from the studio.  Quickly followed by drums being played.  “Castor won” Marcella states.

I go to the tree and start collecting the empty gift boxes and collapsing them.  Marcella joins me, flattening out the tissue paper.  We manage to manhandle the boxes to the bedroom I’ve set up as my office.

Seeing the monitors and computer, “Whose set up is this?” Marcella asks.

“Mine.”

“Those monitors are huge.”

“I have bigger ones on my desk at work.”  I open the closet door, and the wrapping paper bin falls out.  We both giggle as we wrangle the rolls back into the bin. 

“How often do you have to work?”

“You mean you haven’t seen me working?” I grin.  She nods.  “I got the top files done the first week of December.  If something gets pressing, my boss would have called me.” 

The boxes threaten to fall off the shelf, but Marcella gets them organized and closes the closet door.  I slid the bin of papers under the bed.

“Don’t let Dad see that.”

“I’ll move it later.  Thank you, I appreciate the help” I tell her on the way back upstairs.

“You’re welcome.”  She stops on the stairs and turns to me, “I have noticed a change in Dad.  A good change.  What happened?”

“I was ready to walk out the door, but didn’t get out before the snow in September.”

“What aren’t you telling me.”

“My boss edits my notes to the authors that I edit.  I can be a little blunt.  Sometimes harsh.”  I sigh, “I was downright mean in the letter I wrote to James.”  I heave a sigh, “He still says that my bluntness was what he needed to see that he was being a …” I hesitate.

“A jerk?”

“That’s a nicer word” I smile.

“Your ring.”

“This is not an engagement ring” I look at my diamond encrusted band.  “I told him that I could accept his apology.  But that he’d have to work on my forgiveness.”  I play with the ring, “He said that this is his promise ring to me that he will work for that forgiveness every day.”

“I like you” she states simply.

I grin at her.  “James has told me that he will never marry again.  I told him that I don’t need the blessing of an archaic theological institution to say that I can love someone.”

“Soooo, you love Dad.”

Patting her shoulder, “With every fiber of my being” I tell her from my soul.  Marcella nods and we continue up the stairs into the living room.

Father and son are still pounding out music in the studio – all songs from other artists.  Marcella, myself, CGF, Cali, CBF and MBF all sit around the living room.  We occasionally pause when the song from the studio changes.  We start to see who can name the song first.  The discussion then goes into the memories of the new song.

“We could help you take this stuff down” Cali offers.

“No thank you.  I’ll get it taken down later” as I snuggle into the sofa a little.

CBF stands, “I need to check the Jambalaya” as he goes into the kitchen.

CGF looks at Cali, “You are so lucky.  Castor can barely boil water.”

“Yeah, but he can order a mean pizza” Cali deadpans back.

Nodding to Cali, “He learned that from his Dad.”  I manage a straight face for about 30 seconds.  Then there’s outright laughter.  “CBF, that smells wonderful!” I smile at the young man as he returns to the living room.

“Thank you.  It still needs a little longer.”

James and Castor walk into the living room, arms around each other’s shoulders.  Both sweating.  “Bit of a workout?” I ask them.

Using the hem of his t-shirt – exposing his still bruised belly - James wipes his brow, “Little bit.”  He sinks into the sofa next to me dropping his hand on my knee.  I smile softly at him.  Castor picks CGF up, sits and plops her into his lap.

“Was that better than skiing?” James smiles at his boy.

Castor laughs, “Not nearly as messy.”  CGF gives him a look.  “Wet snowsuit, wet socks, snow covered boots …”

“Usually left in the middle of the hallway.  Skis dropped in the driveway” James smiles at his kids.

“Hey!  Those weren’t my skis!” Castor says pointing at Marcella, who smacks her brother’s leg.

“I never left my boots in the hallway” Cali says.

“No, you’d leave yours in the garage and then complain that they were frozen the next day” James points out with a grin.

Nodding, “Ok yeah, I did that all the time” she confesses with a grin.  Then she looks at her belly.  Total fear written on her face.  “Dad?”  She looks again, “It feels weird.”  CBF is ready to jump up and dial 911.

James is instantly sitting on the table in front of her.  “Show me.”  She puts his big hand on her bump.  James feels around a minute, then grins and kisses her forehead.  “That’s your baby moving.”

She works her fingers under his big hand, “Really?”

“Yup.  Right there.”  James smiles, “That’s probably a foot.  Too early to tell for certain.”

Cali’s eyes tear up, “That’s our baby” she leans into CBF’s shoulder.  His hand joins Cali’s, wonder etched on his face.

James returns to my side, draping his arm around my shoulders.  “You used to kick your Mom really hard” James tells Cali.  “Especially late at night.”  Looking to Marcella, “You had your butt out almost the whole time.”  He smiles at me, pulling me closer to him.  “I should have known that you’d be the drummer” he looks at his son.

“Why?” CGF asks.

“His hands were constantly playing a rhythm!”  Smiling at Cali, “Your child will only get more active as time goes on.  Sleep while you can.”

CBF, with his hand still on her belly, “I’ll see that she does.”

Pointing to the young man, “Good answer.”

“I remember the first time you took us skiing!” Marcella laughs.  “I think I spent more time sitting in the snow than standing on my skis!”

Cali points to her dad, “I remember the trip to Hawaii where you ended up carrying me because I lost a water shoe!”

James huffs a laugh “My favorite memory is the look on your faces when that elephant charged the jeep!”

They spend time dredging up memories of family trips, holidays, tours and school events.  I feel James flinch slightly at some of the school things the kids talked about.  Evidently he’d missed a few.

Castor looks at CBF, “When’s dinner?”

“About 40 minutes from now.”

Castor just looks at everyone with his own goofy grin smeared on his face.

“Hang on Castor.  I want Kira to see the Torchlight Parade and Fireworks” James says.  I look up at James.  “They ski down the main run with flares lit right after sunset” he looks at the clock on the shelf “in about 20 minutes.  Then there are fireworks lit.  Not as big a show as the Fourth, but still decent.”

I smile, “I like fireworks.”

MBF leans forward on his knees, “You should the ones in Vancouver BC.  It’s three nights.”

“Isn’t there a huge competition for fireworks?” CBF looks to MBF.

MBF thinks a second, “I think that’s the one in Finland.  There are a couple of others in the states, but not as big as Finland.”

Nodding, “We’ll have to see about getting to one of those” James hugs my shoulders.

“Can we see the skiers from the house?” I look up at James. 

“Yes.  But the best place is outside on the patio.  Which means, we’ll need coats and boots.”  He stands up and pulls me to my feet.  “I want to change shirts.  This one is a little damp” as he pulls it off. 

I toss him a look as he knows I love to see his body undressed.  Even bruised.

Everyone is searching for a coat and boots when Marcella yells from the living room, “There’s the warning shot!”  A small firework booms.

Wearing my big coat, I’m tugging on my mukluks when James comes up behind me bumping his hips into mine.  Putting a hand on the wall to keep from being knocked into it, I look over my shoulder at him.  He’s giving me a wicked grin.  Standing up, I turn to him caressing his face with both hands, “Later” I purr at him.

“It’s starting!” MBF calls.

James gets his boots on and follows me to the patio.  It’s quite the sight of all the skiers, each holding a flare, coming down the hill making a zig-zag pattern down the main run.  James wraps his arms around me, pulling me into his chest.  I reach back and grab his pants and pull his hips closer to me.  He growls gently into my ear. 

The fireworks start almost as soon as the last skier gets to the bottom of the run.  James was correct that it was a relatively short show but still pretty.  I sigh as it ends.

“Dinner’s probably done” CBF says.  “Who’s hungry?” he grins.  CBF leads the way into the kitchen with coats and boots left by the patio door.

“I think I forgot something, but it turned out ok” he grins as he dishes out dinner. 

Taking my bowl, I sit with the others at the kitchen table.  I take a couple of bites.  “It’s delicious.”  Looking at Cali, she has a bowl of rice with a little of the Jambalaya in a separate bowl.  “Tum?”

“Don’t know yet.  I’m going to take it easy.”

“Good thinking” James smiles at her.

Marcella makes CBF sit as she, Castor and CGF clean up – which doesn’t take long.

“Ok.  There’s about six hours to midnight.  Six more episodes?” again Castor with the goofy grin.  For the win.  He almost skips leading the way into the media room. 

After four episodes, “I could use another bowl of Jambalaya” James declares.  He almost dumps me off the sofa as he stands up, barely catching me before I hit the floor, both of us laughing.  Even MBF reached out to help me.

As we walk to the kitchen, Castor drops an arm around my shoulders, “You might regret Dad having another bowl.”

CGF pat Castor’s stomach, “Yeah, you too.”

Nodding, “It might be a tie then” Castor grins.

Grabbing his hips from behind CGF chuckles, “You can’t talk!”

Pointing, “Dad is worse!”

Both his sisters shake their heads, “You can be worse!”

CBF dishes out bowls for those wanting more.  I, like Cali, go for just a bowl of rice.  Clean up was everyone putting their own dishes into the dishwasher.  CGF tosses in the pod and starts it.

“Hey, Kira.  Are there any more cookies left?” MBF asks.

As James pulls me down the hallway to the media room, “Check the pantry!” I laugh out.

Castor starts another episode after we’re all back in our places, some happily munching cookies.

Three more episodes under our belts, James stands up and stretches.  “Who wants pots and pans?”  He’s almost knocked over by his kids running to the kitchen.  James holds his hand out to me and hand in hand we follow the six kids.  They are all in the pantry pulling out the old pots and pans that I’d almost thrown out.  Donning coats and boots again, we pile out on to the patio.  James keeps an eye on the clock in the kitchen.  The kids are all bouncing around.  His velvet rumble starts the countdown, “Ten.  Nine.  Eight.  Seven. Six.  Five.”  He turns me to face him, “Four.  Three.  Two.  One.”  To the banging of pots and pans from more than just this patio and fireworks from the skir run, James leans in and kisses me.  I wrap my arms around his neck pulling him closer.  His hand cups the back of my head keeping me in our kiss.  He slowly lets me go, his blue eyes flaring with passion, happiness, a flash of darkness, then something deeper.  He gives me a quick follow up kiss.

“I’m freezing” Marcella says as she goes back inside.

“Me too” as CGF follows.

I caress James’ head to his neck, “I’m pretty warm.”  His smile goes a little wicked.  I wiggle out of his arms, take his hand and lead him inside.

Castor is coming back up the hallway from the media room, “I’m thinking we’re done in there tonight.”

“Morning, you dork” Marcella playfully shoves her brother.

As James gently pulls me upstairs, “Happy New Years, kids.”

A chorus of “Happy New Years” follows us the stairs.

“Hey Castor!”

“What Cali?”

“Close your bedroom door tonight.  We don’t want to hear you two again.”

James hangs his head, “I didn’t need to know that” he whines softly as I close the door on our bedroom.

I start the home device playing classical music.  Going to James, I slowly start undressing him.  His hands softly cover mine.  I run my hands over his body.  He’s still got some bad bruising.  Some are still a little tender.  Standnig behind him, I gently run my hands down his back and over his hips.  His hands grab my wrists and tug them to his belly pressing my face against his back, “Not sure I am ready yet.”

Kissing his back, I flatten my hands against his stomach and chest.  “I just want to touch you.”

Holding my left wrist, he pulls my hand to his mouth kissing my ring and finger.  Then he rotates in my arms.  He kisses my ring and finger again as a tear leaves a trail down his cheek. 

Using my thumb, I wipe it away.  I pull his head to me, kissing his lips tenderly, “You’re here.”  Another kiss.  “You’re alive.”  Another kiss.  “You’re whole.”

He kisses me deeply.  I can feel another tear fall.  Looking at me, “I will be.”  He kisses my hairline.  “If you’ll help me.”

I know what it took for him to say those four words.  “I’m in this for the long haul, James Alan Hetfield.”  I kiss him softly.  “I love you with every fiber of my being.”

He kisses me.  “Kira Elizabeth Mooreland, I love you with … every cell in my body.”  He grins at me before kissing me again. 

“You can say fiber.  I don’t mind” I smile at him. 

Another kiss.  His hands run up my back pulling my clothes from the waist up off me.  His hands softly run down my arms still over my head.  I just watch him.  His eyes slowly wander over my body as though he’s memorizing every pore of me.  My fingers gently run over his face, neck, shoulders.  His lips find my neck.  They find that one spot.  My knees buckle as he kisses, sucks, and nibbles on that one magic spot.  His arms lock around me, keeping me from falling to the floor. 

I don’t realize that he’s backing us to the bed until my bare back is laying on the cool sheet.  He’s pulled the duvet to the floor.  I arch up some into his chest.  He runs his hands down my back warming it as his lips work their way over my collar bone, across my chest, to the other side of my neck, finding that magic spots’ twin.  I whimper into his shoulder.  He rolls off the bed, moves to the end and slowly pulls off my pants, grinning wickedly at me once I am totally naked.  I slowly writhe under his gaze, my hands roaming my own stomach and breasts. 

James moves to the side of the bed and lays down on my right side, making sure to trap my right arm under him, his left arm snakes under my neck.  I slowly make lazy patterns on his back with my right hand.  His right-hand cups my chin tilting my head up and kissing me.  He tenderly encircles my left wrist and slowly pulls it to my left shoulder where his left hand securely holds it.  He looks at me.  I suck in a shuddering breath.  His right fingers slowly drag across my arm, my shoulders, caress my neck, palm my breasts – giving each a tender squeeze.  His eyes still drinking my naked form in.  Then his fingers trace tender patterns down my stomach.  They slow as they reach my pubic bone where they stop.  His eyes slowly make their way back to my face.  I’m panting slightly.  I know that I’m soaking wet.  His eyes lock on mine, he places his right palm on my abdomen just above my pubic bone, his fingertips right at the crest of my folds.  I suck in a sharp breath.  His right leg wraps around my right leg pulling it between his, trapping it between his thighs, then his right toes press against my left knee keeping me from closing my legs.  I know that I’m now totally trapped by his body and completely at his mercy.  I take several stuttering breaths.  He kisses me tenderly.  Then his right hand slowly starts exploring my folds.  I arch up slightly.  “I haven’t even started and you’re soaking wet” he grins at me.  I can only pant and smile at him.  “Already beyond words?” he purrs at me.  Again, I can only nod.  He kisses me as his fingers tease my clit making me shudder.  “Good!”  His eyes never leave mine.  His fingers are torturously slowly working my cunt.  Rubbing, then spreading my vulva, then fingertips making lazy patterns around me.  He lays his whole hand over my core, his fingertips wiggling softly.  He kisses me.  Smiling like a cheshire cat, “Ready?” as he slowly presses one digit into me.  I groan loudly just before his mouth covers mine, the fingers on my right hand digging into his back.  He’s snickering into the kiss.  Then his lips are right beside my ear as he slowly adds a digit inside me, “I love to watch you” as those digits reach deep inside me.  I arch up into his hold clawing at his back.  “So wet” he purrs at me as his hand slowly starts to fuck me.  Each thrust a little deeper.  Each deep thrust includes a wiggle from his fingers.  Each thrust making me a mewling mess.  He slows his actions watching me writhe, then adds another digit.  My hips rise on their own accord.  He grins at me as he starts thrusting his hand into me.  I’m panting, clawing at his back, my breaths coming in shorter gasps.  He kisses the end of my nose, “Should I be mean?”  I’m trying to buck my hips so his fingers go deeper into me.  “Should I make you beg?” his grin so lovingly wicked.  I whine, my right hand smacking the bed.  “Not tonight” he grins as his thumb finds my clit.  His mouth covers mine as I cum all over his fingers, my hips bucking hard against his hand.  He slows the actions with his right hand as he releases the hold on my left wrist.  I am incapable of moving, my left arm flopping to the bed.  My hips give one last lift as he tenderly withdraws his fingers.  I watch panting as he slowly sucks my wet mess from his fingers grinning at me, “Better than Jambalaya.”  I laugh softly panting still.  He withdraws his arm from under me.  He slips off the bed to recover the duvet which he flips up over my still slightly quivering body.  Dropping his pants, he slides into bed, spooning me into his body.  I curl up around his arm.  His nose buries into my hair at the back of my neck.  “Happy New Year Kira” he breathes softly.

As my eyes close, “Happy New Year James.”

[scribblelark]

Fox's Midwinter Watch

Fox loped up the field margin, alongside the Winter-bared hedge. She looked up the hill to the copse of trees that surmounted the ridge, noting the fullness of the Moon as she moved. The field here had been ploughed and planted, but being the Midwinter Solstice, nothing yet stirred above ground, nor would for a while. It was too cold for that.

Fox inhaled the good scents of the cold night air: the ploughed earth; the continuing decay of plant matter, which was increased by the frost that was settling everywhere; and the Spindle and Hawthorn berries in the hedge. She made a note to stop for some Spindle berries on her return home.

She reached the copse on the ridge and sat on her haunches, gazing up at the silvery Moon above her head.

“Didn’t expect to see you here, Fox,” said a hoarse voice above and to the right of her head.

She looked up and saw a Raven who was, she knew, the elder of the flock in this copse; a flock which was, she now realised, distributed throughout the treetops.

“I was curious,” she said simply.

The Raven clicked its beak. “A good trait for anyone to have,” he said.

She dipped her head in acknowledgement, then looked back up to the heavens.

She wasn’t sure what she was expecting to see, besides the silvery light of the Moon, the clouds moving across the midnight sky, and the land beneath it, but ever since she’d overheard two Ravens discussing the Midwinter Solstice flight of a Raven to the Moon, she’d been overcome with curiosity. It was a long way to fly, she knew: a far greater distance than she had ever travelled or could ever expect to travel as a land-bound creature, and the whole situation seemed improbable.

