#post brought to you by my two hours of hunting for my riding gloves

[bending-sickle]

the problem with not moving house and country every two or three years is you forget where all you shit it because you haven’t done a deep cull in ages

[whirlybirbs]

did I just put off sleeping for 6 hours last night despite having work early in the morning just to read your entire miss turner x arthur series. of course I did :) absolutely amazing!! genuinely can’t wait to read more sometime!✨

    GOLD BARS   &   PETTICOATS   ;    A.M.

summary: arthur rides back into camp to learn that miss turner has gone off on her first heist. she comes back, arthur is proud, + revenge is a sweet little thing.pairing: arthur morgan x reader -- turner as a placeholder surnamea/n: hehehe i love this high-class bad bitch, also arthur being anxiety man. this is a part of my simpler said aloud series! here’s the masterlist that’s in terrible need of an update.

Arthur Morgan rides into camp along side Charles with two large bucks draped over the backs’ of their horses. It’s mid-day by the time they unload, skin, and clean the meat of the early morning hunt -- just in time for Pearson to begin prepping dinner. 

It’s oddly quiet, however, for noon in the camp.

He’d thought nothing of the lack of a usual welcome upon arrival, however as blue eyes scan the outskirts of camp, Arthur is quickly socked with the absence of Miss Turner.

He swallows down his worry and stands, blood soaked through the front of his shirt from skinning, and approaches Dutch’s tent as he wrings his hands clean with a rag Pearson had unceremoniously chucked at him. 

“Where are th’ girls?” Arthur asks, trying not betray his poker face, as he stops front of Van der Linde himself. He wrings his hands again, this time out of bubbling anxiousness.

Dutch pulls his eyes up from his book. He leans back. “They’re due back any time now, my boy. Trelawney brought them along with him into town. Something about a tea party in a pretty little garden and plenty of folks lookin’ to be robbed blind.”

Dutch waves it off, as it it’s nothing.

Arthur hums. He nods. He looks away. 

However, he lingers.

Dutch notes the moment of contemplation hitching him to his spot.

“Miss Turner,” Dutch supplies, “Jumped at the opportunity, Arthur. Her and Hosea seem to have become fast comrades. She’s mentioned to him that she dislikes the idea of purity in her reputation. If she is going to run with us, she said, she wants to pull her weight --”

Dutch waves his hands. 

“-- So let her. Let her be inducted alongside the wolves, let us rid ourselves of a lamb.”

There’s something sinister in the way Dutch says it -- but Arthur leaves it alone. If he’s learned anything from Dutch, it’s not to push. So, the outlaw simply nods and drops his chin.

“Right, Dutch.”

So, he putters. Arthur wonders if this is  how you feel when he’s out on a job -- it’s a palpable mix of anxiety and fear and excitement that sits on the edge of his heartbeat. Every sound from the trail beyond the woods has his chest dowsed in a fire-bathed clench. 

Maybe he should have tried harder to protect you from this life.

Sadie Adler spares him a pitied look while he paces and Arthur wonders if it’s really that apparent that he’s that worried. 

The sun’s about to set, dinner’s about to be served, and Arthur’s about to ride out on his own to find all of you when the parade rides into camp.

It’s certainly a sight to see -- feathers and colorful petticoats and face-paint and fans, all accompanied by the singing and laughing of Mary-Beth, Tilly, Karen, Miss Grimshaw, and yourself. Trelawney is in stitches at the head of the herd, shaking his head as the group hops from their steeds.

“-- Where’d you learn that whole accent anyways?” Tilly’s asking you as she hitches her horse, “Seemed t’ have all them folks awfully charmed.”

You spur Hugo towards the post, patting his neck happily as you grin and shrug -- you turn on the saddle, waving a hand and slapping your fan open. Your voice crescendos high, into something like a lacy sigh, when you coo. “What? This lil’ bit?”

More laughter. Miss Grimshaw shakes her head.

Arthur rises from his cot with an amused grin, watching the theatrics with a massive amount of amusement. Tossing his journal aside, he approaches quickly -- quickly enough to glare at Kieran when the makeshift stable-master moves to offer you a hand down from Hugo.

You grin, so wide and bright, at Arthur, he can’t help but mirror it.

“Hi, you,” you croon, “Careful, I’m eighty pounds heavier than I was.”

Arthur snortst as he slides his hands around your waist and lifts to help you down from the tall Suffolk Punch -- and sure enough, you’re right. He grunts.

“What in th’ hell --”

You move, hiking your skirts up.

Kieran, behind Arthur, squeaks and turns on a heel.

Arthur’s eyes widen, hands moving to swat at the sudden display of indecency --

Then, you pluck a gold bar from the band of your stockings.

Karen’s eyes go big, Tilly and Mary-Beth falling in around the gathering members of the Van der Linde gang. The ladies, all done up in frills and curls, seem to go a bit ravenous at the sight.

“Where did you --”

“How?!”

You beam. “They were in the safe. While you were all doing th’ whole singing bit, I brought that french fellow upstairs --”

“Oh my god --” Trelawney, even, is caught off by your competency.

“It really is easy to knock someone out!” you say quickly, pride surging up as you grip Arthur for balance, digging through your skirts to brandish more bars. They keep coming as you explain, “So I stuffed him in the closet after he opened the safe to show me his riches and --”

Arthur gawks, blinking at the eight gold bars in your satin-gloved hands.

The whole group falls silent at the glow in the evening sun.

“... Jesus Christ.”

“Miss Turner,” Trelawney says, then, “I believe you might have been born for this sort of work.”

You grin.

Arthur, then, splits into a laugh so loud it catches everyone off guard. He’s bowing then, gripping his knee as you laugh along, peels of laughter high and gleeful. 

“Y’ shoved ‘em in yer skirts -- ?”

More laughter. 

You throw your hands, eyes twinkling at him. “Sorry, my pockets were full!”

And then come the bills. You pry the thousands of dollar bills from the pockets in your petticoat and the girls holler with excitement, mimicking the same action. Arthur, then, is gob-smacked -- he looks up at you all, eyes darting between the combined wealth.

“Who th’ hell did y’ rob?”

“Waylon Robbins’ personal accountant.”

There’s a dangerous glint in your eyes as you say it. Revenge, Arthur thinks, is a wonderful thing when it’s you -- he’d gladly let you rob him blind. His money, his name, his heart. All of it. 

You pluck a handful of bills from the clip and a gold bar, only to pass them Arthur’s way.

“Here’s your share, Mr. Morgan,” you pat his chest, “For all your trouble.”

He kisses you like you’re his only source of air, then, pride mingling with passion and the combined jeers around the two of you only spur him on. Arthur pries himself from you slowly, greed flaring in his mind at the idea of dragging you far away from everyone’s eyes.

“Welcome t’ th’ outlaw life, Miss Turner.”

[firefly-in-darkness]

Christmas in New York - Part One

Characters: Thor & Y/N, Loki

Summary: Y/N is clouded by her love for her boss, Brock Rumlow, but is that about to change?

Prompt:  The Holiday

Word Count: 3k

Beta: @princessmisery666​​ - thank you lovely! (All mistakes are my own though).

A/N: This is a part of @lostinaseaoffictionalbliss​​ challenge - I don’t know how this turned into a mini series but here we are... Hope you enjoy! Feedback is golden, tags are open!

Christmas in New York Series List

Previously...

Y/N’s thumb hovered over the email for a second then opened it; she was greeted to a beautiful view of woodlands and a lake, the images moved to show a log cabin that needed a little love then back to more breathtaking views. She scanned the email, making sure to read the small print, then clicked to enter.

What an escape that would be…

Two Months Later…

Y/N slumped against her couch, her neatly pressed attire now creased and crumpled, as she sunk lower into the cushions, after a long day . Twenty applications, three interviews and one rejection later, she had sent herself into a spiral of self-deprecation and worry. 

On occasion, the thought of approaching Brock flickered across her mind but she immediately straightened herself out. With a heavy sigh, Y/N lifted her phone to check for any email updates on her recent applications. Nothing. 

She dropped her phone beside her, rolled her eyes and let her head fall back to the cushions. Why did I quit before finding another job?! You idiot, she chastised herself before she pushed away from the cushions and stood up with a stretch of her limbs.

Ping, ping!

Y/N grabbed her phone and headed towards the kitchen when an excitable scream ripped through the apartment as she read the notification.

Win a Holiday: Congratulations Y/N! New York Awaits!

She spun around, did a little wiggle of her hips and shoulders and then fist pumped the air. Finally some good news. Adrenaline pumped through her veins as she thought of all the possibilities of where this could take her. A couple of jumps up and down later, she sat at the kitchen island and began to read through the email thoroughly, again and again to make sure it wasn’t a hoax.

Y/N immediately text Wanda to meet for dinner at the weekend.

The lights strung around the posts twinkled against the darkened sky, the smell of spices wafted through the cool air and the hushed chatter accompanied by soft melodies brought the small tapas bar to life. Y/N and Wanda sat in the courtyard, they nibbled at their plates of food and sipped wine in between their conversation.

Wanda’s red locks glowed against the fairy lights and a devilish smirk appeared, she placed her glass down and gripped onto your arm, “So what’s this exciting news you’ve got for me? Another interview? A new job? Did you have sex? You’ve met someone?” 

Y/N shook her head, her grin grew with each guess as Wanda’s eyebrows furrowed in failure and thoughts flickered across her eyes. The last two months hadn’t been easy, Wanda had been Y/N’s shoulder to cry on when interviews resulted in rejections, applications went unanswered and her unemployment continued. Wanda had been the one to talk Y/N out of calling Brock and asking for her job back. It was nice to see Wanda excited that she finally had some good news to share. 

She leant forward to whisper, “Are you pregnant?!”

With wide eyes, Y/N choked on her bite, “No! God, no!”

Y/N passed her phone and showed her the congratulatory email detailing the prize she had won,  a Trip to New York. She watched Wanda read, her brow twitched and then her lips bloomed into a smile.

“This is amazing! Where will you be staying?”

Y/N scrolled to the bottom of the email and tapped the screen, “In a cabin, in the countryside.”

“A cabin!”

The other patrons all turned to stare at the outburst from Wanda, they both apologised and carried on with their meal and discussion. Y/N had decided long before meeting with Wanda that she would be going, regardless of where she was going to be staying. 

New York was an incredible distance away from LA but it gave her the opportunity to escape and possibly find other jobs in a different place. Y/N would be out of the reach of Brock, the failure of her job hunting and be able to move on with her life. If she wanted too, and that was good enough for her to be ready to leave.

“For how long?”

“A month, the place is fully stocked with food for at least two weeks. I’ve already handed in my notice on the apartment, a new tenant has already snapped it up.”

“What if you don’t come back…Will I see you again?” Wanda’s eyes brimmed with tears as she pulled Y/N into a hug.

“Of course! How dare you think our lunch dates are over just because we are a few hours apart. Regardless of the way things are going, I fully expect you to come and visit me after Christmas if I find a job. And that’s only a month away.”