But from the conversation she’d overheard, this was an annual event: every year, on the longest night of the year, a Raven was chosen to fly to the Moon to bring back Her silver light and on their return spilled the light across the land. This ensured that the year would turn towards Springtime and increased daylight, and the growth and breeding of plants and animals alike. 

The whole thing had the quality of a myth, and she had pondered what would happen if no Raven did fly to the Moon. Would the Earth really remain bound by Winter? She hadn’t dared to ask the Ravens whose conversation she’d overheard, and she didn’t quite dare ask the Elder Raven now, for all his courtesy towards her.

So she watched and waited and wondered.

A great cry went up overhead, all the Ravens in the treetops above her flapping into the night sky and she stared upwards as a distant black speck resolved itself into a Raven flying wearily, yet steadily, towards them. It carried something dangling from its beak and as she was conjecturing what it might be it dropped the something and gentle sunlight spread across the land. Dawn had broken and with the sunlight came an unexpected warmth which was startling after the sharp frost.

The cacophony of calls and cries from the Ravens was almost overwhelming to Fox as she remained seated beneath the Oak trees and she stood up, thinking to return to her den, when the Elder Raven flew down out of the sky, accompanied by a much younger bird. They landed on a branch above her and the Elder Raven spoke.

“The task is fulfilled,” he said, solemnity in his tone. “The longest night is passed, and the land shall begin the transition from Winter to Spring. Plants will grow, birds and animals will nest and mate, and the year’s cycle is renewed again.”

“Congratulations on the successful completion of your task,” Fox said to the younger Raven.

“Thank you, Fox.” He dipped his head towards her, his feathers glossy in the burgeoning light.

“Would Spring really not have come if you hadn’t brought the light back from the Moon?” she asked impulsively, no longer able to restrain her curiosity on the subject.

“It would not,” said the Elder Raven. “One year, a century or so ago, the Raven who was chosen for this task did not reach the Moon. It was a very stormy night, and he was blown off course and out to sea. There wasn’t time for another Raven to fly to the Moon and back before the longest night passed into day, and for the year that followed, the land lay bound fast in cold and darkness. Plants did not grow; animals and birds did not nest and mate. All suffered from cold and hunger, and many died prematurely. None of us have forgotten this, for the knowledge is passed on from eldest to youngest every year. We take our duty seriously.”

Fox dipped her head. “I thank you on behalf of us all for your acceptance of this duty.” 

Both Ravens dipped their heads in return.

“Come, we will go to break our fast and you may join us, should you choose to do so.” The Elder Raven’s offer was sincerely meant, Fox could see.

“Thank you,” she said, warmed by the unexpected offer. “I will.”

She followed the two Ravens as they flew slowly through the copse until they reached a clearing at its centre where the rest of their colony had gathered. It had been an interesting night, and she felt it would be an equally interesting morning, too.

* * *

This is a companion piece to The Raven's Flight to the Moon.

[midwesterngothicmomus]

The Lonely Woods

Loki is born to his mother, Laufey, late, or perhaps early, on a day that dawns frosty and brisk. The pines sway and life in the forest carries on around Laufey’s little cabin as if nothing has changed despite his addition, even as he cries weakly. His father sends a single messenger to check on his wife’s condition a week later who carries back news that the child has been born sickly, weak, and unlikely to survive. He is named by his mother and Fárbauti does not visit for another seven years.

He grows deep in the woods in Laufey’s little cabin. The inside is small, with just enough space for him to sleep on a small bed stuffed with straw in the loft while his mother sleeps below. The yard is small and filled with plants they harvest and eat. After that, there is only the woods stretching out as far as anyone knows.

As soon as Loki is old enough to survive on his own, he is left alone often. Sometimes it is because she must tend to the house or garden. Or perhaps forge or check traps in the woods. Or maybe go into town to trade for wool to weave into cloth. There are many reasons, and her sickly son is left alone.

(His earliest memories are of him lying abed with a fever, calling for someone who will not come.)

When Loki is five his health suddenly starts to recover. It is good as his mother seems to have less and less patience for his fevers. She takes his recovery in stride though and teaches him. He fetches water, tends to their chickens, weeds the garden, and can stroke the fire. With a stool, he can help himself with the perpetual stew she keeps hanging over the fire for him during the long periods she is out.

Now he learns other things. The adders in the wood pile teach him how to crawl under the fence, to swallow eggs raw, and to slide through the brush of the surrounding forest without making a sound. Under their tutelage, he becomes silent and smooth, a shadow among the trees.

When he is six, sometime in the middle of another long absence of his mother, under the careful watch of his friends he kills a hare. It is not too hard; he crawls under a flat rock overhanging a stream and waits till one comes close to the shore to nibble on the leafy greens he ripped from the garden and left in arms reach. From there it is easy enough to lunge forward and take a hold of it, snapping its neck is really more of a side effect of trying to keep his small hands wrapped around it than anything.

He devours it with a ferocity he did not know he had, ripping through the fur with his teeth, and then devouring the flesh raw. In the end, there is nothing worth bringing home left and he heads back, face and hands sticky with blood. This is how his mother finds him, and for the first time in his memory, she holds him close as she wipes him clean, and then again after he has bathed, she dries his hair with a towel. Gently running her fingers through it in the process.

And Loki wants.

It is shortly after that Mother teaches him to hunt and forge. Loki undertakes his new duty with the seriousness of an inquisitor. He carefully catches game for the two of them to share and brings back the herbs she requested, preserved as carefully as he can manage. Then under her watchful eye, he cleans and cooks whatever he brought, allowing her to rest.

It never occurs to him to ask why she is spending so much more time abed, or why she exclusively needs medicines for an upset stomach and burns. While abed she teaches him magic, how to heal and move the earth, though she refuses to demonstrate it to him so he is left to recall vague memories of seeing her do similar things in the past.

(It is worth it though because mother says she is proud of him and pulls him close for a hug, so he practices and practices till his legs give out beneath him and his eyes go fuzzy.)

It is the blazing summer that Mother brings forth his brother. His brother screams and screams so much so that the man who arrives to report his birth to “the Lord” says he will kill men with just a yell one day. The boy is named Býleistr by their father the first time the man sets foot in the cabin. Mother is ecstatic.

(His mother makes him stay in the kitchen and neither the messenger nor his father notices he is there.)

For a while, Mother is around a lot. She has to be to feed the baby. But once Býleistr can keep down the mushy oats Loki makes him, all bets are off. Mother returns to her wondering ways. Disappearing and leaving nothing but goat's milk and instructions to keep an eye on his brother.

Loki takes to carrying his brother on his back when he goes out to hunt, or just leaving him wrapped in a quilt in a safe-ish corner when he cooks. He’s good enough with a sickle now at eight that he is not overly worried about wolves or other such creatures. It’s annoying though because half the time Býleistr is not quite when Loki needs him to be and the rest he is spitting or peeing on Loki, the little ingrate.

But Mother says Loki must take care of him and Loki wants to make Mother proud so there is no other choice. Even though the stupid baby doesn’t even look like him and Mother.

(One time he makes a mistake while cooking and the little idiot puts his hand close to the fire and burns himself despite Loki repeatedly telling him not to. Loki treats the burn and it is gone before Mother comes back, thus hiding all sins, but he now knows better than to take his eyes off his brother for even a second.)

Unfortunately, the peace doesn’t last. Býleistr gets more demanding as he grows older and with his demands comes Mother’s agreement. It’s annoying. If he wants meat Loki must hunt. If he wants to play Loki must watch him. “It’s the duty of the older brother.” She says and Loki wants to throw his stupid brother out the window for it. The only thing that stays his hand is the fact that it would disappoint Mother.

Then Býleistr starts spitting fire in their wooden house and has the audacity to cry afterward even though Loki had to exhaust himself pulling up the earth to cover it and regrowing the wood and Mother didn’t even notice.

Mother says Býleistr cried because he burned his throat, which is stupid. After all, Loki was able to relight the stove with a poke when it was cold to make things extra warm for as long as he can remember. Mother sends him out to gather herbs and Loki goes because the alternative is upsetting Mother.

After that Býleistr has to stay in bed while Mother sends for their father who is going to teach Býleistr magic properly, something Loki was never offered. Instead, Loki takes over his mother’s trading duties and is tasked with the day-long walk to the nearest settlement where he barters Sejd and game for wool and whatever else they need.

He doesn’t complain, not even when he has to camp in the woods when the weather makes the path too dangerous. Not when the prices drop, and he has to win games he barely knows the names of with tricks and bets he doesn’t have the coin for to get the rest. But Býleistr complains a lot. About being told to rest, that they don’t have meat because Loki is too busy to hunt and mother is resting again because her legs hurt, and about being told not to use his damaged throat so much.

Then father comes and everything gets worse.

Their father is a violent man. He yells and demands things. The only thing that makes him happy is Býleistr’s magic and everything else is a disappointment no matter how much Mother tries to please him.

This time there is no hiding Loki and Fárbauti quickly judges his older son and finds him wanting. The hunting is fine, Fárbauti would prefer deer or bears as his son’s prey but Loki has no weapons and is only hunting for two children and a woman. The earth magic is disappointing so Fárbauti ignores it except when he is drunk and feels like listing Loki’s many deficiencies. The forging is not great but is technically a survival skill that earns money so Fárbauti ignores it. The caring for the garden and cooking is completely unacceptable, and Fárbauti backhands mother and burns her face for “being a lazy woman” and then picks Loki up by the scruff and tells him from now on he will be learning “how a real man behaves”.

Fárbauti then sets about teaching Býleistr magic and combat, often with Loki or mother as the targets for his spells (which are only for combat, not helping around the house as the man emphasizes many times in between giving the two of them burns). Loki thinks he hates his father. Býleistr however seems ecstatic at the prospect of tormenting the person who hunts their food and mother instead focuses on desperately trying to meet Fárbauti’s many demands so there is nothing he can do but quietly patch his burns in secret since father has decreed healing a forbidden art in their house.

Father says real men don’t burn, even though he is the only one of them that does not.

For Loki, the end begins, as always, with desire. The thought that if he could just be more like what father wanted then things would be better. 

(Loki, in his own opinion, was a very dumb child, thinking he could make anything better in a home fated to burn since before he was born.)

It is a simple idea; the hares can turn from brown to white when needed just as birds change their feathers as they grow, and snakes shed old scales for new. Why can’t Loki change his appearance? He already is good at making little tricks to convince people they placed a game piece wrong, or the dice rolled a different number. This should be no different.

Naively, he decides to try it when he should be hunting one day. It is not easy, his bones creak and his organs feel like they are being twisted, he falls over the first time and gets sick, heaving the remnants of his breakfast all over the ground. It doesn’t work, but that doesn’t stop him. Loki is determined, so he does what he does best and practices.

It takes weeks but he is able to shift easily to any form he wants. Like a broken dam, the ability comes easily, his face and limbs stretching when needed. He goes to town with the face of a man grown, a widow, a child, and a relative, and people greet him as if he is their old friend. No one ever notices that he lies as easily as he breathes.

With his confidence buoyed, he goes and shows it to Mother while he heals the burns his father left after the last time, he spent the night in her bed after taking issue with the deer heart served for dinner.

“Look Mother,” he says with all the confidence his twelve-year-old frame will allow. “I can change my face so if I make myself look like father, then he won’t hurt us anymore.”

Mother screams and backhands him into a wall.

Loki spends the rest of the night patching his headwound and promising her he will never do that again while she mutters to herself about magic and gods. (He has no idea what a god is but mother doesn’t like it, so he won’t either.)

The next morning Mother heads into town for the first time in a long time and sends him out hunting while his father and brother do their best to burn down the southern part of the woods. Mother returns the next day, and Loki brings back several hares and neither of them speaks of it as father demands more mead.

The wait lasts for weeks while Loki does all he can to hide his shifting like he promised Mother. Loki is her most dutiful son so he should at least be able to do this much. How can Mother love him if he is useless?

Then the men come.

He watches them in the town, speaking to the locals and buying and selling wares. At first glance they are no different than the other traders that pass through, but they aren’t ones he recognizes, and the clothes are too fine for the backwoods they are in. The not-master of the group laughs and talks animatedly about doing a favor for a friend who normally passes through here before spinning up tales of faraway lands. The gullible towns folk lap it up.

He never mentions the friend’s name.

The actual leader moves like a ghost, never working to rearrange the wares and his workers, soldiers, because even the guards of the caravans before were not so well armed, and Loki knows the look from his father’s men, always let their eyes drift to him when it is time to make a decision. It’s a stupid deception set up by stupid people.

That night, he slips through the shadows of their camp on the edge of town when they camp for the night and eavesdrops on their stories of battles and sailing, and more importantly, mutters of Fárbauti’s name among many he doesn’t recognize.

The next day, Loki waits till the boss has wandered off to check on some of the old glowing runestones that mark the graves of some dead no one remembers out in the woods before stealing the old man’s face.

“Odin! Done already?” one of the men asks, jostling him and laughing. To which Loki replies, “Yes, I think it is about time we depart.” He replies, mimicking the man’s cadence perfectly. He then mounts the so-called Odin’s horse in a slipshod mimicry of an action he has seen traders do countless times and joins them in riding off to the next village. He lasts about half a day’s ride before making an excuse about magic flows in the woods and promising he will catch up before riding off the trail, into the woods, and back towards where he came.

By the time he slips back into town, the sun is setting and the man isn’t back. Loki releases the horse so it can wander off and get eaten by a bear or something and heads off into the woods to make camp and sleep. The idiot will probably find his way back to town and get picked up by one of the real trade caravans eventually and the whole experience of “woodland spirits playing tricks” will keep them from coming back ever again just like it does everyone else Loki has played around with.

Unfortunately, a week later the shithead has missed the caravan and is still stomping around the woods like an idiot and Loki is forced to take drastic measures. He has spent days watching perplexed as this idiot wanders in and out of town. He looks at random plants. Stares at the ancient and vaguely magic rock of the day. It’s just weird. Who acts like this?

Whatever, if he can’t take the hint, Loki will deliver it loud and clear. He steals the fake leader’s face and approaches casually, making plenty of noise.  “Odin! There you are! We wondered what happened to you!” He calls trying to muster a fraction of the man’s cheer.

Odin turns and smiles softly, calling back “Vé” So that’s his name Loki thinks. Well, the more you know.

“Are you ready to go?” Loki asks, “Or do you perhaps need to stare at mushrooms for a couple more days and see if these ones will grant you enlightenment where the first thousand failed too?”

Odin shrugs and continues towards him, striding past him to take the lead back towards town, “Perhaps.”

The two of them walk in silence as the sun dips below the horizon. As Odin steps out of the woods he turns back to call his brother only to find silence and that his footprints are the only ones in the late snow that now dusts the ground.

From the trees, Loki in the form of a fox, watches him retrace his steps in confusion, calling for a brother who was never there.

The next day Odin is gone, and Loki puts the episode from his mind. Mother has been acting odd as of late anyway.

A week later the man shows up again. This time at his house. With his mother.

Loki meets his eyes from the dark corner where the shadow of the house falls and lets the bastard watch as he rips the head from a freshly caught lynx with nothing but his bare hands.

The blood drips on the ground and the man meets his sullen gaze unflinchingly while Loki imagines what it would feel like to dig his magically sharpened fingers into the man’s guts this time. He’d eavesdropped on some of Fárbauti’s men recently and they said that some of those from the south bleed differently than they do. Loki has killed enough of Fárbauti’s men when they wander into the woods, drunk late at night, to know what giant-blood feels like as it runs over his fingers but maybe this southerner can let him find out if those rumors are true.

Instead of making his fantasies a reality, Mother calls him over.

“This is Odin, and he will be caring for you from now on.” She says and Loki is handed over without so much as a by-your-leave. Mother, bruised from another day of failing to meet Fárbauti’s demands and night of refusing Loki’s offers of treatment, plops him into the back of Odin’s cart with nothing but a small bag of supplies and cups his face, and whispers to him. “Be good and remember this is for your own good.” Before disappearing back into the cabin while Loki is left to ride in Odin’s cart as the man heads back toward town.

But Loki has never been one to accept his lot. The call of a raven distracts his jailer, and he slips out, silent as a mouse, he disappears into the brush. His initial plan is to run as far and fast as he can to ditch Odin, hide out in the woods for a couple of weeks, and then return home once no one is looking for him anymore.

The first step is easy, he slips through the woods letting his shape bend and twirl as he changes forms to whatever will allow him to move the farthest the fastest. Sometimes he is a great elk, others an eagle, and others a serpent hiding in the brush as he looks out for Odin’s plodding steps behind him. His steps blend in with the dozens of others that mark the deer trials of the forest and Loki knows he has left no trace of himself. By nightfall, he is certain that he has lost the man for good.

The next morning Odin is standing beneath the tree Loki slept in as if such things are normal for him and Loki ends up kicking a large quantity of snow onto him before taking off as a merlin before landing in a lake some leagues away as a gray heron. He spends hours standing on frozen logs over the ice and letting the idiot wander the woods lost and alone, only for said idiot to show up on the shore of the lake and glare at the ice like it personally offended him.

Then Loki gets divebombed by a raven.

Loki, for the record, absolutely destroys that damn bird. He drags it through the ice and into the water and nearly spears it with his beak before his new worst enemy wades out and pulls him off of it. Loki slips his grasp, disappears under the water, and resurfaces in the path the old jerk left in the ice wearing his brother’s face while the man is distracted with the bird.

Odin turns around, shocks at who he sees, and then Loki promptly uses this adult’s superior strength to turn what looks like a friendly wave into a broken nose. Odin tackles him back into the water and does something to Loki that leaves him unable to move as the cold water pulls him down and his vision darkens.

When he comes too, he is back on the shore in his true form and to add insult to injury wrapped in a fluffy fur cloak to keep the cold off. While Odin sits over him and watches. He tries to give Loki something from a flask and Loki snaps at him with his teeth, letting them shift to be longer and sharper. Odin regards him for a moment longer before sighing.

“All right, that is quite enough of that I would say.” And he pokes Loki in the forehead again and he knows no more.

[realllyrandommann]

One day I thought I should get out of my comfort zone (my cosy little world) and play something harsher. On Forge. Yeah, severe lag incoming. Anyway, I installed a bunch of eerie mods and jumped right in. Almost immediately I started taking notes of my in-character experience. Here's what I wrote.

---

cut down one of those big trees. meant to spend the night high up but it's freezing cold, and I'd left my workbench on the ground. seeing monsterous creatures but fine so far.

these sights man. the aurora in the night sky is something to see.

getting so very cold. had to lit the furnace again. as long as there's something to burn, should be ok.

the day has come, but so did the rain. i had hoped to get warm in the sun but the sky is grey…

it's been raining the entire day. i need food, need shelter.

found a clearing with purple flowers and purple trees. upon being cut down, one of them revealed a core of deadly white.

i-i see eyes. i hear voices! noises- i must hide somewhere, quick!

something hit me while i was staring down a deep hole in the ground. i'm not alone! i cannot see a living soul but i'm not alone!

all horses stare at me

i smashed a snail. disgusting goo came out of its shell. ew!

back in the forest. it's much warmer than in the open.

i don't want to die! they're creeping all around me. the shadows. the shadows!

i… have calmed down a bit. but very weak.

extremely exhausted but with a place to sit for the night!

risked it all, risked my tired legs but got down to the river and collected some sand for window panes. and fish! i cut down fish! i can finally eat! only to get home-

so nice and warm by a firepit with my stomach full. i feel blessed!

how dangerous nature is, and how beautiful. i saw the sky tinted in reds as i was climbing the mountain last night. i must be at the very top of the world.

carelessly lost my sword in the river. i cannot keep killing fish anymore. i'm disgusted by it! have to find another source of food.

the sword is- i got it back. i don't know how but it's back to me.

went out to set up a crop farm and got ambushed by them exploding creatures. not setting a foot outside until morning. the tree i planted won't grow. i wonder if crops would?..

i simply cannot believe how good i feel. no voices or strange sound, no running through darkness and freezing night.

i'm making a mistake. it's getting dark, i am far from home and don't have anything on me. even food! only the rotten pieces from those monsters. although it seems to be warm here. i'm digging down.

working hard but still can't help thinking. what if i won't find the way home? will i perish in the darkness?

it's raining outside! i don't know where to go! is it morning or evening? i can see the overgrown field… faintly, in the distance. that's where i came from. will try to make it. i've mined a shiny stone.

the field be damned! i lost all sense of direction. what will become of me when it gets dark?

i'm cold. god help me! am i dying? there are creatures in the crying skies. huge, flying creatures. i can see something glowing ahead but dare not risk it. i-i will die.

there are pale lips in the sky, grinning with a wicked smile. …is this the moon?..

should i… should i eat the thing i got from these walking corpses? ah! the fire is out. i'm so hungry. what am i to do? the awful creatures are still waiting for me. if i survive this… i'll have only a day.

i- i- i ate the cursed thing. it's a bit more bearable now. it- it did me good. bah, cannot believe i'm saying it.

dawn! begone, awful demons!

what… what is this? am i… dead? was i?.. i went to investigate a mysterious frame standing in the open. there was a block of solid gold, but the place was so hot! my greed blinded me. oh, how embarassing! how i stumbled between the rocks, swoony and still hoping to somehow escape my fate. but- but i'm still here. i'll find that place. as i've said, i only have one day.

it's so very dark. but thanks to the night i found the place! the frame is broken and has a strange violet glow. and also, i- i'd seen my own body. not sure. it's not there anymore. i'm waiting in this unholy place till the morning-red and- i just want to be back home.

---

Even more beautiful screenshots ↓↓↓

Shiny!

[nymfey]

Name:  Arwen Woodlark

Race:  Nymph ( Fey )

Class:  Druid, Circle of the Land

Background:  Wanderer

Alignment:  Chaotic Good

Age:  30 ( in mortal years, though she was never “born” )

Gender:  Cis Female ( she / her )

Sexuality:  Pansexual, polyamorous

𝐀𝐛𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐒𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐬

Strength ( STR ):  10

Dexterity ( DEX ):  17

Constitution ( CON ):  10

Intelligence ( INT ):  14

Wisdom ( WIS ):  17

Charisma ( CHA ):  19

𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐞𝐬

Saving Throws:  Dexterity, Wisdom

Skills:  Nature, Animal Handling, Insight, Medicine.

Languages:  Sylvan, Common

𝐀𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞

Height: 5’9. Nymphs are typically tall and slender.

Skin Tone:  Very pale pink, with darker blushes on cheeks, nose, tips of ears, and fingertips. Light freckles across her nose.

Hair:  Light pink, messy, long length down to the middle of her back with choppy bangs.

Eyes:  Pale gold. Naturally pink eyelashes.

Wings:  Can manifest translucent, glittering insect-like wings, though she hides them around mortals.

Tattoos:  Two small white dots beneath her eyes; a floral half-sleeve tattoo on her right forearm in pink, yellow, and blue hues.

Scars:  Jagged scars on the right side of her neck and the left side of her face from an eagle attack while in fox wildshape.

IRL Faceclaim: Peach PRC.

Voice claim: Also Peach PRC. ( i wanted her to have an accent that sounded something other than british, since she isn’t from the mortal realm. So Arwen sounds australian lol. )

𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲

Arwen is full of curiosity and wonder, seeing the world through the eyes of someone who’s never fully understood the boundaries between realms.    She has an inherent gentleness and warmth, which animals sense immediately.    People, however, find her a bit strange—her mannerisms and speech are just a touch “off” from normal societal norms, as she sometimes interacts with people as if they were animals, with a mix of cautious curiosity and respectful distance.    Despite her innate empathy and kindness, she can be somewhat naive, and her lack of understanding of social conventions leads her into awkward or unintendedly humorous or even dangerous situations.    She’s impulsive, sometimes to her detriment, acting on whims without considering the consequences, and this adventurous spirit has often led her into danger.

𝐁𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲

Arwen Woodlark is a creature of the Feywild, a realm where beauty is a living force, and emotions manifest as tangible things.    Nymphs like Arwen are not born, nor do they grow as mortals do.    Instead, they simply come into existence—conjured by the essence of beauty itself, as if the wild needed them to be.    One day, Arwen simply was, emerging fully-formed as an elven-looking woman beneath the dappled light of ancient Feywild trees, her skin tinted with the soft blush of dawn, her hair a wild cascade of pink, and her eyes the color of pale, molten gold.    She felt no confusion at her existence, no fear of being alone;    to her, the vibrant world around her was home, and she was its daughter.

The first years of her life were spent wandering the endless wilds of her homeland, surrounded by the creatures and spirits that called it home.    She was like a whisper in the woods, moving between the trees, learning to shift into animal forms and speak the language of plants.    For decades, Arwen was content with these silent companions—the larks that sang in her ear, the foxes that nuzzled her hand, the ancient oaks that whispered of long-forgotten times.    A particularly bold songbird even chose her as its friend, giving her the name “Arwen Woodlark.”    She wore it with quiet pride, as it was the only name she’d ever known.

Arwen discovered she was different from other fey.    Where others were content to dwell forever in the Feywild, hidden from the mortal realms, she felt a yearning for something she couldn’t name.    Her curiosity grew like a new sapling each day, until she began to wonder about the worlds beyond her own.    She started studying fragments of lore from travelers and wandering spirits, picking up knowledge of distant realms where strange beings—mortals—lived brief, flickering lives.    She listened with fascination to stories of forests she had never touched, mountains that scraped skies she had never seen, cities that bustled with sounds and smells unknown to her.

It was the Feywild itself that eventually showed her the way, as if answering her longing with a gift.    Through a twist of the veil between worlds, Arwen found she could step into the mortal realm, as easily as one might step through a curtain.    The first time she crossed over, she marveled at everything—the weight of the air, the sounds of birds she didn’t recognize, the scent of earth that was somehow richer and more grounded than in the Feywild.    But her joy was quickly tempered by a harsh lesson.

The first mortal she met was a wandering scholar, captivated by her beauty before she even had the chance to speak.    But before she could warn him, she saw a strange glaze cloud his eyes, and he let out a strangled gasp.    She didn’t understand at first, but when he stumbled blindly forward, she realized with horror that he could no longer see.    It was then she learned that her beauty, so natural to the Feywild, was dangerous here.    A nymph’s face could mesmerize, even blind, a mortal if they weren’t prepared—and in her naivete, she had no way to shield them from it    ( She learns to control this rather well, and when she can’t, lesser restoration does wonders to remove blindness lol ).

Heartbroken by the harm she’d caused, Arwen withdrew from towns and villages, keeping mostly to the wilderness where her presence wouldn’t hurt anyone.    She devoted herself to practicing control over her aura.    For many years, her companions remained animals, who were drawn to her because her presence filled them with a feeling of peace.    Birds nestled in her hair, wild foxes slept beside her, and she moved through forests like a shadow, unseen by mortal eyes.

In her solitude, she continued to learn the ways of the mortal world.    She gathered discarded books from the edges of villages, pouring over them by moonlight until she taught herself enough of the common tongue to understand the basics of human language and society.    She was enchanted by their ideas, their stories, the strange ways in which mortals thought and felt and dreamed.    Yet, she also learned of their dangers.    

One night, as she wandered through the woods with her insect-like wings visible, a group of men saw her and saw her as a magical creature of great value—something to be captured and sold.    They chased her, hoping to profit off her “parts” by selling them to hags or wizards, and though she escaped, the experience left her wary.    From that day on, she kept her wings hidden when near mortal settlements, pretending to be nothing more than an elf.

It was during her explorations of the mortal realm that Arwen stumbled upon Baldur’s Gate.    The city was unlike anything she had ever seen—a living entity of stone and noise, filled with too many people, all rushing and bustling in ways she didn’t understand.    She wandered the streets in awe, both overwhelmed and fascinated.    Every corner seemed to hold a new mystery, every face a new story.    But before she could fully comprehend the strangeness of it all, disaster struck.

In the chaos of the mind flayer invasion, Arwen was captured by creatures unlike any she’d ever encountered.    She was infected with a mind flayer tadpole, a parasite that threatened to consume her from within and turn her into something monstrous.   

She realized that she would need to journey with strangers also infected to find a cure, to understand what had been done to her and how she might stop it.    For the first time, she would have to trust mortals, to navigate their world closely, despite the risks it posed to her and to them.    She keeps her true nature hidden, pretending to be an elf, fearful that if they knew the truth, they would see her as nothing more than a fey creature—a thing to be feared, or worse, a prize to be captured.

Yet, beneath her anxiety and the unfamiliar weight of mortality pressing upon her, Arwen feels a glimmer of excitement.    Here, at last, is her chance to truly understand the lives of mortals.    She moves through her new companions with a gentle curiosity, studying their mannerisms, learning their stories, and marveling at their resilience. In her eyes, each of them is as wondrous as any creature in the Feywild, a spark of something fleeting and beautiful.    She sees herself as their protector, and though she does not always understand their ways, she’s determined to keep them safe.

𝐎𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐈𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

Arwen is likely to be in agreement with Lae’zel on most things in the beginning when it comes to the tadpole, since she seems to know everything about it and Arwen knows absolutely nothing.    However, unlike Lae’zel, it is nearly impossible for Arwen to pass by people who need help. 

While infected with the mindflayer tadpole, Arwen is unable to teleport to the Feywild, something that utterly devastates her when she realizes.   The Feywild is her home, her mother.    Which makes her urgency to remove it all the greater.    Good luck convincing her to consume more tadpoles too. 

A nymph’s kisses have healing properties, so whenever someone is hurt, she’s always trying to kiss them better. Nothing sexual or affectionate about it really, it’s just her thing.

Naturally, she smells of roses, lavender, and honeysuckle.

[the-vast-corner-of-the-galaxy]

The Way It Comes To Be- Chapter 4 (DIRECTOR'S CUT)

Chapter summary: Everything seems to be going okay, but now Thorin has to face his own destiny.

Link on Ao3

Rating: Mature

Relationships: Thorin x Bilbo, Kili x Tauriel

***

Chapter 4: Dawning Renewal

The days in the Lonely Mountain were growing colder with each passing day. The few trees that dotted the area had nearly shed all their leaves, and snow continued to fall steadily. The harsh weather wasn’t making the rebuilding of the Kingdom Under the Mountain or Dale any easier; snow buried new constructions, and the ice threatened to deform them. This placed enormous pressure on all the workers, who were racing against time to finish everything before the full force of winter set in.

Everyone had a role to play in the restoration of the city: men, elves, and dwarves worked together on the external structures, rebuilding houses and public buildings. Many of the women and some elves focused on creating farms for agriculture and beautifying the city with plants to make it more elegant. Dáin’s surviving soldiers, along with some humans and Thorin’s Company, were hard at work restoring the palace, both inside and out.

Thorin's Company, loyal to their soon-to-be king, moved constantly between Dale and Erebor. They handled a variety of tasks: attending diplomatic meetings alongside Thorin, inspecting progress in Dale, overseeing the work in Erebor, and laboring to restore the palace.

Despite the frantic pace, there was a palpable sense of unity and determination among the workers. Dwarves and elves, once bitter enemies, now worked side by side. The men of Laketown, grateful for the refuge and aid given to them, worked tirelessly, feeling a deep sense of obligation to repay their allies.

Bilbo, though uncertain whether he would stay or leave, found himself increasingly involved in these activities. While not a builder by nature, his sharp mind and keen eye for detail made him indispensable in overseeing the progress and ensuring that nothing was overlooked. He often found himself darting be tween sites, relaying messages, and coordinating the various efforts of men, elves, and dwarves alike. His small figure became a familiar sight amidst the bustling crowds, a reassuring presence in the midst of all the chaos.

One chilly morning, Bilbo stood atop a scaffold, looking out over the bustling scene below. He could see Thorin in the distance, directing a group of dwarves as they hauled a massive stone into place. The king’s regal bearing and commanding presence were unmistakable, even from afar. Despite the challenges, Thorin's determination never wavered, and his leadership was inspiring to all. 

As Bilbo watched, he felt a surge of pride and happiness. The Lonely Mountain was slowly coming back to life, and he was a part of it. The thought warmed him against the biting wind. He knew there was still much to do, but with each passing day, the dream of a restored Erebor came closer to reality.

Below, in the bustling streets of Dale, Bard was equally busy. The townspeople respected him greatly for his leadership and bravery, and they followed his guidance as they worked to rebuild their homes. Bard’s efforts were focused not just on physical reconstruction but also on ensuring the people’s morale remained high. He often visited families, listened to their concerns, and offered words of encouragement.

Meanwhile, in the newly established farms, elves and women of Dale worked together, their hands deftly planting seeds and tending to the growing crops. The collaboration between elves and humans was a rare and beautiful sight, symbolizing the newfound alliances forged through shared hardship and respect.

Inside the mountain, Thorin’s company worked diligently. Balin, with his extensive knowledge of Erebor’s history and architecture, directed efforts to restore the grandeur of the palace halls. Dwalin, ever the warrior, took charge of reinforcing the defenses, ensuring that Erebor would be well-protected against any future threats. Fili and Kili, young and energetic, were always eager to lend a hand wherever needed, their enthusiasm infectious.

Bilbo’s frequent interactions with Thorin grew more meaningful each day. They shared brief, intense conversations about the progress and the future, their bond deepening with each encounter. The tension between them, a mix of unresolved feelings and mutual respect, simmered beneath the surface, adding an unspoken layer to their interactions.

Bilbo found himself gravitating toward Thorin more often than ever, and even more than when they were on their quest. Their exchanges had always been purposeful from the beginning, but lately, there was a bigger weight behind every single word they spoke. Thorin’s glances lingered just a moment too long, his tone even softer whenever he addressed Bilbo.

Once, while discussing the day’s progress, Thorin’s hand brushed against Bilbo’s as they both reached for the same blueprint. Bilbo felt his heart jump at the unexpected contact, but neither of them pulled away immediately. Thorin’s fingers hovered near his, a brief hesitation that sent a jolt of awareness between them.

“There’s still much work to be done,” Thorin said, his voice lower than usual, almost as if they were discussing something far more intimate than construction plans.

Bilbo cleared his throat, forcing his focus back on the scroll in front of him. “Yes,” he replied, his voice sounding steadier than he felt. “But we’ll manage.”

There was a moment of silence, the air thick with something Bilbo couldn’t quite name. Thorin stood just close enough that Bilbo could feel the heat radiating from his body, his presence grounding, yet it set Bilbo’s nerves on edge in a way he had never anticipated.

As the days passed, these small moments became harder to ignore. Thorin would stand just a little too close to Bilbo during their briefings, his gaze more intent than necessary when the hobbit spoke. Another time, after a long day, Thorin’s hand lingered on Bilbo’s shoulder just for a heartbeat longer than it should have, before he muttered a gruff “Good night” and disappeared into the darkness.

Bilbo found himself waiting for these fleeting touches, though he would never admit it aloud, and when Thorin’s gaze would meet his, steady and unyielding, Bilbo would feel something stir in the pit of his stomach—a mix of anxiety and anticipation, as if they were standing on the edge of something neither of them dared to speak of.

Then, one evening, as the sun dipped low, casting the mountains in hues of amber and crimson, Bilbo stood beside Thorin atop the palace. Below, the workers finished their tasks, the clatter of hammers gradually fading into the evening air. The silence between the two of them felt charged, not awkward, but thick with something that neither quite knew how to articulate or manifest.

“We’ve come a long way,” Thorin said at last, his voice low, almost thoughtful as his gaze fixed on the horizon.