The farewell gift from Wanda was perfect; a matching set of gloves and scarf. The change in weather was to be expected but Y/N didn’t expect how drastic. Her breath misted and swirled into the sky as she lugged her suitcase up the wooden staircase and onto the porch of the cabin. Hat, fluffy socks… She made a mental note and thought of how she doubted she would ever get used to the nearly freezing temperatures, especially at nine in the morning.

Y/N finally took in her surroundings; the cabin was surrounded by woodland, the trees were almost bare, apart from the spruces, covered in a slight frost. And they must be near a lake from what Y/N could see from the coach ride to the small town and the boat shed peeking from the back corner of the cabin.

Silence. The weight of LA drifted off of Y/N’s shoulders and into the New York countryside. 

The tiredness she’d felt from the flight and the days of packing and organizing leading up to her departure dissipated and excitement filled her bones. She spun around and opened the front door, dragged her suitcase behind her and was welcomed to a quaint living room of leather and fur, a large fireplace with a few logs stacked beside. The stone of the chimney loomed upwards, a prominent and majestic feature, flanked by windows out into the wild.

The wood panels echoed with warmth and guided Y/N’s line of sight to the stairs leading up to an open planned bedroom. Her stomach grumbled and she sought the kitchen. It was bigger than she had expected, with a space for dining and a reading nook by the window, opposite the french doors onto a decked area. Y/N’s stomach grumbled again, she opened the cupboards to find tins of soup and bread. Perfect, she smiled to herself.

With her hunger sated, Y/N grabbed her suitcase, ready to unpack and explore the upper floor of the cabin. The stairs creaked faintly under her foot as she ascended, and when she reached the top a gasp escaped her lips. The large bed was dressed with cushions stacked against the pillows, a blanket draped across one of the corners but what had made her gasp was the view that her bed faced. Floor to ceiling windows within an iron grid showed the wild beauty of the forest. Y/N was enraptured of the neverending view of the bare and snowy trees, the birds that scattered the skyline and the warm glow of the sun as it hung low above the lake in the distance.

With the sky clear, not a cloud insight, Y/N freshened up in the en-suite bathroom that was connected through a door beside the bed. She immediately felt the warmth on the soles of her feet from the tiles. Underfloor heating?!, Y/N all but squealed in excitement. The waterfall style shower was too perfect, and when she wrapped the fluffy white towel around her body, it was like heaven.

Y/N scrambled into her clothes; jeans, a t-shirt and hoodie then pushed her feet into the knee high boots. With a roll of her shoulders, she grabbed her jacket, scarf and gloves as she headed out the door for a three mile walk to the lake. She glanced at her watch, Two pm, a few hours before sundown. 

Forty-five minutes, the tourist guide for Pinnacle Trail in a kitchen drawer had said. An hour and a half later and she still hadn’t reached the lake. As the sun began to set, the trees started to turn from a snowy fairytale to something of a nightmare as the branches weaved into the sky and blocked some of the light.

Everything is fine, Y/N repeated to herself as she glanced around the forest, the trees seemed to close in on her and the sky darkened with clouds and the nearly faded sun. Panic slowly seeped into her as snow flurried around her, her breath formed in the air as she panted and scurried between the trees to get back to the cabin.

Y/N saw a small dark shadow to her left, fear grew and she dived behind a tree. She peered round to see the shadow in the form of a wolf. Y/N clamped her hand over her mouth and watched, eyes wide, as the shadow grew and bounded through the trees towards her. Y/N held her breath as the shadow reached the final tree line before the small amount of light showed a dog.

She exhaled in relief and the dog’s ears pricked up at the sound. Their eyes locked and they slowly edged towards one another. The dog’s nose twitched and sniffed out towards Y/N, who extended her hand in return. She remained still as allowing the dog to sniff her  fingertips, her patience was rewarded with a with a tentative lick of her palm, the dog’s tail wagged in response and his brown eyes sparkled.. A laugh burst out of her as she stroked the dog’s back and scratched his ears.

“Loki!” Thor’s voice echoed through the trees. “Loki, come here boy!”

The small amount of settled snow crunched under his boots, his eyes strained in the darkening sky and the flurries that surrounded him. After a few more calls, Thor spotted Loki trotting alongside a woman, a beautiful woman. Thor’s smile grew as his dog bounded towards him and lifted back onto his hind legs in excitement, his tongue hung outside his mouth as he leapt around him.

Thor encircled his large arms around the dog’s neck, “Loki, you’ve got to stop running off and-” He spotted the woman that stood awkwardly in the tree line, “Thank you so much. He didn’t hurt you? He’s friendly but a little mischievous, doesn’t know his own strength.”

He looked expectantly at Y/N who seemed distracted by his presence, he flashed her a small smile and nod before he outstretched his hand.

“Sorry, I wasn’t expecting, well um-yeah, no that’s okay,” Y/N stammered her way through the sentence and reached her hand out to his, “I’m Y/N, and no, he gave me a little fright but he was a good companion.”

Thor chuckled and then noticed her attire; light jacket and suede boots, “You’re not from around here are you?”

Y/N giggled in response, “No, I’m not, what gave it away? The poor choice in shoes?” she lifted her boots that were soaked through from the snow, “or that I am completely lost?”

“Well yes, but I was going to say that you’re posture is very rigid like most city dwellers.” Thor berated himself internally as soon as his words came out. He watched her eyes widened at his comment and the immediate shift in her demeanor. If she wasn’t rigid before, she is now.

“Do you know where you’re going?” Thor raised his eyebrow at her, in the hope that she saw that it was with sincerity rather than mocking.

“I’m staying at a cabin near the Huddle Brook river, just before the Bolton conservation area?”

Thor nodded and gave her a half smile, “May I ask, where were you trying to go in the dark?”

“I was going to walk the Pinnacle Trail and then to the lake. I think I took a wrong turn, but then I met this guy.” Y/N patted Loki’s head.

“You’re way off! Let me take you back, I know where you’re staying.” Thor gestured towards the path.

Thor noticed the way Y/N’s breath hitched at his words and he realised that he must have sounded like a stalker but then she beamed at him and he never wanted her to look any other way.

“Thank you, I’d really appreciate that.”

Loki weaved between them as they strolled down the path. Thor glanced down to Y/N and watched her thoughts scatter across her face. He stifled a laugh and as she was about to speak Thor opened the door to a red pick up truck. Loki jumped into the cab, and then Thor held out his gloved hand for Y/N to help her climb into the seat. 

Y/N glanced up at him, her eyes were framed in sparkles as the snow melted on her lashes. Thor wanted to move closer, to kiss those lips that smiled at him. He withdrew his hand quickly but immediately regretted it as she flinched away from the sudden movement.

Idiot, now you’ve gone and scared her, Thor scolded himself and jogged to the other side of the truck.

Y/N was able to get a better view of her saviour now that he was beside her and his concentration on the road. If she hadn’t been paying attention to the man driving, she would have noticed the sky swiftly fade to darkness and the sparkle of stars but she studied the man’s face. She was captivated by the lines that framed his eyes as he smiled when his dog nuzzled against his arm and how his beard was neat yet gave him a rugged look.

“Oh my, I don’t even know your name!” She gasped, the dog now alert from the sound.

A hearty laugh burst through the silence, “I’m Thor, nice to meet you Y/N.”

“What like the viking God?” The words tumbled from her lips without a thought.

Thor’s face dropped and Y/N noticed his jaw tense and his brow furrowed.

“I’m sorry that was rude of me,” Y/N focused on the hem of her jacket and fiddled with a loose thread.

A loud noise echoed through the cab and she looked up at the man in shock, he slapped the steering wheel once more before he chuckled, “You’re not the first to ask me that. My mum was very interested in Norse mythology. Hence, Loki here too.”

Thor patted the head of the dog in the middle seat, Y/N followed his hand as he stroked the dog. His large hands that were so gentle against the animal. Imagine what those hands could do to you… Her thoughts sent a rush of blood to her cheeks, she bit her lip as she redirected her thoughts to the trees that passed as they drove along the winding road.

“Here we are,” Thor announced as he turned down the drive to the cabin.

A click of the buckle and Y/N scrambled out of the cab with a jump from the seat to the ground. Loki followed and sprinted up the porch, he sat and waited by the door with his head cocked.

“Sorry buddy, you have to go back to-” Y/N turned around to point to Thor’s truck when she collided with his chest.

Thor gripped her arms and steadied her balance, their eyes locked onto one another. Loki barked and Thor dropped his hands. She already missed the warmth of them but took a step back.

“Thank you for driving me home.” Y/N tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and scuffed her boot on the porch.

“Not a problem. And now you know to get some decent footwear and maybe a map?”

A blush crept up her face and she glanced up to see Thor’s wide smile. I’d love to stroke that face, that beard would feel good against… Y/N coughed and turned to Loki and stroked his head, “Goodnight boy, and you, Thor.”

Thor nodded, and with a wave, he descended the porch steps, “See you around, Y/N.”

The cold air hit Y/N, her body shivered from her feet in the snow-drenched boots to the tip of her icy nose. She flicked on the lights, pulled off her gloves and sprinted towards the stone chimney. She looked at the logs, the matches and then the fireplace.

What do I do?! She realised that she had never lit a fire in her entire life.

Y/N ran back to the front door and onto the porch to see Thor hadn’t left yet, relief washed over her as he stepped out of the truck, concern etched on his face.

“Thor, wait! I don’t know how to get the fire started, can you-”

“Of course.” He grinned and ushered Loki to follow.

Thor and Loki entered the cabin, the dog immediately bounded in and onto the armchair. He curled up and rested his head on the arm. Y/N chuckled and handed over the firestarters to Thor as they walked around the couch.

“You should take your clothes off.” Thor commented as he placed logs and some paper into the fireplace. At Y/N’s lack of response, he turned to find her wide eyed. “You’re soaked, you need to change if you ever want to get warm.”

“Oh right, yes that makes sense.” She ascended the staircase behind them, you idiot, of course he didn’t mean for him.

Y/N returned to the living room in a set of pajamas and as she approached a warmth bloomed across her skin from the flames, and in her chest as joined Thor and Loki on the rug at the hearth.

Continue 

[rosecolouredash]

Star-crossed; Hockey!Calum

Pairing: Hockey!Calum x fem!OC

Summary: It was just his luck that he found her pretty.

Warnings: Minor language, sports-related violence

Notes: So this is the third Hockey!Calum one shot I’ve posted in a row (the fourth, if you count Hockey!Cashton…) I DON’T KNOW WHO I AM. Ehhm. ANYWAYS thank you to the amazing @casht0n-hoodwin for sending me this blurb idea. As you can see Mak, I kinda ran with it and I might keep running with it for a lil while longer… Also, I tried something new and wrote this in the third person and with OCs! Let me know what you think. Otherwise, I hope you enjoy! It was nice to get back into some writing again.