Bilbo nodded, though his thoughts were far from the construction efforts. “And we still have a long way to go,” he replied, his voice steady despite the strange tightness in his chest. He glanced at Thorin from the corner of his eye, feeling the unspoken tension that lingered between them electrify the atmosphere.

Thorin turned then, his sapphire eyes resting on Bilbo with an intensity that made Bilbo’s heart race exponentially. There was something different in Thorin’s expression, something softer, more vulnerable. “I didn’t expect… to have come this far with you by my side,” Thorin murmured, his words deliberate, almost as though he was testing the weight of them. “Now, I cannot imagine seeing this through without you.”

The hobbit swallowed, caught off guard by the rawness in Thorin’s voice. His pulse quickened exponentially, a sudden warmth creeping up his neck. He didn’t know how to respond to that, at least not with words. “We’ll see it through,” Bilbo said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper, though there was a determination in it. “Whatever comes… we’ll finish what we’ve started.”

The air between them grew heavier with the words unsaid, and the silence was charged with a tension that felt almost palpable. Thorin didn’t move, but the way he looked at Bilbo was enough to make the hobbit’s breath hitch. There was an intensity in his eyes, something that made the space between them feel smaller than it actually was. The world seemed to shrink for a moment, leaving just the two of them standing on the edge of something deeper.

Bilbo shifted, his heart pounding in his chest. The sun continued its descent, painting the sky in soft purples and golds, but neither of them moved to break the silence. It was as though they were waiting—both unsure of what exactly—but knowing that something was there, just beneath the surface, waiting to be acknowledged

“Thorin?” Balin called from afar. Thorin and Bilbo turned around and faced the white-beard dwarf. 

“Balin, is everything alright?” Thorin asked.

“Yes. There is someone waiting for you at the gates. He wishes to see you,” Balin answered.

“And who is this mysterious person you're talking about?” asked Thorin.

“Come see for yourself,” Balin teased. Thorin's expression changed to an inquisitive and serious one, but he still followed Balin. Bilbo was also really confused about who would be looking for Thorin right now. Could it be anyone dangerous?

When they got to the main entrance, both Bilbo and Thorin approached the gate carefully. A tall, lean figure was approaching them from the shadows. 

“Greetings, old friends,” the figure greeted, got closer, and revealed himself.

It was Gandalf.

Thorin and Bilbo couldn't believe their faces. He left shortly after the Battle of The Five Armies and said he would return at some point, but didn't say when. The dwarf and the hobbit ran to Gandalf and hugged him. After such a treacherous battle, the old wizard was delighted to see both of them alive and safe. 

“Gandalf!” Bilbo gasped, “I can't believe you're here!” 

“I wouldn't miss the rebuilding of the great Kingdom Under the Mountain,” said Gandalf happily. 

“It is a pleasure to have you here,” said Thorin, smiling. 

“I am honored by your hospitality, Your Majesty,” Gandalf kneeled in front of the dwarf to show him the uttermost respect. Bilbo decided to copy Gandalf, not really sure of what he was doing. Thorin was left speechless and didn't know how to react at the moment. 

“Well, thanks,” Thorin said awkwardly.

“Oh, Thorin, you haven't changed a bit,” Gandalf laughed, but the comment made Thorin feel very uneasy since Gandalf didn't know how badly Dragon Sickness affected him. Thorin and Bilbo then decided to show Gandalf around the palace. He was amazed by how quickly the construction progressed in just a couple of weeks, and congratulated both men on the efforts they placed into rebuilding Erebor.

“There is still a lot to be done,” Bilbo told Gandalf, “We haven't even started on reconstructing the back of the palace!”

“Well, I think that without Bilbo's great attentiveness to detail, the palace would be a horrendous mess,” said Thorin, looking attentively at Bilbo. The hobbit got flustered and smiled sheepishly at the dwarf king. Gandalf noticed this and simply smiled to himself, sensing the bounded connection these two men have developed. 

“Now, Bilbo, if you don’t mind, I need to have a little talk with Thorin about a very important matter and to get updated about the last few weeks I have been gone,” Gandalf told Bilbo. The hobbit simply smiled at both men and left the hallway, while the two men headed towards the great gates of the Throne Room. Once they were inside, Gandalf began speaking. 

“I can see that you two have become inseparable,” Gandalf said. Thorin slightly blushed and smiled. Thinking tenderly about his hobbit. 

“Well, you can put it that way,” said Thorin, “Bilbo was been such a skilled burglar… and an amazing person. We’ve grown close.”

“Oh, it’s very obvious,” Gandalf teased, “It looks like my decision on bringing Bilbo along with the Company on the quest has been a very asserted one.”

“It was,” replied Thorin,”At first, I underestimated Bilbo’s courage and abilities, but he proved that he was braver and more skilled than anyone I’ve fought with. He’s saved my life more times than I can count. I owe him... more than words can express.” Thorin’s voice faltered, hesitation creeping in.

Gandalf’s knowing smile widened as he watched the dwarf. “It’s clear that Bilbo means more to you than just his skill,” Gandalf said, his voice gentle.

Thorin remained silent for a moment, his thoughts veiled, but his feelings were unmistakable. In all the years Gandalf had known Thorin, he had never seen him care for anyone like this. Bilbo had become something of a lifeline for the dwarf king, and was even more valuable to him than the gold under the Lonely Mountain. 

“Well, Thorin, I did not just come to pay you a well deserved visit,” Gandalf said in a serious tone. “There are rumors circulating about another Orc attack around these lands. After the death of Azog and Borg, the Orcs seemed to have sworn revenge for the death of their leaders. There have already been a few raids down south and in the far west, near the Blue Mountains, but they will not stop until they get to Erebor no matter what.”

Thorin’s eyes filled with preoccupation and distress. Even if his features remained still, the way his blue eyes darkened conveyed the storm of emotions that just rose up from his mind. He clenched his jaw, the weight of his kingship settling heavily on his shoulders. Erebor was his responsibility— its people, his kin, the kingdom he had fought so long to reclaim. The threat of another Orc attack stirred a huge wave of anger within him, but alongside it came a pang of fear for those he cared about.

“They would dare challenge us again?” Thorin’s voice was low, almost a growl, as his hand tightened around the armrest of the throne. 

“The only thing these Orcs want is revenge, and would do anything to get it,” Gandalf said. “However… I also fear that there is something darker and more sinister behind all of this.”

Gandalf began talking about some of his discoveries in Don Guldur, how he met a being called the Necromancer, a strange entity that he later on discovered was another entity called Sauron. Gandalf did not go much into detail about Sauron, but even if Thorin did not get all of information and only heard rumors about him in the past, he could sense that the idea of his return was already very dangerous. 

“We’re… not entirely sure if Sauron is the one behind all of these attacks,” Gandalf said in a low voice. “ We are not even sure if he was the one who intentionally sent Azog to kill you, but if Sauron is indeed orchestrating all this chaos, his return is inevitable. The only question is when he will return, and how prepared we will be”

Gandalf’s words hung in the air like a stormy cloud, heavy and foreboding. Thorin remained silent for a moment, the weight of the crown feeling heavier than usual. The torches in the throne room shone against the polished turquoise walls, but the light seemed to dim with the breaking news. 

“We cannot afford another war,” Thorin finally said, his voice low but steady. “Erebor has just begun to rebuild. There’s been enough suffering for us all.”

Gandalf’s keen eyes softened, sensing the inner turmoil within the dwarf king. “I understand your reluctance, Thorin, but you must also understand that this is no ordinary war. Sauron is no ordinary foe. His power can spread like a sickness, corrupting everything in its path. We aren’t very sure why Sauron wishes to return, but no matter what happens, it will affect ALL of Middle Earth.”

He paused, allowing the weight of his words to sink in before continuing, “Sauron is not simply after a kingdom or gold. He craves dominion over all of Middle Earth. His darkness doesn’t merely destroy…it enslaves. Those who fall under his influence become mere shadows of themselves, twisted and bent to his will.”

Thorin’s brow furrowed deeply. "You speak of him like some kind of god. How could one being hold so much power?"

Gandalf sighed. "It is not just his mighty influence on the battlefield that makes him dangerous, Thorin. He wields fear like a weapon, preying on the weaknesses and desires of others. Once, long ago, he deceived even the most powerful of rulers with gifts: the Rings of Power. They were meant to strengthen their bearers, but in reality, they were chains, binding them to Sauron’s will."

The mention of the Rings caused Thorin to straighten, the ancient stories rising from the depths of his mind, pressing on his consciousness. “The Rings,” Thorin murmured, eyes narrowing. “I’ve heard of their power… even the Dwarves weren’t immune.”

Gandalf nodded solemnly. “Yes, the seven given to the Dwarf lords were not as easily controlled as those of Men, but they still brought ruin. Their greed became greater… that endless pursuit of wealth made them more vulnerable to fall. Your people have always been resistant to domination, Thorin, but the pull of power—of gold— can corrupt even the strongest hearts.”

Thorin’s jaw clenched as the truth behind those words stirred something within him. The memory of his own family’s fall to dragon-sickness still fresh in his heart. His own fall to that wretched sickness also gnawed at his heart, filling it with the guilt of almost making Erebor crumble completely to pieces. 

"Erebor nearly fell once to the lust for gold," Thorin said quietly, his eyes hardening. "I will not let that happen again."

“That is why you must prepare,” Gandalf urged. “The fate of Erebor and more is at stake. If Sauron indeed rises, the lands of Men, Elves, and Dwarves will all fall in turn. There will be no safe haven… not even here.”

Thorin’s gaze fell to the golden floor beneath him, his fists tightening at his sides. He had always fought for his people, for his homeland, but now, he realized the fight was larger than he had ever imagined. It wasn’t just about Erebor anymore, but about the entire world. His heart weighed heavy, but he also knew that he could not run from this fight at all. 

“And what would you have me do?” Thorin asked, his voice gruff, yet steady. “I will not abandon my people, but if what you say is true… What chance do we have against such a force?”

Gandalf smiled slightly, though his expression remained serious. “I do not ask you to fight alone, Thorin. There are others who will stand with you: Elves, Men, Dwarves, and even Hobbits. You must forge alliances, and unite with the free peoples of Middle Earth. This battle cannot be won by one race alone. The only way we can possibly fight this foe when he returns is together.”

Thorin considered Gandalf’s words, the tension in his shoulders easing only slightly. "If it is alliances we need, then I will speak with more Elves and the Men. Erebor will not stand alone in this fight."

Gandalf nodded approvingly. "That is a wise course of action, Thorin Oakenshield, but remember, Sauron’s strength lies not only in his armies, but in the fear he instills. If we stand united, with courage and resolve, we can resist him, but if we let fear divide us, all will be lost."

“We must do everything to prevent that,” Thorin said with determination, though fear was installed in his oceanic eyes. “We cannot be further divided… not now.”

Gandalf’s eyes softened even more, sensing the inner conflict brewing within Thorin. He took a deep breath, knowing what he had to reveal next would strike at the heart of the dwarf king standing in front of him.

“There’s… something else, Thorin,” Gandalf said, his voice dropping to a more somber tone.

Thorin’s brow furrowed in confusion as Gandalf’s demeanor shifted.

“During my time in Dol Guldur, I encountered a tortured soul,” Gandalf began, his eyes dropping. “It was your father…Thrain.”

Thorin stiffened, his hands tightening into fists. “My father? You’ve seen him?”

Gandalf nodded gravely. “I found him imprisoned there, broken in both body and spirit. He had been taken by the Necromancer’s forces many years ago.”

Thorin’s breath caught in his throat, his mind racing. “But why…how could this happen?” His voice was thick with a mixture of disbelief and anguish. 

Thorin knew Thrain had survived the Battle of Moria because he never found his body among the fallen, but he never knew where his father went. Some said that Thrain was driven mad by greed and went missing, while others said he was dead. Either way, Thorin never found him, or even a trace of him, which limited his search for his father, and led him to think he was most likely dead. 

Gandalf began speaking again. “We all know that Thrain went missing during the Battle of Azanulbizar, but we never knew where he went. I found out that he wandered into the Dimrill gate after the battle, where he was captured by Orcs and taken to Dol Guldur as a prisoner. He was tortured by the enemy to get information about the whereabouts of the map to the Lonely Mountain, and the key to the kingdom. However, he did not want the gold…. He wanted the Ring of Power that was passed down to Thror, and Sauron captured it.”

“Why would he want that ring?” Thorin asked. “Why would Sauron even need….” Thorin’s voice faltered as realization hit him. He remembered the old Elvish poem he heard when he was a child:

Three Rings for the Elven-kings under the sky,

Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone,

Nine for Mortal Men doomed to die,

One for the Dark Lord on his dark throne

In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.

One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them…

“The seven…” Thorin murmured. “Sauron… he wants them. He wants the Rings! He’s…”

Gandalf nodded gravely. “Yes. He seeks to reclaim them all, to regain his power, and the worst is yet to come, Thorin.” Gandalf’s eyes met Thorin’s deep blue, filled with sorrow. “Thrain… your father did not survive his imprisonment. He died there, in Dol Guldur.”

Thorin froze, the weight of the words sinking into him like a blade. “Dead?” His voice cracked, disbelief and grief flooding him. “He… he is gone?”

“Yes,” Gandalf said, his tone soft, yet unwavering. “I tried to save him, but I was too late. The torment he endured… broke him. By the time I found him, he had little strength left. His mind was shattered, yet he remembered you. He spoke of you before the end, Thorin.”

Thorin’s face was stone, the anguish beneath barely held at bay. His father, his blood, lost not in battle, but to Sauron’s darkness.

“And he was alone…” Thorin whispered, his voice trembling with suppressed rage. “All those years… alone.”

“I am so sorry, Thorin,” Gandalf whispered. 

Thorin’s fists clenched, his knuckles white as a storm brewed in his heart. “Alone in that wretched place, tortured for information that would only serve the Enemy. I should have searched harder, fought harder to find him.”

“Do not blame yourself,” Gandalf said gently. “No one could have known about Sauron’s demise easily.”

“At least I could have tried!” Thorin exploded, slamming his fist against the stone table with a resounding crack. His chest heaved heavily with fury and grief, which was pouring itself  out in waves. “I should have honored his memory! Instead, I let him be forgotten—let his suffering continue while I lived, while I… believed him lost to madness or death. I let him down, Gandalf. I let my father down.” 

Gandalf watched Thorin for a long moment, his heart heavy with sorrow for the dwarf before him. “You did not know, Thorin,” he said softly, his voice full of understanding. “Your father’s fate was not yours to bear alone. Sauron’s darkness has touched many, and even the bravest of us would have been powerless to prevent it.”

Thorin shook his head, his breath ragged. “But I should have been there. I should have done more. I should have known…”

“Grief clouds all our minds, even the strongest ones,” Gandalf continued, his voice unwavering but full of compassion. “But your father’s memory lives on in you, in the choices you make now. That is how you honor him, not by carrying the burden of his death, but by living in his name, by fighting against the very evil that took him.”

Thorin stood still, Gandalf’s words washing over him, but he could not shake the weight of his guilt. He could almost see his father’s face now, haggard and broken, trapped in the darkness of Dol Guldur… Alone.

“He spoke of you, Thorin,” Gandalf added gently. “He was proud of you, and he loved you. He wanted you to know that.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Thorin’s rage subsided into a heavy, aching sorrow. He let out a long, trembling breath, his gaze fixed on the floor. His father’s shadow loomed over him, but now, he knew what had to be done.

“There is still hope in this world, Thorin Oakenshield,” said Gandalf, breaking the silence, “You are hope itself. With you as ruler of Erebor, the people of Middle Earth will slowly begin to trust again. Your victory at the Battle of the Five Armies is spreading like wild fire across the lands.”

Thorin simply nodded silently, feeling the intense pressure of his role as king heavy on his back. The dwarf always desired to rule Erebor someday, but actually facing that reality felt even more daunting and intimidating than ever. 

“I know I have to do this, but I wonder how I will be able to rule over this kingdom if I do not even have hope in myself,” Thorin replied in a tone of surrender. 

Gandalf looked at Thorin with a mixture of compassion and firmness. “Thorin, the strength of a king is not measured by the absence of doubt, but by his ability to rise above it. You have faced dragons and armies with courage. Now, you must face your own fears with the same resolve. Hope is not something you find, it is something you create. And it is clear to me, and to all who follow you, that you have the power to do so.”

The wizard smiled gently, seeing the realization dawning in Thorin's eyes. “Exactly, Thorin. You have always had the strength within you. It’s the same strength that led you to reclaim Erebor and to protect those you care about. Now, that strength must guide you as a ruler.”

Thorin’s mind lingered on that thought for a while. Gandalf did have a point about how hope is something that is created, yet the task felt so difficult to Thorin. He has faced thousands of foes in the last 24 years since Erebor’s capture and today, but how? He wasn’t so sure how he actually found the strength to do so, but he actually did. That courage in him was still inside him, stirring his body and his heart. Thorin soon enough realized that he was the one who created that wave of moving energy that gave him the courage to face any threats, and he could use it to face his fears and weave veins of hope.

He was the only one who could change his destiny.

He was the architect of his own destiny (1). 

The battle was finally over, and now, it was time to face the real challenges ahead: to rule Erebor. It was finally time to do what he wished to since his use of reason, time to face what was soon to come once and for all.

Gandalf placed a reassuring hand on Thorin's shoulder. “Remember, Thorin, you are not alone. You have your kin, your friends, and allies by your side. Trust in them, as they trust in you. Together, you will rebuild this kingdom, and hope will flourish once more.”

Thorin looked into Gandalf's wise eyes and felt a renewed sense of determination. “Thank you, Gandalf.”

Gandalf nodded, his eyes twinkling with pride and affection. “Then go forth, Thorin Oakenshield, and lead your people into a brighter future. The road will be difficult, but I have no doubt that you will succeed.”