Calum watched, slightly bleary eyed, as his captain ordered another round of shots. The group of college boys occupying the local bar started their night out thinking they’d have a casual drink with the team. Each boy was at least three drinks in, at this point.

The dark-haired boy laughed as he took the small glass that was offered to him by a fellow defensemen. After cheersing the teammates closest to him, Calum tapped the bottom of the glass on the bar before he brought it up to his lips and downed the shot in an instant - the liquor coating his throat with a somewhat pleasant burn.

The Timberwolves hockey team celebrated their recent win at regionals. They were now headed into the national championship.

“All right, lads. Try not to stay out late tonight,” Ashton started, using a tone of voice the team was familiar with during practice. “We have an early practice tomorrow and then our semi-final game against the Grizzlies on Saturday night.”

The team had less than a week to prepare for one of the most important games of their college hockey careers.

The Grizzlies were a relatively unknown team from the town over that qualified for nationals this year.

Their success was largely due to their captain, Blake Weaver, a rising forward who currently held the college league’s record of most goals in a single season. Their dark horse status left the Timberwolves apprehensive, especially their captain. Ashton was adamant on being ready to play against them.

Michael lifted his beer bottle to the team. “Here’s to a successful bear hunt, this weekend. Eh, boys?”

Howls of laughter filled the space.

As he took a moment to gaze around the small bar, Calum caught eyes with a pretty blonde who offered him a sweet smile.

He finished one more drink before declaring that he was headed out. Bidding farewell to his family of a team, some with much difficulty - Luke almost convinced him to stay - he left the crowded bar.

The late-evening air was cool on his skin.

Before he had the chance to begin walking back to his apartment, a couple of blocks away, the heavy door of the bar swung open again.

It was the blonde Calum had shared a smile with.

“Calling it a night, too?” He asked, kindly.

“Mm, something like that.” She grinned, her dimples becoming apparent. “The boys in there are getting a little rowdy.”

She continued to recount that as she left, a tall curly-haired boy had started double-fisting bottles of beer. Calum chuckled at the comment; confident that she was describing his best friend.

Falling into an easy-going conversation, Calum admired her eyes. They were a lighter shade of brown, unlike his own.

He learned that she was visiting town and that this particular dive bar was a recommendation. He listed other places to visit which she appreciated immensely. When she asked about dog-friendly spots, the dark-haired boy was elated to share the places in which he brought his little pup, Duke. At that point, he asked if she wanted to see pictures of him. He was halfway through pulling out his phone when she happily obliged; while sharing pictures of her own puppy.

Mid-way through their conversation, Calum realized he never properly introduced himself. As he gave his name, Ashton and Michael exited the bar with Luke - one of his arms draped over the two aforementioned boys.

“Cal, you’re still here?” Ashton questioned when he noticed that a girl was with him. She was shy of his height by a few inches.

Confused at the enquiry, Calum glanced at his phone, still out from sharing pictures of Duke and checked the time. He figured out that they were stood outside the bar talking for over an hour now.

Calum introduced his best friends, each of them giving her some form of greeting, safe for Luke who let out a small burp then giggled. His laugh was infectious and so she couldn’t help but join in.

They were telling her that they played on the college hockey team when a car pulled up to the curb of the bar.

“Oh! There’s my ride,” she apologized, cutting Michael off from his story from their last game. After wishing them goodnight, she got in and waved from the interior of the vehicle. She greeted the green-eyed boy in the driver’s seat who gave the foursome one last stare before speeding away.

“She was nice,” Luke hummed and then rested his head on Michael’s shoulder. “What’s her name?”

“Shit,” Calum realized she hadn’t said. Though, he did know her dog’s name was Rococo.

“That’s a nice name.”

Ashton snorted at Luke’s half-coherent response, rubbing his back. “Let’s get you home, mate.”

—

“That must be him.”

Calum looked over to the opposing team’s bench.

It was Saturday night and the semi-final game, between the Timberwolves and the Grizzlies, was about to begin. From his place on the ice, the defenseman watched as a tall fellow spoke to the Grizzlies head coach; WEAVER glaring from the back of his jersey in red fabric.

“You think you can take him, Cal?” The boy in blue looked over to his captain. It was decided that Calum would stay on Weaver; the entire game. He responded with a reassuring nod.

They got into their positions when the referee moved to center ice for the puck drop.

Ashton faced his opponent when a feeling of recognition washed over him. The Timberwolves’ captain raised his eyebrow at the boy. “Have we ever met before?”

Weaver stayed silent, his glare unnerving.

Michael let out a chuckle from his place on Ashton’s left. “Strong, silent type, huh?”

Their opponent shifted his gaze over to the left-winged player, “I let my actions on the ice speak for me.”

Before Michael could respond, the referee blew his whistle to signal the beginning of the game.

The puck went down and Ashton won the face-off. He quickly passed it to Luke, who then passed it up to Michael. Unfortunately, the left-wing had skated too far up on the ice and one of the Grizzlies got in-between to steal the puck.

Calum, who was about to cover Weaver, swore under his breath and fell back to play on the defensive.

It went back and forth like this between the two teams for a while.

At one point in the first period, the captain of the Grizzlies had possession of the puck.

This was Calum’s chance. He focused solely on the stitching of WEAVER on the back of the white jersey and went in for the hit. When Calum made contact, the defensemen could have sworn he heard a whimper when Weaver crashed into the boards and fell down onto the ice.

Before Weaver was hit, the puck was passed to a Grizzlies teammate that was off-side so the play was whistled down to a stop.

“Damn.” Calum heard from Weaver who was trying to get up from the ice. Feeling a little bad, the defensemen did the sportsmanly thing and offered a gloved hand. Before grabbing ahold of it, a voice cut through the ice, making them pull away from each other.

“Get away from my sister!”

“Sister?” Michael questioned, skating over to his best friend. He and Calum shared a confused look.

The boy who had called out, crouched down onto the ice and went to remove Weaver’s helmet. “You ok, Blake?”

“Woah, wait a minute…” Michael chimed in again but the rest of his sentence died out in his throat.

Underneath the headgear, blonde hair was revealed; bits of it falling out of a braided crown that wrapped around her head.

When Ashton too skated over, he realized why the guy he shared the face-off circle with seemed so familiar.

Luke was the last to join his teammates and best friends. Skating to a halt, he overlooked the scene and uttered the first words that came to his mind, “well fuck, there’s two of you?”

At that, Calum was broken out of his reverie. He locked eyes again with the pretty blonde they’d met a couple of nights ago at the bar.

She offered him a sheepish smile, her dimples matching those of her twin brother until he began to frown at the foursome. “It’s nice to see you boys again.”

Tagged: @irwinkitten @calpops @rosecoloredash @lilbabycalum @gorgeouslygrace @rainingcal @casht0n-hoodwin @lockthisheartinchains @americanhorrorstudies @lovableah

[alydiarackham]

(Cover by me)

The Riddle Walker by Alydia Rackham (Book 2 Weaving of Time Trilogy)

Prologue

           The young man glanced in the dull, curved mirror. He frowned. It was covered with dust. Reaching out a leather-gloved hand, he swiped at the circular surface, clearing it so that it reflected better. Bending closer, he studied his face. It was young, white, carven, princely, and hard. He had sharp, aquiline eyebrows, his mouth was set and grave, his cheekbones high and defined, and his straight, brown hair hung down to his collar. He fingered a strand of his hair that was now bearing a bit of gray, which was slightly annoying. The same hand strayed to his right eye and gently pressed against the soft skin beneath it. He was already losing his sight there—and gaining it at the same time. His mouth twitched. He still was not used to this appearance, but it did not disconcert him. Quite the opposite. He had made this transition thousands of times, and he never grew tired of regaining strong muscle and sinew, and a staggeringly handsome face.

           He pulled a long, woolen riding cloak off of a wooden hook beside the mirror and slung it around his shoulders. He glanced down as he clasped it, striding down the dark, stone hallway and then kicking the door open. The door banged against the outside wall. Sunshine showered over him and warmed the top of his head. His clothes ruffled as a crisp, moist wind blew down off the hillside. The twittering of birds filled the air. He glanced up and behind him at the four gray towers of the castle, reaching high into the brilliant blue skies, each bearing a vibrant banner.

           Three men waited for him in the gravel yard, each atop a muscular, sleek black horse. One was the lord of this castle, a robust, red-headed, bearded man named Lord Ackhenhaill. The other was his firstborn son, Brody, a young, lean, blonde man who thought of nothing but hunting. The third was their guest, a dark-haired, good-hearted, battle-scarred Lord Alasdair MacDomnhaill, ruler of Tioramir and half of Scotland. The young man clasping his cloak concealed his smile. This was the man who would be receiving the bulk of his attention.

           “Good morning, my son,” Lord Ackhenhaill called merrily. The young man forced himself to acknowledge Ackhenhaill, reminding himself that the lord was talking to him, as his second son.

           “Good morning,” the young man answered briskly.

           “How did you sleep?” Brody asked.

           “Tolerably,” the young man replied, turning toward the servant who was bringing out his stallion. The young man snatched the reins from the servant, restraining himself from striking him in the face. The cowering stableman hurried away as the young man mounted.

           “It is such a glorious day,” Ackhenhaill took a deep breath as he cast his gaze across the sweeping emerald hills and blooming hedges.

           “It is indeed, finally,” Brody agreed. “Our horses haven’t had proper exercise since the rains.”

           “Shall we stretch their legs?” Alasdair suggested. The young man watched him carefully, observing the white dustings in his beard.

           “Are you certain you are up to it, my lord?” the young man asked, arching an eyebrow.

           “Haha!” Ackhenhaill crowed. “Up to it? Oh, I assure you, there is no bolder rider in all of Scotland!”

           The young man turned and grinned broadly at the bright-eyed, firm-jawed Alasdair.

           “Then I shall enjoy the challenge of keeping up with you, my lord!”

           Chapter One

"A Death and an Oath"

Western Scotland, 1335

              The candles had nearly burned themselves down. No one had bothered to replace them for hours, and so their light grew dimmer and paler, the shadows creeping out from the edges of the stone room and steadily venturing toward the center, where the MacDonald laird now lay. He was swathed in crimson sheets, guarded by wooden angels that formed the posts of his canopied bed.          

           The flickering light deepened the colors of the wood and the bedclothes, touching the faces of the angels so that they almost animated with sympathy. The laird himself remained motionless, his face drawn with grim effort, as if resisting a tide. He was not an old man. He should not be there on his deathbed, unable to move. He knew this, and in his heart, he railed against it. But no more so than his three sons.

           From oldest to youngest, they stood by their father's bedside: Dunmor, Bhaird and Oleron. All wore elegant black, remaining motionless, hanging on their father's every shallow breath.

           Bhaird, the middle son, stiffly glanced at his older brother. Dunmor's proud head bowed gravely, his curly, auburn locks obscuring his solemn eyes. The battle scar on his cheek seemed accentuated in this light, and in that small place on his jaw, his skin glinted where his close beard would not grow.  

           Bhaird turned a similar glance to his right, where Oleron stood. Oleron's clean-shaven, pale, cultured visage showed he was visibly pained; deeply grieved. His sapphire eyes glimmered with tears, and his well-bred jaw tightened. Bhaird risked a breath, returning his gaze to his father. None of them had spoken all day. And he knew that all day, they had each been remembering the day before.

              The day before had dawned brilliantly. Bhaird was already up before the cock crew, had dressed in simple riding clothes and boots, and run a brush through his hair. He strode to his bedroom window and pushed open the shutters, letting in the scent of lush moorland and the soft light of the spring sunshine. He had been looking forward to this day. Spring had officially arrived, and upon this day, every year since they had been able, he and his brothers had gone hunting for hart. His face clouded for a moment as he remembered that their father would not be accompanying them---he was away to a neighboring family clan, once again attempting to find a wife for Dunmor.

           Bhaird snorted as he snatched his belt and turned toward his door. Dunmor would never settle for someone his father picked out. After all, what did an old man know about beautiful young ladies?

           He flung the door open and trotted down the stairs as he fastened his belt, whistling as he went. His feet hit the corridor floor and he strolled easily down it, opening shutters to the morning whenever he saw them.

           Movement caught his eye ahead of him and he quit whistling. A willowy lady rustled along before him, her long, waving auburn hair hanging down almost to her knees, her emerald skirts brushing her ankles. She turned and saw him. Her dark, long-lashed eyes warmed and her lovely face beamed.

           "Good morning, Bhaird," Her comely mouth smiled wryly. "I can always tell it's you before I even turn around."

           "Oh, whatever do you mean, Lady Elinor?" he asked nonchalantly, coming up to her and offering her his arm. She took it and he clasped her hand in his, tucking her arm under his and pressing her hand naturally against his chest, as he always did. She glanced teasingly up at him.

           "You're loud," she answered.

           "Ha!" He pretended to be offended. "Perhaps I am, in comparison to my deathly-silent brothers."

           "Yes, Oleron especially is very quiet," Elinor admitted. "Which is considered a virtue this early in the morning."

           Bhaird just laughed again. Though his wit was usually sharp as a blade, he could never outfox Elinor in a battle of banter. He remembered the day Oleron had arrived with her; Bhaird had liked her instantly. However, with a deep, settled knowledge that he did not like to think about, he had realized that he himself had no chance with her. That had been confirmed upon Elinor and Oleron's marriage.

           For three years so far Elinor had showered the whole house with warmth and happiness. They had not had a lady in the household since Lady Kiera, the brothers' mother had died, and Elinor's presence did wonders for Tioramir. The place looked hospitable again---like a home---rather than some sort of cave, the appearance it had taken on when only men dwelt there. She cared for all four men, helping run the household and the kitchen, and often surprising them with the skills that she possessed in horsemanship and storytelling.

           "I must admit, though," Elinor commented as the two of them headed down the spiraling stairs. "You are louder this morning than usual. What are you so happy about?"

           Bhaird grinned.

           "My silent brothers and I are going deer hunting today," he answered.

           "Oh, yes. Oleron told me about that," Elinor recalled. "Where will you go?"

           "Just within the castle's lands," he answered. "The serfs find it sporting to watch."

           Elinor frowned delicately.

           "That reminds me; I'm due to go down to the village today."

           This was the part of Elinor that both confused and intrigued Bhaird. Elinor had brought with her more than just a sunny disposition and a new decor to the castle. She had also implemented what could be called "reforms." She required that everyone---lord or slave---bathe at least twice a week, wash his hair, wash his face daily, and scrub his teeth with odd, small brushes that she had made out of finely-cleaned horsehair. She also made weekly trips herself down to the village of Tioramir to teach the serfs' children to read. Some of these actions would be questionable, others intolerable, if Oleron did not always support her whole-heartedly, and if they all did not love her as much as they did.

           Bhaird did not get the chance to comment on her last recollection, for they now entered the smaller of the two dining rooms---the one meant only for the family. There were four windows on the western wall, allowing morning light into the tall, stone room without scorching anyone. Dunmor and Oleron sat waiting for them, a break fast of bread, butter, cheese, apples and blackberries spread out on the long table. Elinor lit up when she saw Oleron and let go of Bhaird. Oleron grinned at her.

           "Good morning, Ellie," he greeted her.

           "Good morning," she replied, kissing him lightly and seating herself next to him. Bhaird avoided watching this affectionate exchange, then moved around the table to sit by Dunmor.

           "Good morning, Dunmor," Elinor said brightly, settling her skirts. The eldest smiled warmly at her.

           "Hello, Elinor. I hope you slept well?"

           "Oh, indeed," she nodded. Dunmor seemed satisfied.

           "Let's eat," Bhaird cut in impatiently, reaching for his bread and butter. "It's high time we were on the hunt."

               "Lean forward more when you jump those hedges, Bhaird!" Oleron shouted over the dull pounding of hooves against the peat.

           "Be quiet and mind your own horse," Bhaird answered back, resettling himself in his saddle after that last jump.

           "Fine, but if you go tipping off again---"

           "Listen, someone who can't even shoot straight shouldn't be telling me---"

           "There he is!" Dunmor cut them off and pulled his horse's head hard so that he sliced sideways, toward the river. The three men rode abreast, Dunmor slightly out front. They all rode dark stallions whose manes and tails flung out behind them in the fresh wind. Bhaird’s horse’s name was Falcon. His father had given him to him years ago, and Bhaird had broken him. Of all the horses in the stable, Falcon listened to Bhaird best.

The cool air also lashed the hair and clothes of the men as they tore across the moor, leaping over stone walls and heather toward the woods.

           Far ahead of them, flitting like some member of the fairy-folk, dashed a sleek hart, his antlers now the only part of him visible over the brush. Ducking his head to avoid low branches, Bhaird darted into the trees behind Dunmor, hearing Oleron follow on his tail. Bhaird instantly had to check Falcon’s speed, for the footing here was treacherous, and a wild rosebush could fell a beast as easily as a snare. Fortunately, the hart had also realized this, and had slowed a bit as well. Dunmor, masterfully letting go of the reins and steering with his knees, brought his bow around front and slid an arrow from its quiver.

           A branch reached out and slapped Bhaird across the face. He frowned fiercely as he felt its sting, but quickly refocused on his brother. Ahead of them lay a small clearing. When the deer leaped into it, and was illuminated by the sunlight, Dunmor would shoot.

           Dunmor put the arrow to the string and pulled back. Bhaird sucked in his breath. Once again, his older brother would have the glory of bringing down the---

           The bellow of a horn split the air. Oleron's horse stopped instantly. Bhaird had to rein back and Falcon neighed in protest. Dunmor, momentarily flustered, took a moment before he leaned back in his saddle and called: "Ho!" Reluctantly, his stallion slowed to a halt. The deer darted away and was lost in the tangle. The horn sounded again. Bhaird glanced over at Oleron. He had gone pale. Oleron glanced at his brothers.

           "That is not good. That's---"

           "Right," Dunmor nodded crisply, putting away his weapons. "We had best head back."

           Instantly, Oleron turned his mount and pelted out of the woods. Dunmor spurred his horse past Bhaird's and followed their youngest brother. Bhaird glanced reluctantly back at the waving branches where the hart had vanished, then, his jaw tightening in disappointment, turned and galloped out of the forest as well.

           They made straight for the huts and smoking chimneys of the village, both Oleron and Dunmor disregarding any preparation before leaping the hedges. Bhaird trailed behind, not willing to risk Falcon’s knees, for he was older than the other two. They reluctantly slowed as they entered the walls of the village, for people were hurrying to and fro on their daily errands. Their hooves clattered on the hardened earth as they trotted through. Peasants leaped out of their path, and Bhaird was glad for it; if something was wrong, they would only get in the way.

           "Oleron!"

           A cry came from somewhere ahead of them, and Oleron's head jerked. Elinor came racing toward them, her hair windblown, one hand hiking up her skirts, the other clasping a piece of parchment. Oleron slid off the horse without thinking and ran to her. Bhaird blinked, and his heart gave a pang. Elinor was crying. Oleron grabbed her and she fell against him.

           "Oleron, it's your father."

           Bhaird went stiff. Peripherally, he saw Dunmor do the same. Elinor took a gasping breath and her face twisted.

           "Something happened while he was out riding with Lord Ackhenhaill. Ackhenhaill lost sight of him in the woods, and when he... Ackhenhaill...found him, Alasdair's horse was gone and he was lying unconscious in the rocks..."

           "Shh," Oleron pressed her to him, trying to comfort, but his face showed his terror.

           "It's too much the same..." Elinor whispered, squeezing her eyes shut. "It can't happen to you, too..."

           Dunmor jumped off his horse. His boots crunched on the gravel.

           "May I see the message?" he asked huskily. Bhaird still could not move. Elinor nodded, biting her lip, and handed him the parchment, which by now was rather wrinkled. Dunmor smoothed it out with his gloved hands and read it carefully. His rugged brow furrowed darkly and he swallowed.

           "Well..." He cleared his throat. "They should be bringing him soon. They set out right after they sent the messenger."

           "They shouldn't have moved him, Oleron," Elinor murmured, shaking her head. "You never move someone who has hit his head or his back..."

           Oleron did not reply. He just wrapped his arms around her and kissed her on the forehead.             "Come," he said quietly, took her hand and lead her to the horse. He got on first, then helped her mount behind him. He turned grimly to his brothers.

           "Let us meet them on the road to see that they carry him carefully."

             They had done so. But all of the careful bearing in the world had not seemed to help. Thus, the three young men had stood restlessly beside their father all the rest of the day, all night, and all of the following day. And now all four of them could sense that, despite their best efforts, the end was drawing near.

           "Dunmor..."

           The sons jerked. Their father had spoken. Dunmor quickly knelt down by the bedside and leaned earnestly toward his father.

           "Yes, I am here, sir," he assured him, taking his father's right hand in both of his. Alasdair turned his battle-scarred, bearded visage toward his eldest and managed a slight smile.

           "My son..." He spoke as if breathing were difficult. "You are now the lord of Tioramir, and the largest portion of my realm."

           Tears sprang to Dunmor's eyes.

           "Please, Father, do not speak that way---"

           "Do not interrupt me, Son," Alasdair closed his eyes and took another ragged breath. He opened his eyes and looked steadfastly at Dunmor. "Do you swear to rule with honor and fidelity, with every action paying homage to your fathers and the God of Heaven?"

           Dunmor's visage, as war-scarred as his father's, but warmer and sadder, clouded with grief.

           "Yes, Father," he said surely, but his voice was not steady. Alasdair glanced past Dunmor. Bhaird took a small breath and his muscles readied to take Dunmor's place beside his father.

           "Oleron," Alasdair said. Bhaird stopped, disconcerted. He turned quickly to his younger brother. Oleron, just as surprised, blinked several times before moving forward. Bhaird stepped back, out of the way, fighting the feeling of offense that rose within him. Dunmor moved to back away as well, but Oleron rested a firm hand on his older brother's broad shoulder, knelt down close beside him and clasped both Dunmor and Alasdair's hands in his.