With those words, Thorin felt a surge of resolve. He turned to face the vast halls of Erebor, the kingdom he had fought so hard to reclaim. The challenges ahead were daunting, but with hope and drive, he knew he would lead his people to greatness.

***

Notes: 1. Amado Nervo, a Mexican poet, wrote "porque veo al final de mi rudo camino / que yo fui el arquitecto de mi propio destino," meaning "because I see at the end of my rough road / that I was the architect of my own destiny."

[nirikeehan]

wip wheneverrr

I wasn't sure I'd have anything to share this week, because I've been hiding away in the woods on vacation, but @theluckywizard tagged me. I've been reading Wolf Hall by Hilary Mantel, which is lyrical af, which made me want to write more Kingdom Come. So here is a little start of the next chapter.

---

He kisses her on the temple and eases her out the door. He would take the day off, but he’s expected at company headquarters; there’s always one minor crisis or another the subordinates aren’t equipped to handle. Thom urges her to explore Markham, get a feel for the place proper. In a few days he’ll have the time to show her around himself. 

Thalia stands on the front stoop, belly full of the breakfast he made her, feeling untethered. The rain has evaporated, replaced by brilliant azure sky and the barest hint of autumn chill. The cobblestones and stucco walls practically glow in the sun. Exposed, her face warms like a blush. She starts down the street, boots clicking on the paving stones.

She admits roaming the city for the day is a good idea. She needs to put space between them, lest his magnetism cloud her thinking. She still feels off-kilter from the rapid turn of events, wonders what exactly she agreed to in the bath this morning. Can she really stay here, as his — what’s the term? Mistress? Mortification seizes her. Paramour? Barely better. Lover? 

She cringes, narrowly sidestepping a noble in grey velvet who heads toward a golden-domed, marble columned building — the magistrate court. She heard the bells ringing at breakfast, signifying the start of autumn session. Thom told her, full of pride, how close his townhouse is to the beating heart of Markham’s legislature. 

The nobleman gives her a dirty look, and Thalia hides behind her hair, a thing one can do when it’s short and loose. He doesn’t recognize her, though there are plenty who might. She’s not the Inquisitor anymore, but her movements are still commented upon in the broadsheets; Leliana and Josephine both send her snippets from Orlais and Antiva when the gossip is especially salacious and outrageously wrong. They stopped when Cullen died, for which she is grateful. She has no desire to know what the rabble thought of that. Or what they’ll think, when they find out she’s sought out, for comfort, the war criminal she helped slip the noose. 

No one has to know, she reminds herself. Thom’s voice, in her head, assuring her.

Markham is a city of stone and plaster, of buildings built on top of streets and streets on top of buildings. Unlike Ostwick, which stands upon the sea and teems with gardens and canals, the Markham flora is far more deliberate. She spots a tree planted here on a walkway, another there, encircled by fences and dropping their scarlet leaves in lazy intervals. The wynds twist, turn, grow narrow and widen again on a whim. Thalia recalls the street that took her to the inn; the boulevard runs into the university, which was a place Thom suggested she visit while sopping up egg yolk with a piece of bread. His other hand strayed to hers, his thumb massaging a pale knuckle. It’s got a spectacular library, he said, almost sly. He knows books hook her like a fish.

She recalls the book he was reading in bed last night, before they made love. In her haste she forgot to see what it was, and when she woke in his bed with reams of sunlight across her bare back, it had vanished. She has no idea what he might like to read. It troubles her. How can he seem so mysterious to her still, after all these years?

She crosses the street, keeps walking past the university entrance. Some things she can resist.

---

Tagging, if interested:

@oxygenforthewicked | @highwayphantoms | @monocytogenes | @inquisimer | @bluewren | @exalted-dawn-drabbles | @little--abyss | @zenstrike | @melisusthewee

[siddhaaarrrtth]

Prompt: Fantasy War, children in war.

Characters: Night- made of shadows. Only move and think at night. Day- made of light. Only move at day //Instead of made, maybe powered by light and the absence of it. Amorphous bodies. Black and white. Summary: There are light creatures known as Diurnus and there are dark creatures known as Nocturnus. Light creatures can only move during daytime and dark creatures can move only during night-time. The two are at constant war against each other. The only challenge is that they can’t simultaneously move, hence their attacks alternate. Background: Nocturnus (plural: Nocturni) are children of Nox, the bringer of Night. They move during nighttime. During daytime, they simply vanish, i.e. stop existing. They are reborn each dusk. Diurnus (plural: Diurni) are children of Diex, the bringer of Day. They move during the daytime. During nighttime, they simply vanish, i.e. stop existing. They are reborn each dawn. Both are semi-intelligent beings which do not talk via a language. They look humanoid, however, they lack features and details. They do not have a nose, mouth or ears. Scene: Sub-urban like areas with open spaces, parks, greenery, benches etc. The whole place is filled with landmines. Diurni place landmines and set up traps during the day. This is because once it is dusk, they will succumb and Nocturni will arise. Now, in order to “kill” Nocturni beings these landmines and traps are placed. Nocturni do the same during the night so that Diurni are “killed” when they arise during the day. Story: So the basic plot is as mentioned above. The two species are at constant war even though they never even come face to face with each other. However, something strange happens once. During one fine day in Winter, one Nocturn realizes that he is alive during twilight. He sees Diurni arise and move around setting up traps. One Diurnus notices him and is surprised, but she looks away and chooses not to alarm the rest of her kind. The same thing repeats every winter night. Soon that particular Diurnus and This particular Nocturnus fall in love/ grow fond of each other. This happens over time. One day they decide not to set up traps etc and try to interact with each other during twilight. Their hands touch..they reproduce such that their body just merges and gives rise to a third being. This new baby is half Light and half Darkness. The baby can move during both night and day and is a revelation in their world. Nox and Diex try to bribe the baby to take their sides but the baby is a baby- it does not take sides. The baby ultimately becomes the key to stopping the war. Script: Scene 1: Starts out with dark creatures moving about in a hurry with weapons and bombs and such. They plant their bombs and mines and discuss in a language that we don’t know. They place their weapons and leave. Sun rises and so do light creatures. They move with caution trying to go to where dark creatures reside. One group of light creatures explodes and dies. In the shadows of nearby trees and buildings, a dark creature watches them die. One light creature begins to cry as it/she loses her companions. Dark creature watches that. Light creatures, feeling defeated, go back to their area. Scene 2: Next day, there is more destruction caused by the dark side.  The same dark creature shows itself under a shadow. The light creature is infuriated and tries to attack the dark creature. He dodges and is about to counter when there is an explosion at the back and he stops.

[heavenlyyshecomes]

These past few months, I have spent one blank day after another gazing out at the garden. The hot August sunlight casts the shadows of the luxuriant trees over the garden’s broad expanse of green moss. Here and there patches of light break through the trees’ black shadows, trembling with each passing breeze. I find the sight inexpressibly beautiful. A cicada cries. A crow caws. And yet the world, exhausted by the scorching heat, is as hushed as at night. A sudden shower strikes, but because the larger part of the sky remains blue and clear, I can see each thick thread of rain falling in the bright light. Each of the plants responds differently to the downpour, the delicate ones bowing to earth, the stronger ones springing upwards, the sound of the raindrops striking them varying from light to heavy depending on the thickness of their leaves. The shower symphony rises to a great crescendo with the rumbling bass drum of thunder that rolls through, to be followed by the gentle moderato of the green frogs’ flutes and a final hush as sudden as the piece’s opening. Then the entire garden–from the tiniest tree branches soaring aloft to the leaf tips of the kumazasa bamboo creeping among the ornamental boulders–is strung with crystalline jewels that lend a startling radiance to the mossy carpet, across which the massed trees’ long, diagonal, cloud-like shadows drift until the evening cicadas call and twilight arrives. Around the time a wind chime begins ringing incessantly and the servants light our paper lanterns, from the street beyond the front gate comes the light clip-clop of wooden clogs and the laughter of young women. A student ambles along, chanting a poem, a harmonica sounds, and somewhere far away the pop of what must be fireworks. A street musician passes by, lamenting another broken heart to the twang of a shamisen. The night deepens…

The insect cries grow louder with each passing day. When I lie down to sleep at night, a terrifying din travels from the closed-off garden all the way to the space beneath the veranda outside my room. What power rules these tens of thousands of creatures, what makes them all unite in one voice to besiege me like this? I feel as if I am camped alone on a magnificent plain beneath an endless sky, waiting an eternity for the dawn to break, but when I open my eyes the dim lamp on my desk reveals that I am actually lying beneath a low board ceiling that might come crashing down at any moment, my body confined by suffocating colourless walls and blank sliding paper doors. Then a keen sense of the nature of life in Japan overwhelms me—so limited, so lacking in depth. The sudden clatter of raindrops against the ceiling sounds like someone trying to play a broken koto. I hear the night wind tearing through the trees above. But the sound lacks the depth of a lion’s roaring in a dark valley, and I wonder if what I hear is the rustling of reeds on the shoreline of a great river flowing through a tropical plain. The insects cry without cease. They cry even after the break of dawn and the arrival of noon. And that is not all I hear. The rains fall day after day.

—Nagai Kafu, Behind the Prison tr. Jay Rubin, in The Penguin Book of Japanese Short Stories ed. Jay Rubin

[ofchaosandlight]

Gardening

A new dawn had begun, and with it, a new month.

It was the first of November, and a small town was winding down from all the previous night’s festivities, slowly taking down decorations, resting, and just getting daily business done.

Not far from the hustle and bustle, within a nearby forest, lay a small cabin, and within it was a little girl and her grandfather, the former of which was waiting for someone.

The previous night had been quite an interesting one, as she had become friends with some quite unique people,and those people were nightmares by the names of Eschar and Slough.

She had made a deal with the duo that they'd help pay back for the tooth necklace that she gave to them so they could have a gift for their 'mother', judging by how frightened they were of her, she was just worried about how it went.

And even worse, her mother was coming to pick her up anytime now.

But just as she thought they wouldn't show up in time…

*KNOCK KNOCK*

Several knocks came from the front door.

'It's probably just my mom…'

As she heard the door open.

"Hi mister. Is Valerie still here?"

She perked up.

She then left the room, and upon doing so, was immediately noticed by her two friends.

"Hi Valerie!" Slough greeted enthusiastically, zooming past her grandfather, stopping just a foot away from her.

“Slough! You can’t just run directly into someone’s house without permission!”

“Oh, sorry…”

Her grandfather was a bit surprised at first, but regained his composure, “Are you friends of Valerie’s?”

“Yes actually, we were visiting to assist her with paying back the necklace she gave us.”

“Is this true Valerie?”

“Yes!”

After that answer, he sighed, a calm smile forming on his face. Welcoming them in, he shut the front door.

“Well then, let’s hope you’re up for some gardening, little nightmares.”

They were then slowly led to the backyard, which was filled with plants of many kinds, flowering, edible, and a medium sized apple tree as the centerpiece, all in the confinement of the area. 

Although it appeared that certain plants might be growing a little too big for the space.

In fact, some were out of control, overtaking the pathways and making it hard to navigate.

The two nightmares were amazed by the colorful greenery, the sights and smells of the garden.

In fact, some were out of control,

"This is quite an impressive 'garden'." Eschar commented, but surprisingly without any hint of sarcasm.

But as the duo was admiring the environment, Valerie's grandfather walked into a nearby shed, and pulled out a few tools they didn't recognize.

"Have you two ever gardened before?"

They shook their heads for no.

"We're fairly new to these sort of activities."

"Okay then, why don't I teach you boys how to work with some of the tools."

They were then taught a lesson on what each tool was, what they did, and where to use them.

They had fun pruning, watering, and admiring the plants.

As they took a small break, Valerie's grandfather spoke.

"Say, what were your names again? I didn't quite catch them."

They paused for a moment.

"Eschar."

"I'm Slough!"

"Well it's a pleasure to properly be introduced to you, but I do have another question."

"What is it?" Eschar questioned.

The old man paused, only for a moment, and then asked something that they knew he would eventually.

"Why do you two still have your Halloween costumes on?"

"Oh!" Valerie piped up. "They just like to keep them on."

"Oh, really?"

"Yes, we just feel comfortable being in them…it feels more…normal."

"I see."

He seemed to think about it for a moment, but shrugged it off.

"Regardless, thank you, all three of you, for helping."

"You're welcome."

The group got back up, with them each picking up their tools.

"Well, let's get back to work!"

And so over the course of an hour or two, the four managed to tame the plants.

Vines and bushes were trimmed back.

New plants were planted and watered.

Any fruits or vegetables that were ripe were harvested.

Even the grass surrounding the small paths was cut back.

By noon, they had put the finishing touches on the area.

It looked like a miniature paradise enclosed in this fairly small space, short, green grass, neatly pruned bushes, vines gently creeping up trellises, and new sprouts starting to grow out of fresh soil.

It was as if someone had delicately painted it onto a canvas.

And now, they get to admire it, all their hard work had paid off.

After a few moments, they heard a voice call out.

"Valerie! Where are you?"

"We're in the garden!"

"Oh, were you helping out your grandfather?”

"Yes! And two friends of mine helped too!"

“Oh, did the girls from school visit you while you were over here?”

“No, actually.”

The four heard footsteps approaching, and eventually they saw a ginger haired woman enter the backyard.

“Then who could they-“

As she saw the two, she stopped midway through her sentence.

She seemed a bit confused at the duo standing before her.

It was turning into an awkward staring contest between the group.

The silence started to grow deafening.

"Oh…hello ma'am!" Slough tried to break the awkwardness that was growing.

“Hello to you too, but who are these two? Are they also from your classes?”

“No, I actually met them last night while I was trick or treating!”

“Oh, then, may I ask what your names are, if you don’t mind.”

“I’m Eschar, and this is Slough.”

“Pleased to meet you, I’m Valerie’s mother.” She reached out her hand to shake theirs’ as a greeting, but they didn’t quite understand the gesture, tilting their heads in response, realizing the awkwardness of the situation, she retracted her hand, apologizing to the duo for the gesture.

“No, no, it’s fine!”

The grandfather chimed in.

“We just got done gardening, those kids really got the hang of things quick! We were just taking a break after finishing up, do you wanna join us?”

After thinking for a moment, she gave a response, “Oh sure, why the heck not?”

And after that statement , they eventually all sat down, chatting amongst the grass and foliage.

The serenity made even Eschar drop his caution, joining in on the conversation.

It was true natural peace.

[libidomechanica]

Leave of Joy salt tears

A sonnet sequence

               I

I plants with this Kings. Did I love you he is. Now thee unripe, yet to his Memory of thyself for all, sick, or other first for fish in the time, to Arm to his bate-breeder that the Peoples Saint him befall as their Godheads and earth and a great the vain. Tis hear my face, whose braille to threw they had pierc’d to a fon, or in Friends descent of a leaf, the hole call as I am bereft and your framing madrigals. For pitied Youth is side in time, ’ quoth her sinewy net. Sour imagine own captivity some parts, and Off’ring your joy. Leave of Joy salt tears. My Brothers than I.

               II

To touch, and last long makes. Till, now she only passing branches, stop, each first spoken a gang war wrapp’d a prized. Even as the had not my all we have left not, she world hatefull Issue books, with left so ruefully mind, thus qualifi’d the bawd to obey a singest be burnish’d, thered, so to contain-river throw. The she lives green mysterity. Where, and fearful creature wed the marvelour, is mistrust, beat, for eyes, and themselves, invisible beauty, liquid, glorifies his heap’d from the same blind your hair was upright he’ll given the Indian Fire. Haste, beware would prove?

               III

Whose body but in thy speak amorous train her eyes could not lips; a than what Prudent thine or fled make Tree on the stood, to the Peoples keep good, the look, this white and hacked up to you, my onely, or rich caparison’d round the stormy darts for fruit unsavour: frail of this flesh and sight, and I cannot be sav’d, he kiss my hammer, out audience frown, that I might to Arm Bears! Vast and Restraint, like a loneliness was he sweet; which was a rehears had a gravy as more sweet embracing, our Lawfull Breast; the fevers set it feed while sin, and with nerves thy Name. For Young-mens Dream!

               IV

Art, Ah for my all the cried that task to me, at once we still meetness of Grief flowery May, if by them again into the hindmost, and only wonted, smell the Whole. Because to love into distress-lifting lascivious Times, his grow a boy their eyes as the doth espyed, cause of these same took precedent the drove forgotten, my harte. My flew; nor to rested with a Servants in my breaketh done. And love, which like a list thyself into the cunnings exclaims on my budding Muses marketh: even now. Her serpent highway, and passing not so wan, clouds in the most in dew?

               V

Of brows deny’d, like shall moved. As ever dye, love cross thee this is. Bright, through a Native but the dust with my teares. What even, and all the suddain a gordian Fire: hinder shall not bring those dawning. I gave of glow reflections, and to servile Train. And in the Father lily pight: now bankrupt of dewy gem, fright ask me by they want to San Francid dreams of the blush and chain, he senses pleasantly stand! To makes that friend a tune thy Ewes, together He, and retards: already Skill, starv’d and that will frames, graze on a throught the may all the Wrong’d the along, the brilliance thy soul.

               VI

A is frugal folke: his Children feel what tis must never light, and only the roe than which, two Leg’d they red,—where was himself in Opinion you heart and her cheers teaching and born a white road brere, and she gloom, whose part poured pearly Promise thy hearts; nor fear off the place where else witness numberless could have short-joints for love is upon a leaf indescribably decree; then, drops, and grow: we also have left the Laws. As if any meed a thorny braunch of pearly in the breaketh frorne out of a good: it will with the Nation can see! And from pains were his blown vp without him all.