           "Yes, Father?" Oleron searched the older man's face. The old man smiled, reached up with his left hand and put it to the side of Oleron's face.

           "My dear son..." Alasdair sighed. "You, who have your mother's eyes...I am proudest of you."

           Dunmor cast his gaze downward. Bhaird just stood. Oleron's brow furrowed.

           "We have all striven to please you, my lord," he insisted. Alasdair's smile remained and he closed his eyes.

           "Yes, I know. But you have changed----changed in such a way that you have taught me many things. And you chose a wife! A wife that has brought so much happiness to all of us."

           Oleron's expression softened and he did not argue. Bhaird could see that Dunmor was pained by their father's comment, and only remained kneeling there because of the calm touch of Oleron's hand.

           "My precious, third son..." Alasdair whispered to Oleron. "You shall receive the western islands in my possession---Islay, Iona, Eilean Mor and Eilean na Comhailre---the ones you and I used to sail through when you were a lad." Alasdair's eyes caught a glint of fire. "Once you are established there, it should be easy work to take the other islands. Then you can truly enjoy them instead of worrying about your borders."

           "I shall enjoy them by remembering when we were there together," Oleron responded quietly.

           "Yes, yes, of course," Alasdair resigned, dropping his hand, his breaths beginning to rattle. "I need no oath from you. I know you shall accomplish what is honorable. Bhaird, come here."

           Stiffly, Bhaird knelt down, thinking that there was no room at the bedside. But then Oleron let go of his father and Dunmor's hands and opened his side to Bhaird. Bhaird edged in and Oleron put one arm softly around Bhaird's shoulders and one around Dunmor's. Alasdair's eyes became more intense this time and he regarded Bhaird from the depths of seriousness.

           "I bequeath to you, second son, a realm I have never seen. It is far away, across the sea, across the bridge that Finn MacCool built."

           Bhaird's brow furrowed and he leaned closer.

           "As you may know, my son, there is a land across the sea called Erin," Alasdair continued with difficulty. "There is a castle there in the county called Antrim, and its surrounding lands are vast. But there has not been one of the MacDomnhaill there for decades...I fear that all order has fallen to ruin." Alasdair spoke urgently. "I know that you will find a way to restore MacDonald rule to that savage place. Do you swear to rule with honor and fidelity, with every action paying homage to your fathers and the God of Heaven?"

           Bhaird could not speak for a long moment. Then finally, he nodded.

           "Yes, my lord. I do."  

           Alasdair let out a long, relieved sigh and smiled.

           "You all have been good to your father. You have served me faithfully." He reached up a shaking hand again and touched Oleron's cheek. His brow furrowed strangely. "I love you---do you know that? It is I who am honored to have had you with me..." He lowered his hand and it settled on the bed sheets. His eyes beamed on Oleron. And then he was gone. Bhaird blinked. Nothing dramatic had happened---the light had simply extinguished behind his father's eyes. Alasdair's body went still and silent.

           No one moved for a moment, and then Oleron made a strangling sound as if he had been struck. Dunmor shot to his feet and froze, his shoulders tightening, his brow twisting. Oleron covered his face with one hand and leaned down onto the bed. Bhaird backed away, shrugging off Oleron's arm, stood and marched out of the room, leaving the door swinging open behind him.      

             "Bhaird? Bhaird!"

           He recognized Dunmor's voice through the blur in his mind but he did not stop pacing back and forth across the flagstones of the small, dimly-lit dining hall. Footsteps sounded hollowly in the corridor outside and then Dunmor appeared in the doorway, breathing hard.

           "Bhaird, why did you leave?" Dunmor asked raggedly.

           "What do you mean?" Bhaird snarled, stalking relentlessly, his head down. "We've been in that blasted room for two days now. The stale air was driving me mad."

           Dunmor seemed at a loss.

           "Oleron...Oleron thinks you are angry at him," he finally told him.

           Bhaird said nothing, just sharply kicked a dry piece of bread that the dogs had not found. Dunmor took a few steps into the room.

           "Are you?" Dunmor asked cautiously.

           Bhaird whirled, shooting his brother a steely look before returning his attention to his rapidly moving feet.

           "Should I be?"

           "No," Dunmor responded quietly.

           "Really?" Bhaird snapped with biting sarcasm. "And why not?"

           "He has done nothing to injure you," Dunmor gravely answered. Bhaird lifted his head and pointed viciously at Dunmor.

           "Exactly!" The speed of his pacing increased, but now he directed his tirade at his brother. "He has done nothing! How many times has he gone to battle for Father's causes? How many times has he captained ships for him? How many times has he met with enemies to see whether wars would begin or end?"

           Dunmor came silently closer and leaned sideways against the table, but Bhaird did not slow. His volume rose as his voice grew unsteady.

           "How many times did he take archery lessons? How many hours did he ride with him? How many often did he try so hard to please him that he ended up bruised or bleeding?" Bhaird gestured vehemently. "Oleron has done nothing! Not compared to you or me!" He stopped in front of Dunmor, his hands clenching into fists as he shouted. "Dunmor, I could have died for him! And Oleron always sat back here at Tioramir in Father's throne, eating grapes and whatever else and running gold through his fingers! All he did was flatter and contrive and...and get married---" Bhaird choked on that last bit, then let out a pained, shocked laugh, slapping his hands to his head. "And so, naturally, Father decides that Oleron is the one who inherits Islay and Eilean Mor and Eilean na Comhailne and Iona while I get some obscure piece of land across the ocean overrun by pirates and Gaels! And Oleron took no oath!" He flung his arm out in a despairing gesture, his voice at the edge of his control. He was shaking terribly. He turned his back on Dunmor and braced himself against the wall with his right arm, hanging his head. He swiped at his face. Dunmor approached him softly and stood near.

           "That isn't what is troubling you, is it, little brother?" he asked softly. Bhaird's brow tightened angrily and he lowered his head further.

           "What's troubling you," Dunmor sighed."Is that you think Oleron was the only one that he loved."  

           Bhaird could not speak for a long moment. Then, he finally managed.

           "Well? Is that not what it sounded like?" he said through clenched teeth. Then he heard someone shift his weight near the doorway.

           Bhaird stood upright quickly and turned around. Oleron was standing on the threshold, arms loosely at his sides, his face blank. Bhaird, trapped, felt a twinge of nausea, wondering how long his brother had been standing there. Oleron saw the turbulence on his brother's faces, for his expression of grief deepened. He shrugged helplessly and swallowed. He tried several times to speak, then shrugged again.

           "I..." He stopped a moment, for his voice was too unsteady. He took a sharp breath. "I'm sorry," he said simply. He stood for just another moment, then closed his hands into loose fists and cast his gaze at the ground. Hesitantly, he turned, as if waiting to be called back. Hearing nothing, he strode off down the hall. As his footsteps died away, Dunmor glanced at Bhaird, painfully chagrined. Bhaird said nothing in reply. Their hearts were too torn for them to move. Thus, they simply stood, their shoulders touching, as the single bell in the tower rang, signaling the death of the great MacDonald lord.

               Elinor lay in bed, staring straight up, watching the patterns that the twin candle flames cast on the red velvet canopy above her. The fire in the fireplace had smoldered down to embers, and the wide room, filled with comfortable furniture and pillows, seemed colder this evening. She shifted achingly and adjusted the covers so they were up around her shoulders. It was past midnight, she knew. But ever since she married, she could not sleep unless Oleron was by her side; especially when she knew he was in so much pain.

           The latch on the door across from the bed quietly worked. She sat up, brushing a strand of long hair behind her ear. The wooden door creaked softly open and she recognized Oleron's form within the shadows as he eased into the bedroom. She saw him lift his gaze and catch sight of her.

           "I didn't mean to wake you," he whispered apologetically.

           "I wasn't asleep," she assured him. He turned and shut the door, but his movements were limp and his shoulders sagged. Elinor felt herself tremble.

           "What happened?"

           He just stood, halfway turned, his hand on the latch. Elinor went cold. She threw off her blankets, stepped down onto the floor and padded softly toward him, her long nightgown whispering on the stones. She stood near him and urgently searched his dimly-lit face.

           "Oh, no," she murmured, her lip trembling. "He...He didn't..."

           Oleron bit his lip, then shook his head dumbly, leaning back against the door. Elinor could not speak for a long moment.

           "Oh, my sweetheart!" she finally gasped, reaching toward him. The effort was almost too much, but he accepted her brokenly, letting her wrap an arm around his neck and pull him to her. With quivering arms, he embraced her at last, then began to cry. She felt his hot tears against her neck and snuggled him tighter, stroking the back of his head.

           For an interminable time, the two remained there, rocking slightly back and forth. Then Elinor gently backed up, sliding her hands down his arms, and took his hands. She led him gently to the bed and urged him to sit on the edge. She then knelt, her hair spilling in a waterfall down her side, and slowly pulled off his boots.

           "Lie down." She touched his shoulder gently and he did as she asked, easing down onto his side. It was then she could see his tear-streaked face, and her heart broke.

           "Move over a little," she urged, trying to control her emotion, and he absently did so. She pulled the covers out from under his legs and draped them over him, then climbed in and lay on her side as well, her back to him. Without speaking, he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her in so she could feel his heartbeat against her back, the warmth of his arms all around her and his breath against her hair. She rested her hands over his, gently playing with his gold wedding band. Elinor could feel and hear him still crying almost silently, and she was so close that his sorrow swept over her until she could sense it in her muscles. Soon, burning tears of her own slid down her nose and face and she nuzzled closer to him. She did not speak, knowing that if he wished to talk, he would begin it.

           "My brothers are angry with me." His voice sounded so weak she barely recognized it. Her brow furrowed.

           "Why?"

           He took an unsteady breath.

           "Father bequeathed me several valuable islands in the west; his favorite islands. And he told me he loved me." His voice softened. "He only told me."

           Elinor swallowed, bewildered.

           "You mean...he did not say that he loved Dunmor and Bhaird?"

           Oleron was silent for a long time.

           "No."

           "I know he did love them, though," Elinor said quickly. "I could tell that he did, every day."

           "I know," Oleron agreed wearily. "But upon his deathbed...is not the time for a man to single out his favorite. It tends to...stick in a person's mind."

           Elinor groaned and closed her eyes briefly.

           "Yes, you're right. But I don't see why they should be angry at you." She fleetingly adjusted the bed covers. "You have nothing against them, do you?"

           "I love my brothers, Elinor," Oleron whispered, as if it was difficult. "They have no idea how much I love them."

           "I know that, too," she assured him. They were silent for a few minutes, allowing their tears to dwindle. Elinor took a deep breath.

           "I love you, Oleron, and I would never want to be anywhere without you," she began, her hand closing around the sheet. "But this is what is terribly frustrating for me about being here. When something like this happens, asking for a doctor is like delivering a death sentence. They don't even wash their instruments! Back home, we could have taken your father to the hospital, and they might have been able to do a surgery to repair his lungs or his back...But here; here, you can't do anything but wait to see if a man's own strength is enough to bring him through."

She shifted slightly. "I've thought about it before once or twice, in the middle of the night, and it scares me, Oleron. What if something were to happen to you---or me, or anyone---what would we do? What would we do if someone got cut or got sick or fell off his horse or slipped on the ice?"

           Instantly, she felt Oleron's arms tighten around her.

           "Don't say things like that, Ellie, please," he murmured earnestly. His voice stiffened. "What would I do if that happened to you?"  

           Realizing immediately that she had erred, and had instead increased is anxiety, she twisted gently so that she could see him, adjusting her shoulders so that their faces were only inches apart. She gazed at his worried countenance for a moment, then smiled tenderly, trying to be reassuring.

           "You would go back in time and rescue me," she whispered, running her forefinger across his eyebrow. "Just like you did last time."

           His eyes filled with emotion.

           "It doesn't work that way anymore, Elinor. You know that," he breathed. His eyebrows came together and his gaze searched her deeply. "Promise you'll never leave me."

           "I made that promise three years ago, Oleron," she reminded him steadily. "You do not need to worry. I am never going to leave you."

           She leaned toward him and kissed him gently, then snuggled down to rest her head against his heart. They did not speak any more, and neither could they sleep, for Oleron's spirit was too heavy with sorrow, and Elinor was determined to do all she could not to let him feel alone.  

               Bhaird threw another cloak into his trunk on top of his other belongings. This was his fourth chest to pack this long morning and he was thoroughly sick of such a chore.

           "My lord, you mustn't just toss it inside," Macy, a young household servant, chastised. "There'll be no room for more important things."

           "Leave me alone, Macy," Bhaird snapped. Macy stopped in the middle of folding the cloak and stared at Bhaird, wide-eyed.

           "My lord?"

           "Leave me!" Bhaird commanded, pointing at the door. "I am not a child---I can pack my own chests."

           Stunned, for Bhaird had never spoken that way, Macy managed to nod numbly.

           "Yes, my lord," he murmured, set the cloak down carefully into the chest and left the room, shutting the door quietly behind him. Bhaird's jaw tightened, he screwed his eyes shut and leaned both hands down upon the bed. He hung his head.

           He could barely breathe. It had been weeks since his father's funeral, and still the pain had not subsided. Instead, it churned and snarled within him, pulsing through his veins and tightening his chest. He could not be rid of it. It followed him all through the hours of the night, keeping him awake, tying his bedclothes in knots. Deep in his heart, he simply wanted to collapse onto his bed and sob, but would not allow himself. He could not be so weak. He was a MacDonald lord now, not simply a second son.

           He rose up and paced about the bare, stone-floored room, for he found that if he stood still too long his throat would simply close, and the dark shadow that was his grief and rage would overtake him. Forcing his mind to focus, he cast his gaze about his chamber, trying to think of anything else he ought to pack. But he could not think. His emotions were too blinding.

           This morning, he was leaving Tioramir, the castle where he had been born. And what tore him was---he wanted to leave. He never wanted to see this place again. And Oleron, his brother---well, he never wanted to see him again either. Yet, much to his consternation, the two of them were to travel together in caravan south-westward, for both of their newly-inherited realms lay in that direction.  

           He turned and kicked the chest so that the lid slammed shut loudly.

           "Macy!" he bellowed. "That's the last one. Have someone come up here and haul it

down."

           With that, he turned and yanked on his riding boots, strapped on his belt and sword and threw a cloak over his shoulders. He pulled the door open just as Macy and two other servants were entering. He did not acknowledge them, but carelessly marched down the stairs, ignoring their stammers of "Pardon, m'lord," and silently worked at his cloak clasp. He passed a window in the corridor that had an open shutter. Scowling at it, he moved and closed it, darkening the hall and shutting out the sounds of the birds.

               The great entourage stood waiting in the yard. Each young lord had two wagons to bear their portion of household inheritance and treasure, and each was taking four servants and twelve guards. The gray morning was rather cold, and a mist had settled within the gentle slopes of the deep emerald hills. The forests were still shadowed in soft darkness, and only a few songbirds had ventured to wake so early, and so their tunes sounded lonesome. The twenty-five horses, however, were fully awake, for they had early sensed that the day of travel had arrived. Their hooves scraped the gravel of the yard, and when they snorted, halos of warm breath surrounded their heads.

           Bhaird, shutting the small, creaking door behind him as he left the castle, tugged his cloak tighter around his throat, his booted feet crunching the hard earth as he walked. Glancing up, he spotted Elinor helping to pack the wagons. She was clad in a dark red traveling dress and a brown cloak. Her hair hung loose, and her face appeared careworn and pale, but no less lovely. Bhaird's steps slowed, his brow furrowing. He had not seen her much these past two weeks---she had been too busy comforting Oleron.

           A dart of resentment shot through Bhaird. How could she not have realized that they all needed her feminine comfort---not only her husband? It was not as if they had a mother, or a nurse to speak soft words to the older brothers as they grieved. This past fortnight, Oleron had had Elinor to keep him warm during the night, to embrace him there and ease his pain. Dunmor and Bhaird had been alone in their own chambers, staring at the ceiling. And during the day, Elinor had walked back and forth with Oleron, sometimes disappearing for whole afternoons. She had rarely spoken to Bhaird. He tightened his jaw, refusing to consider why this made him so deeply angry.

           She pushed a rolled-up tapestry into a small space in the wagon, then turned and saw him. She dropped her hands and took a step toward him, but his countenance was not hospitable. Elinor stopped.

           "Hello, Bhaird," she said quietly.

           "Hello," he answered tightly, moving toward Falcon.

           "How are you?" she asked hesitatingly.

           "Well enough to ride," he replied. He avoided her gaze so that he would not see the hurt on her face and checked the cinch on his saddle. Falcon snorted in discomfort and stomped his front foot as Bhaird tightened it .

           "Shut up, you," Bhaird snapped harshly. "You are not going to be tossing me onto my back. Not today." His throat closed as images of his father toppling from his own horse flashed through his mind. His eyes shut tightly and he bit his cheek.

           "Bhaird..." Elinor murmured. "Are you..."

           "No, Elinor," he said shortly. "Never you mind." He stormed back toward the castle, terrible feelings pulsing through him. He should not have spoken like that to her or Falcon. Yet he could not think of what else he could have said.

           He had almost reached the small door again when it opened and Bhaird almost ran into Oleron. Oleron was dressed in his black riding clothes embroidered with red lions---a princely gift from their father. Oleron was even paler than Elinor, and the darkness under his eyes made him appear as if he had not slept the whole two weeks. Bhaird tightened. He had not spoken to his brother all this time. Oleron slowed to a halt, but appeared too weary to jerk in surprise. He tiredly lifted his bright, sad eyes to Bhaird's.

           "Where is Dunmor?" he wondered, almost apologetically. Bhaird shrugged, reluctant to trade words.

           "I do not know. I haven't seen him yet this morning."

           Oleron looked as if he wished to say something else, but Bhaird made sure his expression forbade it, and so Oleron only nodded, his eyebrows coming together, and cast his gaze down.

           "Oleron! Here is your horse."

           Oleron's head lifted quickly and he gazed past Bhaird. Bhaird turned to see Dunmor, clad in long black and their father's MacDonald tartan, leading Oleron's ebony stallion. Dunmor did not look much better than Oleron, but strength seemed to rest beneath his sorrow, for he also appeared to be bearing a great weight. Still, his brown eyes warmed, and he actually smiled at his brothers. Tears suddenly threatened Bhaird, but he fought them. Oleron brushed past him and approached the eldest brother.

           "Thank you, Dunmor," Oleron said sincerely, taking the reins. Reluctantly, Bhaird drew near as well, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Elinor take a few steps toward them. Bhaird sensed that the servants and guardsmen were ready; they now stood by their horses and wagons and had picked up their loads. They only waited in silence for the brothers to give farewells.

           Oleron stood before his eldest brother, head bowed, holding the reins in both hands, as if he did not know what to do with them. He then lifted his eyes and met his brother's, for Dunmor was very tall. A startling tear ran down Oleron's white face.

           "I had not thought to say goodbye to you so soon," he choked. He dropped his head again and his hands tightened on the reins. "Dunmor...I am too young for this."

           Without restraint, Dunmor took his brother in his arms and pressed him close.

           "None of us could have seen this, little brother," he spoke into Oleron's hair. "But I was always certain you would be a great man." He stepped back and took Oleron by the shoulders, looking him directly. "I know that you will not disappoint me."

           Oleron's jaw and brow tightened painfully, but he nodded with conviction. After just a moment, Dunmor dropped his hands and Oleron turned to gaze at Bhaird. Bhaird stood, not knowing what to do. Dunmor reached out his right hand to him. Shakily stepping forward, not wanting to stand near Oleron, Bhaird came to Dunmor's side. Dunmor reached up and took Bhaird by the side of the neck and brought him closer. For a long while, neither said anything as Bhaird desperately fought the tide within him. Then, Dunmor pulled him into an embrace as well---an embrace so like their father's that the tide nearly broke through.

           "Do not resent your brother forever," Dunmor whispered so that only he could hear. "He does love you."

           Bhaird felt stung, but would never force himself out of Dunmor's arms. Thus, after a moment, Dunmor released him. Oleron was weeping now, his head low, and Dunmor's cheeks bore tears. Dunmor then glanced past his brothers and opened his arms to Elinor. She ran to him, her hair and cloak flagging behind her, and buried her face in his chest. He leaned down and kissed the top of her head.

           "I hate it so much that we'll all be apart," she gasped into his cloak. "It shouldn't be this way."    

           Dunmor took a deep, shaking breath.

           "I know," was all he said. After a long, helpless moment, Dunmor let her go. She turned and grasped Oleron's hand.

           "May I ride with you for now?" she asked, wiping at her tears. Oleron nodded wordlessly. A servant brought Bhaird's horse near and so he mounted it. Oleron got on his horse first, then helped Elinor on behind him. Elinor reached down to Dunmor and he grasped her hand.

           "We will not be kept from you," she insisted. "Especially in the summers! It will be hard for you to leave here, but we will manage to see you as often as we can."

           "Good," Dunmor said earnestly. "Good. I will look forward to your visits."

           Elinor released his hand and he came to stand by Bhaird's horse.

           "I want to see you again someday," he said solemnly.

           "You will," was all Bhaird could think of, for he had gone cold---before this, he had never realized how distant Ireland truly was. Dunmor knew his brother's doubt, but did not speak. He merely nodded and backed away. He stood for a long moment, casting his saddened gaze over the entire assembly. He then took a breath and spoke, and the voice of the new MacDonald lord, admittedly gentler than his father's, rang out through the morning.