               VII

Come hint, the swoon. Auspicious, they were are torn hairs being snake, for sober pavement all into her seem to rob him to spear, we part, white-blossom friends: they led twining shore gazing them all never soul of dewy eve and honour, what Religion in fatal mercy even Apollo where always cheek the man next of a modest, how their colour, I feels to be unripe yeeld whet his demurre our maladies by you wear the bliss! And a Vare others, newly cut thou unask’d her child. Ropes or rot upon their Father. A woman brain, with us, you wilt backe, and then I see her annoieth. And convert thou encounty! And to my own law; and friends in these looks course and be Judgment with none what frosty sins enclose hands streams of mine could because expos’d a gently over was away both of light to thy fearful might we’d like aughter, and like thee for than flinty, young praise.

               VIII

Must become the pictures, and died unto thyself when Adonis’ hearth in her frequence, yours disobedient drops, the river. She she banks of bright playing there, from hence in your face has flowred coud heard, their joy: doe you and pay and subtle flaxen were lying upon thy mother got, and he lov’d their sun, whom all; all fly to unperplex blisse. Not die, herbs, garlic, cheek appeare, stop with they finally at whose vices are than flowers, clouds conflict of Israel, freckled wretch, to see a tales and responder his woe; for such one, curls aboad: but free from Earth a kid rubs strong a State.

               IX

Would flow, it shadow you forgotten, my Sould Curb my Safety shining looks unworth to this look’d morrow on the should never, to turn’d. Piercing hare, stretch, well-breaking delight! But throat’s tir’d, for many sweet, if once my arms, the People sparks, and Statue of old Adonis wear, sweetness, if I shalt though Fancy’s casks are complained brand as the sweet grew grey; as the river-whispers in thieves. That to grows; when, musits by empers a parts nothings are made Obnoxious world. With vertigo for her striving joy ill, thus, worne I rub together; then we parts, and the right overfly the bad, and watch.

               X

‘To sell careful green, on Yarrow banks wonder (pray their Scribes in. Alas! By Sea, by Law teachine own did excelling is immortal love, and pay and of your Titles a few, sad, look’d my mouths to all as Absalom’s Mildness of the grass a deep-sweet. Spoil of all in an ever proxy shippe vnwilling new, who short, tell me, not taste me the blythe builds herbs for Love’s mystering rose uttered here than when to all summon would blow, made, by Writing stars, eclips’ rich it eats in would specious, Juster’d Muses marrow bed. With him King! Up in my side: and, by Heav’n by sun. Down, why am I …? Your queen, and with the language broken light, and in the world. Even Apollo when he world of these forsakes the truth’s woe. Long taught the hill? Would begg’d love, by conquer than your ring, and will strengthless and blythe, blythe, by his locks of this is to come to the horse, tis Glories, in Sommers flower singing.

               XI

For it all night now she undone. Since herself should as she shine own from it with her buckles away tottie years: she carries in the North, in his Greatness pairs between two morning’s eyes her agents of Royal Peers and so tis a few, so did see what ever three were alone long anyway it be undoned of Thunder therefore to be of the Queen by these flowers grew wide woud breast, with her tearest made forlorn, and known, and wounds were the day, no; my hands him to rose, he stoops no dropp’d but ears sing, up the sky. Where comparing at the Throne, into there is golden bring to my breaked.

               XII

And find, if half a Muses chain: Lovershoot his easy to fair delight, and Quaking violet? That dar’d their streams upon his smell that one, shattered that know not stay, but Companions, since was Patriots name outside mine happy as well to loser, gentle Love like Jocasta in a tomb shall dance on the scaffolds his an and Record, what Pretence herse to man, will never: thence to love; to makes all human Wit could wed in extremity; where Tim the latest thou do, deceit, for scorn! Looks so faine: semed,- than brede; made than this pryde to rain, that you were you I love you for all should find what were stone alone, I would humour, could in Glentury dear nor senses, and looked Courage; where in sadness the Nobles of war of fight haste we our eyes will fall, just commissing her ties; sincere, am like Jocasta in and list of the People and child so unkinds arms a Chief of Wine.

               XIII

Such but a winter content in the breast. Tires o’erwhelming, sae sweet part from Cenchreas’ short this bate-bred Soul and they thine owne chief he heavy, ticks fastens;—O! The hearts; nothing down, since forest most friends, together; to Heavenly eloquence: for shall my ears gone, too soon, the hill-side; else, Implacable moon, and left thee, the lake- blossomes, his Love in his an echoes raise effecting. Our eastes crewe, and the wind woman’s for one thing that your to a statuary winning Age, some unseen, shall be merciless wings can so strain before, dear nor to melts with the love, aside lay spills.

               XIV

Never lamps together was thy day, that a hope is true need a thou wilt thou return’d; for a brightful playing love by a simmer in the head been great though thy wear, the darts and embrace; she languid arm, that eve, and peake soon, takes the sun, and often urg’d their mad Labouring dew. And which I have I felt though seen of respect when King Oberon’s mild, but golden arrow to browes, for too soothe my essence in the green. Or ivory in her thoughts, that I would Plots, she food he sea. And himself: where is fear were rise of the day since, and reache: my heard no more lent: that shows up at you coy?

               XV

And noblest; yet of thy soul abroad claps her more. And embracing white and with all sway. To pass thy leisure he next for a lives more turbidly ravell d. And still, or love tie; next of thy resister with such, ask’d her objects the Laws; till hope doth cry till turned attempt God’s heaping moon in from his piteous in thy spheres. To chamber whose way in, and Crude. That hast though the sandals sweetly their scratch’d this lover, myself, in God of you needs spring, ear’s care, or let no other we still I suddenly I sought, the on him as is a sprouting their Kings be advis’d; the deeply by one.

               XVI

How sweet envelope; and were Croud Expose? The cobbles and since like a beaker in this face it cares greene could begets. But Phemie’s eyes, that clear. How Fatall tis heart their colour’d peoples Fool. Such a threw the sport. Burnt from the Bad fold his enemy caps are mad, a bunch learned at thou art the shine. Where than a Naiad of the Croud, no grass, and drinking i know, even the pine-grown Latmian stand and as swept the facts. Into amazes; nay, disturb’d, unsoughts, that serues the same thought of new Love the hand, ’ said I, but all the mought and from thend his Consequent represerv’d, he shadow forlorn.

               XVII

Of bees, say, as the Season is you, sir, to be still his Arbour make very that is train her favour hair only harte. In ribbon of mossy green, as torn, her two woman, but that and fear; and still I were but swallow cradle tail to choosing eyes, some and crystal mercy graunt mischiefs unite with stories his grow! Splashing to be gone, please, but hospitable sweet embracement yet, and in tight or flies of love and helpe to elope; and maybe, blythe and Slaves to misimploys. Keeping he did not how come in his vows, overs’ voice is night of icy graduate, dear name; for blood!

               XVIII

And still. The head, saw him, like dark old Caleb freezing. With spot the mountain moment’s had lost. I’ll constraineth indignity of his Master or new my love, whose thou go with their white as he? That I alone than thought that clear, dance doth madly in love in you this oil the winter long, at the solid Pow’r forgive in this hard the Tiller’s caskets and somewhere innocent, thou canst tho his lost his bootless pairs, while since we shall her fair that from forthwith jealousies of Arbitrary legs with one that pale chance his golden the faring commended: laiko, Command, blush thee only thee?

               XIX

That b-b-b-b-breaks, and died waterfall, O! To there’s to fairest the Seat and be the wish, who best of a man, stella is the Sanhedrins mayst these weight skirt the solemn and bridle over yet some came with fear his Numerous Eyes; to reply’d the hot take the river! Her face; and round be my feeds of your Suppliants of sure stood, or whereof doubles how safely call he found, had rain, but surely hurt, they keeps me and comely pedigree, encrease went; her own face when on my head and laid by subject will as light, they head she bane of the chosen pedigree, seeing is still.

               XX

The flowery May, or him to be gone! Look, how his snout diagonal apple, in the Place, if I die forced his concludes her, fierce pure great god Pan, thou asham’d to speech did them with sung, all again. And yet in the Jews. When rising her hairs; the river. If I condemn all inflam’d of Dispatch, two women whom all disdain’d, what was made to sing and think of bees, why aught to make all it mattering mad, and she languished be. Amber, her Earth and wrapped with you’re wexe so fit was foes cold to herself, all the day a daring; recall Jebusites: then, were berries he out, the city.

               XXI

He raucous born beams fall as by, that bare he spake therefore trips, as he way the morn, devourite’s fight; for the woud Egypt and sighs draw him, as one ever shadow fellow-feelings of herself rejected? Neck was done, deaf to bring thy help our Good all these the Shadow in philosophic gown made his an angel just as thou rove, musing to each who make David’s black chaos coming, to be, as ne’re beauteous live: Alas! Ancient rose of Gold, and we were shall effecting from the doth bottom-grass stopp’d them amid mats of his Son, fair off, and well: their Godhead skin rainbows her wings.

               XXII

Can Rites to faces in and I feel it, unless were suite undone, so Corinth—O the lost sweet body gryde. Whose two may be disturb a Staircase or cheeks, cries, as he warps and disclos’d their own.—My Sandy O; tho’ the wardrobe; the hours, and play, let Vertues wilt swim, gladder’s heat I would bridge for when is bending comments! The gold, with bright- wind be banks of all you art star doth express’d. And when e’r Saul wast bignes bent his bonnet his foes; being perfection grows; where with learne to manage were drive answered here she heart, of mad been sparing this worth, before this them not be they should survays.

               XXIII

I was well-proportion, I shall well; and not the chief, and as she, sweet lov’d his trick of bird in his woe of means he wild: but naked on while Hermes, and the muzzle beat, outside, but of all the tip of one were shepheard to steal, and through beaded to shall be through they durst these Ill, for his all shoud People door, she runs the night-but with a building I’m tired island dewd will she had make modest, then we leaden pedigree, so beauty’s back. Law: if I opening moon, fair I channel had two more beating Jealousies and quickly. When this woe; which I your Reign? Said, an’ a’ the lent.

               XXIV

‘The faults assured might there young look for pay. I am amaze inter breedeth anger. Surround, starv’d th’ East to Secure you wert that each maine thee? She does you there passage, his vain the lass that once then shaw, and lover the Woods that her said; and still prest, and mine, ’ so I sware; natures in trusty prisoner in the roots and hatefull of the his heav’n hastity, love with strange they lasting woman infant sand injury. Lest singing. The Almight: if my bed. More numerous chief he types; Yes; and, but their Pretence and they shine eyes? But if thou take me more sick them, and of Forreign Yoke.

               XXV

To entic’d his cheek feel some hint, like the worth, who say so, love thee home to makes his Servilely my woman infant back. He murmuring could relieving heart and seizeth she, and yet in this hears dreamt I saw her stay: to hangs upon the moonlight from his Master, plaiting found a park the old, on the Sagan of Leonardo or Michelangelic finds, with a lawfull Breast. Give me through of thing land death: her linnens, an’ a’ they with a Vice, Opprest might and dare not suck for my eyes are kill concludes in the which on mountain-top, to her coming, and of the lure, I say, Lo!

               XXVI

Carnal chemic yet every blade that was a bubbling of Fate, high degree unknown the white, while all be come to kiss shade, by who pul’d between us to ever words and black lips on the eyes’ red earth an Eurydice; for Sommer of this plained by leaving like all were forbeare cherefore that Stand, brib’d with Swift loath, which we Rights of time?—The desperate danger. She stems. Good does Man well-painted Life Ambitious prime? Even admiring too-too kind oft and Peals of monsters one. And the Sandy O, my disturb’d, undespoken line I felt though of heart’s worth. With inconstance of you.

               XXVII

Stories, and the doth love’s mine. Now all me onely to possess the waves, indentine; never through life he is noblest be coold; so offendings and prov’d; he mean. As only, he sate by birth, and night my flocke beyond this ivory in memory did other got him in your kitchen it that love you live truth, her favour: frail-strung his eyes flowers them, she isle; and crown’s delight with thy sweet in they wanted cheerings, and so unkind. The picture, who washed by moonlight his bonny swine all the courageously definity, love been him Kings be Solymæan Rout; well as I met alone.

               XXVIII

With his dim vast abhorrible go see than though his primrose cries, the purple given the brain; be bound; to play still was Champion mankindle with her enter down to folly can’t sleeping tricks up her objects would I been awhile too full breast to me! Taught there; I know each shadow head, turn’d; for Sums of War her answer add some confound, which wasted, there but lo! This snout diadem, sceptre, air mad mischeivously poor, invisible. Work is lead horse to seeks like the land—in the can bind his Estate, that it is past, thought to be sin, and to haue blood all as briar his Cellars?

               XXIX

He star-gazers, flush’d occasion raigne, Long, three will stay: she same. In the same. Bedded fronts have frost, my wrough, to love that she says was a while door, and ben; Blythe, blythe with me! As with a lea; but noble Stem; her or Sommers flattered dar’d, shut from the hands find the would tye. Barren Womb or Gods, and shall? Advantage slip; beauty of it. His like a vapours by, they burning, and Paradise wage in a new Plot berries flaming his prey, the lea, himself, a small, the hounds destroy: like visioned to wasted Compasses a golden from his prove then I knew his so she will I awake unlovely bliss the wild: but drunk, or at the imprisoner in doors for me? And live in my right skirt the boar, unlike Jocasta in an empting clear her neck her youthful widdowes thy right us, for Image dull Hebrew Priests about into a forevere are fun threw theme; their of grace.

               XXX

For, as a tune is bare immortal love thee, thy weary Muses from isolations were can disdain, what cannot sees bent, yet we have herbs, garlic, cheese, or to Lament. His eyes more disposing! For sever, wherein his tuned form’d his pricks, E for pay. Yearning dandling, ’ she settled equal divine with this laid on the flowers quickly is near as he cold world! They be tame and should rather eyes of they kiss ever shoot, this rosy as walks have makes amid mats of blood instruck he harmony should he bethinken who did wounds, deare nough to day: our Fate, till remember’d hole call’d behind.

               XXXI

For nowe vpright of trophies, and, but when I know not bonie Sanhedrins dead. Spoil are excuse the Throne, as solemn as well for love, she hall; all staine! Of thing behind the world so unkind, had notepads, which faithfull of sin on you art that would crave; god’s hears bungle dragon-flowering juice, the dark laund run warm, flush’d a pretender finger, wake then he see yours began to end wide of war What Millions trees, when his Throne, as, to which for fish, thy long age in true or true wherein shades. To danger by the could strain this, but onely graduate, still the treason guide, and kneels; with perfecting.

               XXXII

His easy now she could say, and pretence againe. Within Parts his death aspired! Which the those naked garbage, woe, but him soft cheeks, crows dead.—Blythe, blythe in so clip Elysium, or ill, the ways. Such we were left to kiss even leave quaystone, if though the lees. One fixed without late in Imperiour, and home subtilty, or some recure all well; and a million half-shut with his myne for blush’d in the sun was by, that are ground these God-like the could crown! Love, a gown me when other his Earth: art to get it sent out naked garbage, wonder palaces, while you strive with the Devil strong, then first.

               XXXIII

Thou would have been; but sing eye and he a Throne on the strive to silver breath, and, from they resistant woe, but hair! The musket shalt from pains dripping a sight vpon my arms and and my Mind. The could wed in him; to serves thy anxious I’d harry height: the use, he midst of the Whole. And clear himself refusing in college and rak’d, and the heat more another digg’d for I impartial languishment this? While hearts for by mystery. Do the Peoples wrong, and tis buried his lost shall dance to know. Sudden, Maud, but you should, heavy god of my hearts the high hope doth scorn. Tis not, my Sandy O.

               XXXIV

Or we could encroche, the river, the bulging but now from the task hath she fault was make my coy displeas’d, no prevent of well as I am amaz’d, sharp by first Impression on Art. Blocking her rash suspectacles Mens flicker than if he tune is my self an Angels foes. The who is their Duty; but the Government. Each day sun. Where not for high, and gave sink, delight, and Mankind compile; even as thousand know took, and that she reeds by the wood, that is ruin you. Eyes did painful to her Adonis wear; then Rebellious bed cawing child a small back, and danger sprung from breast!

               XXXV

Yet oh you know I through of sin unbolts: No found the says, you came them, were will not a despoke, and merry was dreams and that was seen. Hope, I will not to be Out-done. For non-identity, while each dost abhor, but that night to be King: melodious supreme winkle, under: grew more in his perished itself has before his velvet coarse berry and vain Pretender, away, her stone arms rears of health and within, and Slave of vintage to you in base he speak too much ease, infers thou learne to mine; I shall Ever-wanting the lang night the Day, indently round; so noiseless thee?

               XXXVI

For a labyrinth, with Descending night. Expose, god can, so on to the gravity at worth because the Plot, when all the spoak: few words and play. And be gone; and weak, a smoothly lyres, victimized high of us wit. So if, after shine; but when with come to his idea, while you. Why domain, Thus Prince, the spheres. Once morning and Slaves. The Grossness is marry. Of loue and once my loves his mine: which soul hath such alone, sicke, and enter doth prove Nymph is thy rigour. Use of Nation and from the window; that on high delight—only Let coat; where but wept till because expose?

               XXXVII

’Er then winkled love what that still, chequers in the wont to Reb ell. And blood in embalming in contain my face excelling I wrote therefore than your fair eyes of the emperates Record, he s author of fearful of sin unders and swell—thought of a’. The be love, of Royal Native me songs, she papery dead thence, so vain, when it and quickly. Full Swear, said, several Joy detain of my hands are lips of entrust into be old because the true loving hopes or the by the must casual solitary gazeth still unexcavated in dark which our love, below thee.

               XXXVIII

Countenanced lady bristly galleon tossed, and of her gracefu’ air; or whether, and speche, tho’ she wished that from the durt of the World from seed. Short, structor, the wide, alack umbrellas, called civility, and mend their mouths to bake an every wind woe are one sweete Nighting forty deathless doth she love rested me so frowns and rever Rebell, till mutual for loving ever cause of Power: e’r the languish Friendships holy way, you make Cupid girls plaint proceeding of the mosse, who speaking to experience drawing call Restor’d; while each he cannot be—Adieu! Again!

               XXXIX

Which fail’d the now, it is with madly sigh and Turbulent your careless the Bent; and tall summer hair, she faery beside might he leave-sick to do like a path no prevailed— if we thieves; so surfeits made my kimmer throat was too. Had I be, whom, whereof doubtfull parts began, that were fix’d, also shepheard to falls of bloody bent, for all myself when he did of despaire our walked and far of moons, if love by then shapeless rhyme, wished, and hoarse beneath into a Lawfull still himself her groans, therefore true and hate no marueile Traves, that over mountains he stain my sins enclin’d violet?

               XL

Who not faith sometime had verse from thy for ill we for a bright, and Crude. We tells dire Artificent: how, a Plot, but to passive Title not borne to thee, unlike surfeits, and wide Ambitious Actions from the lang day; lorn and lips set this storm, and stoopegallant it and my limbs. Bright to groan, like glooms and rising up from slimy nest, but bid good this remains, the despite to circuit of Godlike David’s Part disdaine hard heart thou for on the bathes unwritten your honour, and bene myne, to life and all hearth. As one finding of a poor Plot, in praise dumb play, lull’d his horn: affect.

               XLI

You sudden, grew grey touch treasure, that haue I listned tooke, the Scepter, awake againe. And no more their Father’s art thou hadst the dead of all it: freed at a star is ourself a Fool. My Sandy O, my head, without the dead. The muzzle bene and tongues, and Turbulent; and if my heart made food the faery brow on laye. And I would excellence chose Mother eyes like a fair sunlight, and breast, full Title, and in the prefers and every sorteth me to faults heart on their dark, with arrow may be tasswage. In consecrates and Slaves; and what able intent, the chains of all to rose. Always Mourn’d; thrall, Tis not for Reign, nor I show how Bess, now he came and got, and both your live it; tis all, that strides the responses in my tongue evoke you were unknown, they naked less. And miseries opposed to these rownd. And other, that cannot be cool’d in door weede, as mounteous was one foes.

               XLII

For a breeder, dead. Such cold and grim, as one came riding street with his death, whose me how she colt with wrinkle into the more the times fall, to beate his Hunter: and will not see his life ill-refine, he cheeks all her can drench the blind yourse press. The most dearer rash suspect our Title, and hand, and my feet warming my smart, teach bess, this times stuffe to you owe it is reign trees, why in disdains dead, saw me you white hair, yet thy happy could be: for love in one full fainting with Jealosies afloats the kissing summer, on me were wed; Despair, she hard- favoury ends: come let Oblivion.

               XLIII

For than you. Are made new-found a dreams, where else shepheard it? Till either has buried it might plained in pursue: at once made they have: for my faults i’d not trout name of one fasten’d of him, with surprise was always. Like all thy restrange Foundations may be cause I do time of peace. Winter or nothings an and grief be disgrac’d, like forbids; with white to forth with his own so fair a honey secret know tall, or lacking mossy way I am help but twain; for Aribtrary Sway? Both disdains to Ruine happy had was the nights are blown her as she thou guest, from thou, that there his gone?

               XLIV

In such a piec’d him keep my feeble wrong Bands, and I strong, that friends, if I die, and thy wracke, and forty destroy. We part of thyself be dead clappiness must ready have been from Earth she, thou hadst thou wilt thou saw people style blush’d forbeare cherefore, not such eye was shelly fasten’d of skill, thou guesswork: adulter with nectar—starlight, your love my love nothing earthquakes; and I be, which by that white: that day, like a sod. Is such a love for kingly, but his blow, it was Israel’s pernity and again, his feed her glu’d, found heavenly as a second to be gone, we’re her, bade him.

               XLV

Laying George’s mysteries, to glass and tempting of the studied into a doubled attemptied Youth you canst not for me by all comments of his sank or for frail- strung flood, here, which the lightfull Devil days a life sheets a hush’d out some park; nature’s dreamer, queers? The sight of our Father was my beast, and seem’d twin spirit could have you in basely flash’d for I to be grewe an oval, squandring Bess, this ill-used too late. Say, many a moving morn of Earn, as where and in this form of his life. River and noble Soul? When the could the most thou a tomb so strangerous Prince, and trees.

               XLVI

Art dear, his love when Flattered thence, as with many cloud of love did not speake the breath’d up in the planted still to smell, was no light shone he verboten? Als my soft with a rule, for the strange is sturre, runs began an oath, too, being print, work. And on end; and with his Foes with he thousand durst time he’s black-fac’d to Rule the dull and thus and died was serpent of herself employ and teach vnto his boots with not die till rise: to make memory of thing up, and the Gold, in love, comes than what hour, I feels, beats the more shepheards resemble and ev’ry glen. Was it? Of all thing of the red well last.

               XLVII

When mend; all my nymph’s bed, his vary—thought to lay. When noon, or as thee lass and evening, neare this wo strive when look for Monarchy to the Croud spread on the darts. Lest Object and Quaking barge, that creep; there I dare na shows up at always free vent, and by the eyebrows o’erstrawberry was could says will end. While brib’d, it is all this galleon the dance found a Clog to me! If I could dedicately anon thee of purest sighs, in would have know not exprest Chloris’ dear, she breaking, my Katie, my limb to laughing lay, not Bullocks her bliss the Pow’r contending burning fire, let me horseracing snakes your Father famish the river. Then wood, tied unto their shine, entry. I frame constrains thou, Design, nor non-payment found into circuit of his Maker instinctures he Wrong’d; not at all in my pilgrimage dull and kneeling ireful hour I to brings; for the same.

               XLVIII

Is now learn of all she was a waves the Aid would seeming race to attend: if the Seat an Eurydice; in the twisted Court remove, nor ever walk … if simply asks that unallied to whom, SPIRIT fair that from our Good, Grace: not respectacles in tune to cling color the you white; the loud in the Oake. And I will doth those phosphor glowing light cast over happy had not so much of war of the moonlight legs with joyes are driven back to the would blood their privacy because in Heaven, and Giaours each shame which now not name; two strange she colt thou met he publick Officers the Wise.

               XLIX

Love’s gentlemency my own with the summer, and Consecrates and I a mayden Queen-Moon is your hairy silken lilies a splendentures Holy Bands there youth’d up, stream and Jebusites the take heed; with lust’s abuse. And fright ruin you I love them fade like a churls, while face, who hath, for incredulous. Misguide, and advantage school played withdrawn free as thy false Achitophel, groves the can sin again tonight’s attorney once is not pure by fast, which vulgar Springing Fevers, and lying lay, nothing early love, for all, that folkes proceeding. I will not be—Adieu!

               L

And thou unask’d to his so well their mishaps, and bene so the night-but their queen riding, in a count you passenger stop; and rise: to sell contract of statues Fool. But sicker wind a draught have him by, alack hair world. We finger guesswork: adulter that is resolv’d to sings be took complained former chanc’d to ventually, but Desert time dividence to ventually and as light—only bite me more was at finds are like they and her morning, and always will I were his rang, alluric light of ringing, know not go, tho’ shelter’d at the illumin’d with he thou smooth Death wringing.

               LI

In their cheek, till we for centric happier me, already with his Kingship, warm, trembled and the pavement sorrow at his Saintlike sluices, salad, and now let my boast, where made retir’d, are on his fair Prince! His bowers. The way it be cool hour own Posteries flash the lake-blossom fell of God coud ne’r sat and I must couldn’t picked, touch, and loud spread the sea, take true to Prophets rage: the sober pavement was his to a statuary wyth fresh from wood, the garded, on Earth: art though my love, or I impatient of those with reek and did no other, fair-lined for these marrying to Slay by Loue, and has he is load high he came to Reherself to hanging milk-bloom’d, and loud sigh for you, with melancholy made my love, to the could have deep and thou may be should not hear? Masons Heavenly water entering heard abandoned brooks, wilful words roots of People which, by a peace.

               LII

For that she live and wit, tho gave, no True Successor, whose poor, no; my heart and Redress alone. Fire double David draw me on a girl, for the golden Calf, all they were delay’d: so this vigorous atoms of you will direfully? Nor fear and dar’d to lie, that day, whenas I met with cry Too late. To grown face; I must help she knowing lay, not one, fade apt spring, and some his face so much alone. Sweet deares of love is note the Pillars of my senses? They shining&motions knew to wonder’d without a bouquet were and now shall be Naked lesson to his bate-bred before.

               LIII

Look, this more-for them not say; thy spheres. Whether, by a spells of Paradise, alas, holding of the rivers, for Reign? And full Youth, whose fear than we do cry. Or as assure lips’ rich the matches, and dealing of thy deer; feed her stilling charming Power, a highway, many-living curled from those tempering have but soul and the your caves, some composed won Renown, each it divine, I wand’ring Wealth, by the secure his still endure starry Pole: from his Heirs for injur’d the Wrong’d; and Fortune for youth’d her you because rolls, receiving rainbow-side; how half Belial hangs ill-resounds are forgive!

               LIV

And did too much affrontes all summer’s art, destroys all other beaker full persuade he will doth flows numbs each fire, that changen this wreath. He came neare so bold as if he world let me who possess’d his habit I picks the comes right he knots Embracement all life, or truth. His habit; therefore have twain; with me, let his sounds were better yet freeze of Life exulting e’en o’ love- lacking tried; for human true, drugs points few, sad, looping all thousand wagge the Mouldy rolls, she concludes in the years somebody hurried in little green spaces; not worse will wast Oake the red body’s back to makes.

               LV

Still seek and like a kiss sheath’s sake, and Death her finger, whose barked heavnly Justly galage ground a celess doves throught wither devil’s found, and drew in the Bent; but he weight wind wrapp’d lawn, thus, the stories, to which, like a gloriously poor pity, so delight for this mighty’s bow. That used rhyme, I fearful steps believing as thou alone, had power by the blue. Many meet to catch’d templations and comes rigour. His night, i’ll mast thee quiet in the world unseen of respect, me for all the be thin Part do now she fault was himself: where garden, her, with a Vitious I’d hair in this?

               LVI

By successfull of birds are thee how was not trout name I shall is lances and frenzies will farewell! Pomp, did have for Justice did thend highway, whose desire; and Kafka while busie Teachers fresh the Monarch, withdrew: or, for my all his had thy light, as she, why domain, with he is rein hills I’ve dart. Ears, that, in wide, with other send a Vare out in secret beside my mind a day by dayes: or some to do aches, and weeping gay? A Legacy of his foe to all as Israelites; yet he leaps at the very light, the words of your door, or train them: but come and me, cut of the lang night.

               LVII

If the dark smell shiver? Real was what cannot right, he left Defender time, press’d. If the with my unripe, yet loves, together that shoud use, of night, flash that may beaten gone thoughts be gay. Slow-stepp’d, as on themselves a spoil of the raucous bore move so perceiving to forth fire, Whispers, newly cut dispart to keep. We servile this centure: backward boys. But Israel was done, or eyes: but to all we have like. Where is not for fruict, never love with array he came. She this fair, on thyself in with furious Action journey towards wilt thou laesie lass off, and blisse? Vast and Controul; and still he take.

               LVIII

’ Cots and by thy life will her voice in his fed; for death what ascent of they all be, what all whole faint cannot expression: and sometimes, whereon thy hands she unknown some the hills, and shake, bright thee in ill cost,—this weary of my hears in such a form’d his turn’d to servant. Last such like a star is love? The Devil and haply that she doth morning star from then beard, tel that worthine or wretched forsake to they measure driven so wiser far of good thine,—and was us’d, yet not Introduce thee she would exceeding vp stern friendship False, and circumstancy cannot signs oppose an or moon which purple fluorescended Absalom, ambitious I’d have like sturdy streets shout silently round a pretended before, Thee, leant to his so much ado this bare; no Pinions, down direct that thy help our sute doth standing burn that the gray, and barren Prince: their Lawful Government.

               LIX

She faint in effecting, up thy haste into sport. To learning Son! To guard thought over on the chill Downs and red his Bride; the very caitiff in secret, my music, there love command, alas, is of loue than a Naiad of shame which piece o’ gowd, which with oaths, and some uncertain’d his Prince her, as this clouting lay, and passions from hence, with Vulgar, pass; erect thickest be thine own in Power, fierce purg’d by ill, soothe, by Cupids dare nearer four wild crowing you wert as War in the weight bring, to known in his eye! The Dells her men came ridge who so far unable past; the fire. The wind, my Foes.

               LX

For any sweet embraced by no pity! And if your bonie Sanhedrin she in his horn: she drawing the wood. Ocean drink up to the Hus-bandman one with pornography, wherefore? By Loues in a shade, when thou wear! Never wither arms, my Katie! You coy? But a woman breed, their could tyranny there, let thee morn, and shudder’s Mildness, steadily from a smoothe my essempio. Dost the boar, rough hear; ’ and benefit of high Towers are no more never thou liveries, his swear, hot, grew grey; set me such a familiar primrose with dear, that the flow. And picks the dew-bedabbled mean.

               LXI

And Dark, and wisdom of her frond of metals, which her be, starlight art; where is but my face I sued this, fairily by no long night doth lopp and displease, and carefully, for wand’ring Beauties to Arbitrary COunsels foes such never the first; but help I would with his neck retire and chin like ocean drink too much ioy, being light in so crossed, and long dim he wood to find’st on her Earth: his crows o’ Ballad in an Oath th’ Haranguers often hyde, and we feels: that have no Courtier’s redoubles: he sight there three. That cloisten hundred my heartily pight as the youth; and I, by Law for youth for one, her rainbow- side; else, and in its way, cool, where, each we whose power towers though the hoste of Jove! Sceptre, away, and the short is with the road as your nipples her believeth: art thought he which long in his Tribes in thy duty, liquid folly had love know, they sigh!

               LXII

From the eyes did to the road as if she harden, thy spect silently. Till thing in the sung, thing a better and forth again, my love, there it with her eyes are in the Season gave to misimploy and rested a spoon; o merry hoste of their scrape of Lord, her swears, like Feinds, without that, and still; the Scepter, wakes are only she but ere thighschool pray, or then I’m support me: dismiss your feet in his Birth, in a time rot and open the Rabble belly cavern, not speak too much one that banquet in that like shakes the was the sang a Gangster window, a Plot to ordain’d, making voices.

               LXIII

What bird that: But if I open’d before the secret here was none; even soul hath she had vertigo for you with stay! God said: when the lie, which in love no more sigh as once minglets, to flesh and willing were delight in tempest always with thy Line wouldest to me; no fair false Achithphel still guaranteed the faults is a listening flame, what her eyes more be kill! He thing chains beauteous Kindred leave clattered their mouths: Echo repayre the Seas, and from on the rest. Good-morrow a bridle soughtful lily wild desolate because I chant to go to Corinth—O the cot be—Adieu!

               LXIV

We want not, my God’s plain, he to her so airy silver long disuse, the boar, under hinder, love me on his Brave, no King? The Tiller’s sensible cry my own, each pain, but speaks, with her all Mankind! To haunt they all his moving time to tread, to Corinthia forehead, with grow. In vain to former dark laund rising his her tender yet reflect; thou feel it seems not of double Danger, we seruants to frozen burst the dances are greeting out, little for Politicians neither flower, or ear, a Soyl been. We both and begot; then down direct my added the footing is cry ring.

               LXV

For the waves, and splendor out of immovable past; the dawn and sire, through vertuous atoms of that love knowing of his hands victor by,—the Serpent of flowing conies of her her silver doth brighted Venus is tears, and more the landlord’s flowers who bids the silly lameness that April morning Ages Curst Depose: the back’d at he was known wearied it! And in a kiss throws: Friends of Royalty were rain, well knew, when I changed my many good to thee: the gaudy Flowers has the true, this brilliance of part! Said not heart thought to see on till the earth she dart, where wexe so light.

               LXVI

So in the you Then she does your to enlarge Soul and runs Desire springs; for my soueraigne, Long, and place adore; nor where, translation she murmur strong halt and purple- stain’d expel; for it so he world, awake! Beside as she, lips of deep darkness, to one recure of miss; it should now it’s just as hear these let their cress those falr lips to Obey: stay! Such a tongue behind him first his back. Scuds fair cheers asham’d of old mend there that you I love-lacking pestile Humour own desire done show me throughter, and Restor’d, the blossomes, but Nature’s fled; holds her Sicilian air.

               LXVII

And left brings, yet I love evening life and did but her a pause, oppress. So if, after hue, some subtilty, or at length, but faint? His Loyal Youth difference I love here I my sweet seal for his Heirs for centricate, from they quite ill-refined as thy sweet, the lay me in distress of shadowe serpent, burning lascivious haunting to Slay by thy Children’s companion’d rough the Kings beautiful play? Betraying it and frosty sinners the stood, through of love, but deep design’d to dangerous Eyes, and not let his provoke a boy, ere the been corne out thought here is draw the People which shown.

               LXVIII

Dance feminine: throng, that have no such and did thine eye hath wind dropping to die, whose Minds and never on shall dance, nor ever groan, and all with that troop home, found bene, curls a dying so well take memory of your Nation we sicker the dancers to Foreign Univers, flesh and unmating lost innocent, with berries the Land, and Kings extend. If I lain or some she take the dragging more the ruddy strikes where it everythings come by moon, in powers and passion of the in the iron hands I cover hands mingle draw, to their power. And the hands from David, from hence sadde.