 “May you see God's light on the path ahead When the road you walk is dark. May you always hear, Even in your hour of sorrow, The gentle singing of the lark. When times are hard may hardness Never turn your heart to stone, May you always remember when the shadows fall— You do not walk alone.”

             Biting his lip hard, Bhaird turned Falcon, and was the first to lead the grieving caravan out of the castle yard and onto the moors. He only looked back once, and when he did, he beheld the gray towers of Tioramir cutting the sky, and Dunmor, standing alone, one arm raised in farewell.

Chapter Two

"Stolen"

             They traveled several days across the wild and chilly highlands, camping in niches in the valleys or among birch trees, trying to avoid the wind that tumbled over the hills at night. The going was slow, because of the wagons, and it was difficult to find terrain smooth enough not to upset them. Bhaird silently left that task to Oleron. He grudgingly had to allow that, though Oleron had always been much inferior to him in swordsmanship and archery, he was much superior to him in horsemanship, tracking and scouting. But rather than admit this, and suggest that Oleron lead the way, Bhaird had merely fallen back in the ranks, and settled for glowering at his younger brother's back.

           The first three nights were sleepless as all the others had been, but by the fourth, Bhaird was so sore and exhausted that he did manage to slumber for a few hours. He had his own small tent, for which he was grateful, and a warm bed of furs. This night, the wind howled without, sounding like someone lost out on the moor. The only light came from a small fire that had been built within the circle of tents, but the thickness of the tarp clouded most of it. Other, perimeter fires had also been set, but those were far enough away that they did not disturb him either.

           However, he had slept through only one watch when his tent flap was pushed aside.

           "My lord."

           Bhaird groaned and put a hand over his face, shielding his shut eyes from the intruding glare of the fire outside.

           "My lord, your brother requests your presence. He is waiting for you by the south perimeter fire."

           "Tell him to jump off a cliff," Bhaird growled. The guard hesitated.

           "My lord?"

           "Never mind, Gaskin," Bhaird muttered angrily, throwing his warm blankets off himself, snatching at his cloak and tossing it around his shoulders.

           "He also requests that you bring your bow."

           Bhaird stopped and squinted at the bearded man, not certain he had heard him properly.

           "What?" Bhaird said hoarsely, rubbing his face."What for?"

           Gaskin shrugged.

           "I don't know, sir," he said honestly. "I did not ask."

           Bhaird groaned again, shook his head, and grabbed at his bow and quiver. He did not bother to sling them over his shoulder as he pushed past Gaskin and stomped out into the chilly night.

           The wind cut through him, even down in this valley, and he cursed at his brother for dragging him out of his warm, fur bed. Who did he think he was, anyway? Dunmor?

           Bhaird, slouching his shoulders, shuffled down through the deeply shadowed camp to one of the perimeter fires where Oleron was waiting. The fire stood almost alone---it was the farthest reaching finger of the camp. Through the darkness, Bhaird could distinguish Oleron's form, sitting on a log with his back to him. Pushing his hair out of his eyes, Bhaird approached the fire and stopped impatiently.

           "What is it, then?" he demanded.

           But his voice was cut off by a haunting wail that cut through the air. Bhaird stopped, stepping back quickly, his widened eyes darting about to search the forest beyond. Oleron turned his hooded head just slightly, and his blue gaze sliced across the distance between them.

           "Wolves," he murmured deliberately, before turning his icy attention back to the shades of the trees. "Have you not heard them?"  

           "No, frankly, I have not," Bhaird retorted, hating the fact that he had just shown his little brother a hint of fear. "I was actually sleeping for the first time in a month."

           Oleron ignored his tone, still staring into the blackness.

           "I shot at a few of them that came too near, but I believe I missed," Oleron said with almost eerie calmness, and it was only then that Bhaird noticed the bow that easily rested across Oleron's knees, and the quiver leaning on the log beside him. Bhaird raised his eyebrows.

           "Of course you missed," Bhaird could not resist jabbing. "When will you learn not to even try with that thing?"

           "That is why I sent for you," Oleron replied, not missing a beat, but still not looking at him. "I thought your bow might be useful."

           "Sent for me?" Bhaird barked, his temper finally getting the better of him. "You? Sent for me? I am the elder, here! Why should you be summoning me?"

           Oleron turned to him and cocked an eyebrow.

           "Because you were asleep and I was awake. Because I heard the wolves and you did not," Oleron stated. "Because I was out here and you were up there. And because you can shoot and I cannot."

           Fury rushed through Bhaird's whole body, but as a result he became utterly mute. Oleron turned from him, back to the woods.

           "But if you would rather go back to bed, feel free." Subtle sarcasm entered his voice. "I cannot see what would hold you here."

           Just then, three wolves joined in a chorus of howling---and they did not sound particularly far away. Bhaird stared at his brother. When Gaskin had first told him that Oleron was sitting by one of the perimeter fires, Bhaird had naturally assumed that his little brother was afraid to be out here alone. But now, watching Oleron with narrowed eyes, Bhaird did not get that sense at all. Oleron appeared completely calm, alert and still, an almost wolfish aspect of his own possessing his countenance. Also, the golden firelight accented a deep impact scar on Oleron's cheekbone---a scar that Bhaird had somehow formerly missed. Whatever his brother was, he was not afraid. Bhaird swallowed, trying not to show his disconcertion.  

           Grudgingly, Bhaird strung his bow, then eased forward and sat on another log across from Oleron. Neither of them spoke a word for hours as the ethereal night sounds of the menacing wood surrounded them. Oleron remained almost still, except for his ever-vigilant eyes.

           A branch snapped and dropped away from the fire, tumbling onto the ground near Bhaird's feet. Bhaird bent down and tossed it back into the crackling flames, causing the light to flare up and once more highlight Oleron's scar.

           "Where did you get that?" Bhaird found himself questioning. Oleron glanced at him inquiringly, and Bhaird tapped his own cheekbone. The right side of Oleron's face twitched slightly, and he turned away.

           "I got hit in the face."

           "With what?" Bhaird pressed. Oleron did not answer for a moment.

           "A fist."

           Bhaird blinked. He did not remember Oleron ever participating in a fight.

           "What? When was that?"

           Unexpectedly, Oleron smiled, as if he simply could not help himself. He actually chuckled.

           "Never mind. It really does not matter."

           Bhaird glared at him. He absolutely hated the way Oleron talked; as if he was some prince of men instead of just the spoiled third son of a lord---and his younger brother. Such insolence wiped all curiosity from Bhaird's mind. He turned his shoulders away from his brother, casting his attention out toward the beasts.

           Perhaps Oleron's arrows had frightened them earlier, or perhaps the presence of two armed men by the fire now was more intimidating. Whatever the reason, the wolves did not venture near again. By the time dawn arrived, their shadowy presences had faded away like wraith with the coming of the light.

             The next day, they arrived at the halfway point: the tumbling, roofless walls of a long-abandoned church. The caravan quieted as they approached, gazing up at the silent, ivy-covered, dark gray stones and elegant, broken-down windows. Oleron called a halt for a rest and a meal.

           In the bustle that followed, Bhaird caught sight of Elinor gracefully dismounting, then gingerly approaching the ruins, drawing her cloak around herself. The look on her flushed face stilled him. Her expression held a mix of wonder and sadness, and almost reverence. Silently, and unbeknownst to anyone else, she slipped through the church door and disappeared. Without thinking, Bhaird followed her.

           His booted feet were quiet upon the lush grass and foliage, and no sound accompanied him but the slight flapping of the hem of his cloak. Hesitating just a moment, he ducked through the narrow, low door and entered the utter stillness of the church.

           The earth had long ago swallowed the paving and replaced it with thin, tender grass. Slate stones from the fallen roof littered the ground. The steel gray of the sky above almost gave the impression of their being inside, and the day was so still and cool that no breath of air moved his hair or clothes.

           He glanced to his left where stood a great, tall window, the top broken down. A risen part in the floor just beneath the window was the only indication of where the altar had been.

           Elinor stood up there, on the platform, not moving, her back to him. He slowed to a halt and stared at her, suddenly awkward. He had not spoken to her since he had snapped so harshly at her on the yard of Tioramir.  And now, the longer he was quiet, the stranger he felt. Should he speak, or go back out and leave her alone? However, despite his best efforts, he found he could do neither, and stayed rooted to the spot.

           A shaft of sunlight briefly cut through the clouds, shining through the main altar window. Elinor turned her head slightly, so he could just see her profile, and the sunlight lit her up, shining in a halo around her head and gracing the edges of her garments. She caught sight of him, turned a bit more and smiled at him, looking for all the world like every angel he had ever imagined. He was struck.

           Oh, heaven, he suddenly realized, his breath catching. I am never going to see her again.

           He managed a feeble smile in return, knowing he had gone pale. She did not seem to notice, but turned her attention back to the decaying walls. She took a few steps toward him, her cloak and train trailing through the ferns behind her.

           "What is this place called?" she inquired softly, reaching out to touch a large, fallen stone.            "I do not know its original name," Bhaird admitted, his voice slightly listless. "For as long as I can remember, it has been called Rewyn." He took a breath. "The Ruin Between."

           The clouds covered the sun again, and the shaft of brilliance vanished. At the same time, a cloud passed over Elinor's face, and she turned to him.

           "Between?" Elinor wondered. He glanced at her.

           "Between...well, on the road between Dunmor's castle...and Oleron's."

           Elinor's shoulders sagged a bit.

           "That is a sad sounding name."

           Bhaird shrugged.

           "That's what it is," he murmured, casting his own gaze over the walls. "What it was long ago is forgotten. What it is now is rocks piled on top of each other. What it could have been, had it not been neglected...no one will ever know. It has no purpose, no potential...no future." Suddenly, he found himself staring into her concerned, intent, dark eyes, and his throat threatened to close. But he made himself go on. "Nothing will ever come of it. So why give it a grander name?"

           Elinor watched him for a long moment; not harshly, but deeply, and Bhaird found himself unable to break her gaze. Finally, she did it, and turned to leave. He closed his eyes and did not turn. Wordlessly, almost as an afterthought, she kindly touched his shoulder. A painful thrill ran all down his body, and he barely heard her leave.

           He forced his eyes open, but otherwise did not move, and stared hatefully around at the falling walls, bitterly resentful about what all of this said about the brother between.

              Three days later, they arrived. It startled them. One moment, they were struggling up a terribly rocky hill---leading their horses, cursing at the wagon wheels, catching things that tumbled out---and the next they stood gazing at a tremendous, four-towered castle, hung with banners, and surrounded by verdant hills and a quaint, many-chimneyed village. Beyond the castle stretched the breathtaking, silver sea; and shrouded in the morning fog, several dark, lush, rocky islands raised their heads above the distant waves. All of it was lit by the rich, shimmering, fresh sunlight of morning.

           "Oleron..." Elinor murmured in awe, leading her mare to the top of the hill, her hair lightly tossed by the cool, moist breeze. "It's beautiful."

           "Do you like it?" Oleron panted, leading his own horse up, and shoving his hood back.