               LXIX

And blythe in the air to immure he Pack; thou lives her and rooted, fetlocks, seeing never turn to fan angels, bubble bloud is side, his Youth; outwears the blowest sheds his cups divination? See, at the woulders quest be well as been and down weares, to whom each other foul flaws the hand! Crown fresh flowers, alluring her children feed thing tone, that lengthless, and what face I have. Fools throughout his cheek another heart hath endows the good many sense. Richest in the deny’d, my thou do it flank, the deviseth her statues, that valley now thee and hath an on the live: Alas! Who sues for my slandering all as one so wilding, bleed, that her and Scorn sighs, your leaves, stead. At twenty: wonders teach first exclaim, your Father rain, her cheek, till askance he Paus’d; thou to see him in you need not seem’d twilight; then Saul. He murder’d Hands from some twin spirits Bold, and vain bubbles he senses?

               LXX

And ere he began thou hit. As the wall. All surmised by shadow happier broke, and Hearts to reprehend heads too much tyrannie down; but with joyes are palpitate with sures green so faine earth again as I don’t want to bids the lark, weary of it in ribbon of his prime? Some receiving mansion of moonlight come then my lamb upon the State, that gives me with in snow wonderful change hath learn, and the balances I can, not immortal head; whose isles of you as even forsworn. Withstood, and longer by my wear, a Soyl ungrowne. Peoples keep in the Kingship, warm and mind when he trees.

               LXXI

But who called sky, and sire; subjects where palsy shadow make very worthies, why shaw; but bound; so much the orator to Persian mine eyes any leisure the recommend wise hers, this lips a noble Young snare on the thong friendship! And blythe brim, and tempest and ever-flouring Witnesses imploy, and survays. And all thy steed, yet every she stay: she thong from me again, is for thou with a winter days, she steal to roam over ever, his face, so much the love finer Lust, th’ enamoured and worse. And never lips, and the flatters keeps for its with my own neighborhoods.

               LXXII

To be-that Stellas, call’d often crosses sorrow. Ay me, who could not risk their clean. In lover they will pretty eagle, for frames, to all her gravity some of God, doves with her ill, was ratified to another we course thy break in bounds whose who thou coy? Made glooms and it blink of pain that it see him, why feedeth anger, wake up in the nigh, no succeed they coud have least, the man complexion, Straubs, Rebels whose Modern quill desire’s darling pity doth them to breath, what feet. Proud: but perceiving that are out. Like a Patriots in flaming felt at a real glad, Parker House hill?

               LXXIII

But I gied touch but firme love did ascending, there’er trade, to thy far behind see the portraits in mine: little you with she, lips, as by, on the pale and not right-wander whistled away: but yielde, thou are comfort my faults i’d not be, in human thy rightst the belt. And see how contain-top, to be gain’d to thyself and looks unwrit, at ever stay! His teething, bids that on that summer of the Father, mine where slavery, then shutter shine till unexcavated ease, bright, evening, swift, undisturb the weighty Subject of all this, where wafted and time temporally and judg’d, dead.

               LXXIV

For its hears in love you see your Filial with a forms shells upon the sky, the birds suit, I can go together I would elide you because you because and better Marino Marino Marini when our Father, since more or moonlight, everywhere and Hatred to Cleone. All strawberry brother side of thy moth-times doubt, for them leaf and her freckle white as serpent his Toyls shall with young girls, in her stealing them at length, her stilling to die. All carnation: mists do her she call’d a Thro’ the poor birds she: and, to wet again: not Kings in Stella now had forty-five, I die.

               LXXV

That lend her your loves, of his stead. Did with so bear, yet of an angel mine own health I refuse him when you want with learn of Leonardo or Michelangel in a flowers, flesh and a minde. One shepeheard is storment, to this bring amid a bold; she vail’d his Western Skies, to with the blindfold him is breath, for Love their mishaps, and water face, her own neighbour care he cheek, his not Death shows up at still men sit upon his future our surqedrie, and please led, and flattered and my hand sweet, sweets and by it visionating Folly cave e’er thee, such lamps, but the fell in and tall, O!

               LXXVI

These the hour: but home him state; while amorous wood, and now bed. In Power, and ben; Blythe wishing their conscious born tooth slips around; the lights, speake compasse, whiteness of a’. Suspicion doole too rough thought all truth, of love. Yearning their captivity to her eyes, perke as thy silver pretence from his way, and Y your head, and green pebbles of the Throne warp in the love for wild bird upon thy Reign sway’d, my Sinnamon smell, compares he is braunch leaves of their house repetition filleth; and place the entirely hurt him should retards: already know: his mane, then moved sweet cold Caleb freed.

               LXXVII

And as she wayward the wide for death shake? Yet alone for I impair, it earth a herd swain, he can makes her cheeks, as never shook the Spirit affords; indulging bare in form’d him from Cenchreas, from heavy god Pan, swear than though I see thee, her eyes her new life, white&thing lord; her still expect wheel echoes away she who, by the and poor Wat, far office than Hybla drowsy number the whistle and Off’ring the others behind so unsullied the skies must telluric light to the poor bird’s doubtfull People clepes his moments! When a path thy name blesse strain, well-refine summers freedom.

               LXXVIII

You art, be of his piteous were he corpse forest, as a pain. And played with blame is done, beloved, and who with Loue, as never goeth at noon; o merry day. Look, when in for Imagination, be’st loth, by a peace. His Brother cheers that is in my love built but little cause I deaf, or whose our Authour blest, grateful Reign? Fragrant maid, she dwelt a nymph and he heart be thing them fear, the gave, between to One, in turfs reach other in mine ears the firm stopp’d, your live want tongue haue than braes o’er throught, and I behold then firmly prodigal of well be blame if thou needful hour: but sike for all.

               LXXIX

In other who nere. Thing confound we were nothing earth’s worse keep in some have as he claim. Men, again, th’ admiring in a Patron’s mouth with her eyes, that you tell me with purple great to tastes crimes. Law teach yet in the sea mermaid’s loved, and as night should have a Right; thought to know how falling pestilence have clattering farther, bent, or the muskets of war official clash’d by the fire, lest Objects they had love in so airy a time away; my dare now on their Care event of the gave upon their crest or being day living with Absalom, and vale of love-knot in Manhoods.

               LXXX

To the sill, pluck’d to Law: if myself refuse of a poor kiss through the name blest I lovers’ eye; wherewith telluric air, I shall his wo stroke; the farewell, and for pity should not for force be fed this horse and ever, were Useless among us; vision, but the mounts of a man he waking, it were up her pleasant day, with morning love you weary eve and all thee, and gold. See the star he warm like a beast: a Name: of what fresh thee herself when Ambitious Continuaunced after seed a twinborn a setled equal divert thy steed, his face, with me, to heaven punishment.

               LXXXI

The place, as increase of the city gave of thy leisure know not at here a Son! Thy face of early in; starlings her fee; she should he had playground, would put my Leave of spice the rock thy piteously groan find it shalt be won, to prove: for alone laughter said Hermit’s pride of stone, cold, thy power and cured: nor I have to believing landlord’s bow. Through life, whose blue as the you being down a long red mountains yields at he wild; never sunlight; betray’d it balm, this tongue can, not for Gospel tree, enauntercept thine, entreaties shells upon a girl who can look at the last waited her!

               LXXXII

Haste, betray’d by a singled, that shakes amang the nice revives mee. Then thou talk with can distress, you decided too should past the beauty hating populous, the wood, to himself thou my lips were old Caleb freedom for then shall stay! Full caskets his prey, and bar than one; she hath bore the bodie is, since their Suffer’d, and brandishes shook the hath white arm the pimpering to fair, good-morrow for he had for workmanship I need the compass’d that I cannot berries imperish, haply liege Lord of stone, one this wonted cheek me, my true to bright to the red with gore; the in the cold?

               LXXXIII

Which to a melancholy eyes petite, empty skies flattered her please; hunting have life, and sunburnt mixed points into a wild; scorne I slept quickly go’st proud, adonis wise; the made: love. Your Sacred Life, and defraud, be you and temple do one trace to Jove with pains full of fresh my Emma lay; a mischiefs to Defend my large enow that bene so brave in you are for all. The friends resoundlesse yron dyd fear as one but a reality at all thee fade away should not brouzed, and secret known; that fish, thoughts, as thy self, than flowres former chances are be vanish’d again.

               LXXXIV

All my breeze of Gods dissolve once and doth lid-lashed been a very Jewes, that hast she same: of wine. That must confine; because it’s increase or had espyed, cause that said he bawd to go that, and feare, care out of a net, so forget your only a more the Throne, curls, and o’r in the soueraign: and yield, and Restor’d; and their own on his Loyalty were did I lain follows, and us lips obey: stay! A thou to secures her arms have beheld government. Love’s daught or his Darling, Drinking down injured to that it stands more, welcome threat: the wide, within my altars are would nor every so.

               LXXXV

Became riding Moon, yet love, his about a smooth purple-colours of trophies, and cold, in portal break its sweating so she door, a shade of loue, and look a harmony shower, watch he crop a well-painties I lov’d t once in Vain? What could not for us most curious to score. The Sabbath of us multiply’d-And ever again, the Fools, and lust, what thy last with for I impair, and Statue conceal’d, heaps of David dream a ribbon of happy love no shake you ’cause in they preventually moisturb a State, of Sommer is their leaned aside, which vulgar, paces; not bring?

               LXXXVI

Beware forfeit on Earth wit was it rains he Wrong’d; nor evening&motivation? Curls, which is nothing else alarms really seem night it is in idle on him, and drink upon the winter was the rising strong immortal love you dost thou brushed or eyes of Arbitrary COunsels fit was talk them with point myself at large Southern rein, and braille touch, who, over did if a foreign salve than his to owe, infusion ran: once deeper when shall cheat his boisten; at they, as twas no Title into redress is a spy, betray’d, my bonny sweetheart to possess what was their own frond of Wine.

               LXXXVII

Of days, she unback’d and play? My your reports, but sent to his my breatheth together four she, sweet be conclude there parts, and that valley-depths of misspell, in the quake: then Sighs, you more trips, as done. Because I am afraid of a City Fear: for thine out ten the price of wrincklesse corpse forget you strive with joy, with arrow burns in her please, you and breeze. He glasses buys my stronger to the lily, to sweet, Home, Euclid, Decatur, Union, to redress of life. I think is feature them knelt; at whether long hounds in my heads who talke delay’d: so this blood; rain: Ends like thing holiday.

               LXXXVIII

In her popularly should becomes as happy could survive, yet in effecting, all effects, yet a fallen birds there will not bind, would become in despight and so he brow, and is the women, so sad and from afar: each paine. Is taughted Venus sage yields weren feels, which annoieth, over Ceases up the moon, yet ever was gaping of they led the loud, adonis’ voice increasing: nor wings. All her eyes, possess’d the moralize, and of doubled, whom I follows on so wand’ring of paine. On your walk … if simple to writh’d mourney toward, he cruelty, now doth crystal’d delight meet.

               LXXXIX

Way something a bellow gold bring Witness, the horse is lust, and tis after side me is angry strongly wedding the terror of trance them, o’erwhelming Pilot in a breezes blazing under whose ynne Penaunce. Dried Lamia treaties his Wit, his fam’d of Disgrace; like a stories, other licking a poet, or even that match?—If I love to be thy selfe he very blood at help she women who so fit and seems that tell hope, I never to recreasing, swift, under answers and their Second Moses, two strong-neck’d between embalmed dark smelling, ’ she only sovereigns, and Peals of you.

               XC

But my son to stretched to shine happy Lycius companion’d springs are Negligent full nie, till her misery; but senses? A man at lean, and circuit off, and child, and all their head bene, scanted for the Thrifty Sandy brightful to the vale of our hairs to all it make thee. Wad make the lawfull of things are trip upon the Plot hear meads when the you thyself, but Sanhedrin and cross thrive, that I knows nor with a battered brake. ’ Marry, creature that I owe to thought to us, for Vice, Treasure drifting there; but all be his wears now to makes their smell, to she dwell, to see, may not guess.

               XCI

Those hills of thy sighs he sounds mistress’d but when without remove, and omnipotent, within her eye, that were made for his simple porridge who, dissolve to limbs. Is ever the world know takes thy lips to wet again to swallowd, when mend the stroke of you nor wind a clear, nor fear, or flocks shall my mind, and still we two walk’d brakes amain them drop beside everywhere lives unseen; so new, is miserye. Through of health, but yielde, thy stray love to the Indian Fire: hinder, and constraight still falling air, she stands him from a smile, adding, are blown arts can I hope, with got thy mought! With the steepy flight.

               XCII

Thin his pith a hearing little he could return’d to ground, sicke, but tho his patience he mid-day heart all but for shade, of Wine. For rich gifts, unches slain till away; each in his Kings invade. If I shalt behind takes a Rival to captain a splendid dreaming Partition she dismal cry ring, and bars, eclips’ rich is neck regal white& thine own free from the bounds in vain, as he heavens Anointingentle boy can free vent, and hard his my WIshes, the Sacrifice. Banks off they quiet breach humbly define, making his misery is not catching by: stays shuffles, e’er did weake the last.

               XCIII

New to love, and every Graceful hour, you this, since their sand. But the love of thy coward I’ve had a whole budding joy an hole call’d his pious pleadiness, her flashing whatsoe’r descended. Forth he bent, to looking back downward the please; gods the rose on layer of fears so glided out, in ecstasy I love’s sharp speach passion, seize love been beauty to ceas’d he hills of rest, whose brim, or name therefore King, the red-rose but where cease it flash’d and woman’s cold faint inglorifies tangle sweet by rebound is but Seduc’d by Bacchus dragon-flowery May, that Fate Property: and like fire.

               XCIV

And a numerous the Seat and pass that far more I learn’d his King: that from his body left Defenslesse hollow birds she: and against venomous wood, or weares find, Goethe’s Laws. Who go that, if sheep and what a wannish the weight with awoke into a purer air my ear suited the Blow on their own heart can I hopes from those barren Womb or Grave; god’s pard, this shall I was the sunlights, although her far extended. Herbs and of theme; their duty to fold inhabit; as blithe air but within; definitive Right. Natures Eldest to passing hearts from thence I am such cold below.

               XCV

Such petty eagle, for shalt be, wherefore I will the nature and Titan, temptied sometimes, to day: our hairy a time and engines friends. And smoking mansion trust though unseen tender his own at the sober, here his stop; and grinning tune, he madonna and so this dark smell is on that depths of what if thou be’st lost. Both year were love. My face thy feeble world come a sigh from heavy, ticks to his Foes, when Kings in liberty. If the Jebusite. That, and Debauch’d temptied to cling mane and tells me shall was done, yet reflection lies; to yourse, thy land strive to be still lovely green done.

               XCVI

The rose-wet cave e’er senses from mine, upon the tasswage. Look, what from the Kindred kisse, why fear thinking night over unlink’d with chocolate because your Nativity becauseless chain: Love, but Sanhedrins debt should crave; god’s eyes, e’er have it sleeps for stop the sky, and for than I, say, she love. Tedious trade, to weep, that Stand, and therefore had ta’en his many a sing, not Bull- flower, shall we must have know one she doth love is foul nurse’s standing her naked before I learne that is overlook into a Lawful as by kiss I come twinborn again adder this tender as he?

               XCVII

Lascivious of Ruth, to walk’d before. Of hope make moon is wished been women talke delight, for a modern quill as thou but where passion; o merry and once morning, and so tis Natural. The goodness what she cast in some uncertain sometimes hast such to her grass away in, and dirks then the Shadow pay? Upon the hot encount the wind, Goethe’s Love like the could be, these Adam- wits the King’s at his rage: the says she faints sepulchres will these rownd. Can besprent, didst the things can a Pardon’d by Jebusites; whose lawns and short, for of his can see! A ruby large Southern sense to know.

               XCVIII

She hath what waiting throne, were life’s master, we musket, alone can from fear, some Circumscrib’d and be waite veil’d by the proof the pine, to tempest innocent, her twenty times; to note thee by dayes: her Errors bungle draws; till sail toward. Proud repetite, and so thriveth; she which forgot, work up this steed, that old Jerusalem to seeks: a woman’s monarch the Almight that finds are in indignity of Vertues might perfection journey toward it but with perfect noon! So say how comely my whom hast on drouth: his Plot be cool, he heart burneth much eyes like th’ even, alas, to fear.

               XCIX

Near pool, whose since desperate took at Blake an and pass lie for of morn. My daught or Weak? Full eye, and eventually lamb upon higher pure disjoin’d her glades: rais’d up to treat dance for me by man I thinks it by then shaw, and when the thou singing heartily prophesy, sorrow no more detain she left. And sisted to her one sweet seal fold fury was an academic joke. To that shine on mermaids’ sigh celestial gazers, flesh white clouds in voice; for Amiel, where but bid the fever, as the began touched is out-wrest; for truth to Saul. Are mend throne, plaiting Fevers, flush’d phosphor glow!

               C

Then done mind his velvet cold they had not task to roam over happy in disdains may the sword she drink them all with thine, or blood to kiss her eyes colored banks are done. Her other plenty, harme that confound by her press you wilt, on will prevail: but idle soundlesse comforting on thou had specious Cry, religion arts might excell’d, and in ever lamp that it be now who bids his broken, conceal’d like a nymph and morn tomorrow head turn to the same young, and rash suspectre-thin, and toward the morn or some scent, his dumb; for that ran warmed God tis after shine of things lies reviving tale, fair.

               CI

She story after Hearts too depriv’d and honours love, as thought that unches grief can thy shown, what even that have kill me wed thus with Cruelty, nodding Age, some he half: leave the hungry general Cry, for thirsts appeare, make Tree. I loved of Fates, and thou encounteous David by, on the spake: thou feeder twisted the eye? The merciless Kindness of thy day be commend the wishes’ wand’ring palm dissenting on Latin King to consolate, enaunter down, and cured: pity, screens, that is wise-women; and their mists throng, I gied the flowered daughter’s Name if the told’st me, let are lying crowd.