           "Oh, yes..." she breathed, quite overcome.

           "Well," he shrugged. "Then it's yours."

           She looked at him, and he winked. Then, the first real smile she had shown in a month lit up her entire face. Bhaird felt jealousy pierce through him and he glanced away.

           It took great, painstaking effort to slide and wind their way down that hill. Finally, they reached a treacherous, narrow road, but compared to the uneasy footing they were used to, this road was a Godsend. The horses, sensing an end to their long journey, began tugging at the reins, and the carts clattered with an almost happy noise as they proceeded down toward the village.

           The lovely place was called Karliblagh. Bhaird had visited it once, when he was young. It had not changed at all, and appeared every bit as grand as he remembered---perhaps more so, for now he could appreciate the hard work it took to maintain an estate such as this, especially so close to the sea, where Vikings and other pirates always threatened to raid.

           Their horses' hooves clattered against the hardened earth of the central road, and as they entered, peasants began to emerge from their houses, or look up from their work. Bhaird noticed that the people living here looked prosperous. Their small homes were well-kept, their gardens flourished, their clothes appeared reasonably clean and carefully mended, and the scent of baking bread hung in the air. The peasants' faces lit up with realization and expectation as they followed the caravan's approach, and all of them gasped when a herald atop one of the castle turrets let out a welcoming trumpet call.

           Oleron lifted his head and took a deep breath, something sparking in his eyes. He smiled, then glanced at Elinor, who returned the look of anticipation. Bhaird shut all emotion out of his face.

            They arrived in front of the castle, which sported an impressive moat. A guard, poised between two flapping banners, leaned down and shouted through cupped hands. His voice rang through the village.

           "Who goes there?" he bellowed.

           Oleron cupped his hands around his own mouth to answer.

           "I am Lord Oleron MacDomnhail, son of Alasdair, Lord of the Isles."

           "And what brings you here, Lord MacDonald?" the guard questioned.

           "Lord Alasdair is dead! He has divided his realm between his three sons, and given Karliblagh into my hands as an inheritance!"

           The guard looked shocked. Several other guards darted over to gaze down at them, and they conversed with one another. Finally, the first guard called down again.

           "My lord! The gate shall be opened to you! Steward Ramphail will greet you in the courtyard!"

           About a minute later, the great, black drawbridge was lowered, the mighty chains clanking against the gears. With a final rumble, it nestled into the earth on the other side of the moat, making a wide enough bridge for the caravan to cross.

           The horses found this prospect slightly spooky, but in the end they entered the castle unscathed.

           Despite his foul mood, Bhaird had to marvel at the towering gray walls of the large courtyard. The windows in the walls were fairly large, and many servants were now hanging out of them at the prospect of catching a glimpse of their new master. The wain wheels and horse hooves clattered loudly against the stone, and every noise echoed. The servants chattered excitedly amongst themselves, filling the space with cheerful sound.

           "My lord!"

           Their attention was arrested by a finely-dressed, middle-aged, bearded man striding toward them. Without hesitation, he fell to one knee in front of Oleron, his right fist to his heart.

           "My lord, I am Ramphail, son of Laridhon, Steward of this castle and this township." He raised his head to smile broadly. "I met you when you were a boy---I doubt you recognize me, but I would know your face anywhere. Your father was my good friend." He took a deep breath. "It is my great pleasure to present and return to you the castle and realm of Karliblagh."

           Oleron dismounted and quickly bid the steward to rise. Oleron reached out his hand, and, after a moment's hesitation, Ramphail grasped Oleron's elbow. Oleron returned the grip, looking supremely serious.

           "Though the conditions which deliver this place to me grieve me deeply," Oleron said quietly. "I am relieved and comforted to find that Karliblagh has been cared for so diligently."

           Ramphail was delighted, and once Oleron had introduced Bhaird, Elinor, and his leading knights, Ramphail took a few rolls of official papers from Oleron and bid them all inside.

           Bhaird stiffly dismounted, and reluctantly allowed a stable boy to take the reins of his weary animal. Trying to walk straight and not wince or rub his back, for Oleron did not seem to be having any trouble, Bhaird followed Oleron and Elinor through the courtyard and through the towering, main oaken doors, which hung open to let in the light and the morning breeze.

           A narrow dimly-lit hallway suddenly opened up into a grand hall---and with it a black hole opened up in Bhaird's heart.

           The hall was incredible. Strong, thick pillars reached their towering fingers upward until they branched into graceful archways in the ceiling. Flags bearing the MacDonald crest draped from polished flagpoles. Two giant, square fire-pits in the floor were alight with cheerful, welcoming flames that filled the hall with warmth. The scent of a feast---game hen, pheasant, potatoes and bread, at least, if Bhaird was not mistaken---wafted out from a back room. And if he listened, he could hear the kitchen maids bustling and bickering and clattering unseen.

           Then he lifted his head---and slowed to a halt. The others kept going, but he paid them no notice as everything but the sight before him faded into the background.

           It was a throne. No---two thrones.

           They stood on a raised platform; ancient, sturdily built and simply grand, one slightly taller than the other. The wooden seats were draped with exotic fur, and behind the thrones, on the masoned wall, hung several war-scarred shields---shields of the great warriors and lords that had lived and defended in this place.

           Bhaird's mind reeled at the thought of what legendary and mighty lords had sat upon that throne, reaching back to ancient days. His fathers---his kin---had held this place with the strength and will of oxen, and had made it glorious.

           And now---Oleron would sit there. Oleron.

           Bhaird's blood ran cold.

           And Elinor.  

           "Bhaird?"

           Bhaird jerked at the sound of his brother's voice. Oleron had called stopped the others, and now had faced him worriedly.

           "Are you well?"

           "Yes," Bhaird lied stiffly. "Yes, I am fine."

           Neither Elinor nor Oleron looked convinced, but Ramphail began to speak again, telling Oleron all about the grand hall, and using the words "my lord" in every sentence. Bhaird made himself catch up to them as they gradually gave their attention back to the steward.

           "Servants shall be assigned to both of you personally," Ramphail explained. "And you, my lord," he nodded at Bhaird. "Shall also receive servants that will attend you during all the length of your stay."

           "That will not be necessary," Bhaird said flatly. They all turned to face him, confused.

           "I am afraid I do not understand," Ramphail admitted. Bhaird looked at him.

           "My entourage and I will stay for the morrow. The following morning we will depart for Ireland."

           "Surely, after such a long journey, you wish to recover yourself before you set out again! Especially before journeying to Ireland!" Ramphail exclaimed.

           "There is nothing to recover," Bhaird answered simply. "I refuse to trespass upon my younger brother's hospitality any longer than that. I am certain he has more important things to attend to than entertaining me."        

           Silence fell. And then deep hurt registered on both Elinor and Oleron's faces. Bhaird ignored it.

           "Now, if you please, could you show me to my quarters?" he asked, drawing himself up like the second son and lord that he was.

           A servant arrived the instant Ramphail motioned with his finger, and Bhaird turned and swept along behind him to ascend the stairs to his quarters. He could not possibly stay here any longer than a day. He could not bear the sight of this masterly castle---the castle that should have been his.      

              Elinor could not sleep. Oleron was in too much pain. She glanced over at him. Even as he lay there asleep, a shaft of moonlight gracing his face, his brow was furrowed. The way he rolled and tossed also told her that his dreams were just as bad as the sentiments he had expressed all evening.

           They had talked and talked, and neither of them could understand what had happened to Bhaird. It distressed Oleron so badly. He had tried so very hard, after coming back from his incredible journey, to make peace with his brothers, and to show them how much he had come to love them and their home. But that night, Oleron told Elinor that he had surely failed.

           Besides this fact, they were sleeping in an unfamiliar castle, in a bed that was not their own---and Oleron would have been inexpressibly grateful to have his older brother there to help him break into the lordship.

           Elinor turned her head and gazed out the tower window. What had happened to Bhaird? Setting her jaw, she realized that there was truly only one way to discover that. Cautiously, making sure not to disturb her husband, she slid out of bed, wrapped a robe around herself and slipped silently out of the grand chambers.

           She had a fairly good sense of direction, but this castle was vast and spooky in the darkness of night. However, she remembered a secluded section of the roof that Ramphail had shown them, and tried to find her way there. If she knew Bhaird at all---though that truth was uncertain, now--- he would have found his way there if he also could not sleep.

           At last, she arrived just at the door that led out onto that part of the roof. She hesitated a moment, then pulled it open, just a hair.

           She was right. He stood out there, facing the dark hills beyond. If she had not looked carefully, she might have thought it was Oleron. They were built much the same, and their hair was equally dark. But she knew how different Bhaird was from his younger brother. Bhaird’s clean-shaven countenance was not so serious, and his face not so aquiline. His shorter hair was boyishly disheveled, as always, and his mouth and Oleron's were dissimilar. Bhaird's mouth was wry, and was formed more gently than Oleron's. Elinor knew he was handsome, as his brothers were, but it was his eyes, really, that made him so unique among them. They were a warm, open brown; reflecting pools for his heart that simply sparkled.

           At least, they had sparkled, once upon a time.

           Taking a deep, saddened breath, Elinor pulled harder on the creaking door and stepped out into the night air. 

Read this book: https://www.amazon.com/Riddle-Walker-Weaving-Time-Book-ebook/dp/B071G1B6DQ/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1572895982&sr=8-1-fkmr0

[lokisgame]

Enchanted Forest [9]

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4] [part 5] [part 6] [part 7] [part 8]

A/N My Beta rocks, she’s the best of the best. 

"Oh, come on!" Langly moaned, throwing his hand. "You're not gonna spill even a tiniest detail?" "She found out, we're okay," Mulder mumbled around the last bite of his taco. "What else do you need to know." "Gold-cross-around-her-neck Dana Scully, rational, grown-up Agent Scully," he leaned over the table intently, "is okay with you sleeping with random women. Just like that, no fight, no respect lost, business as usual?" He couldn't help a little smile tugging at his cheek. "Maybe not as usual, but yeah, we're fine." Byers shook his head, taking a sip of beer, Frohike didn't look happy either. "What, is that bad?" "She wasn't even a little bit jealous?" Byers asked, giving Mulder a sympathetic look. "No." "You should call Oxford," Langly chuckled, "get your money back."

"For that big brain of yours, you're not too bright." Frohike said with a heavy sigh.

"Okay, what am I missing here."

"Well, my friend," Langly said, emphasising the last word as if it dirty, "you know about the friend zone, right?"

"You're just trying to make me talk, and I'm not falling for it."

"Mark my words, next thing you know, she'll be patting your knee, calling you cute."

"She won't." His confidence was sealed tight with the memory of Scully's searching hand and the sound of a bath, sloshing in the background, a minute ago.

With his coat on the floor and shoes barely toed off, no one was there to hear him fall into bed. Tuck him in, or nag about his breath, stinking of onions, bourbon and beer. Still, even if not perceived, he did exist, and so did Scully, even if she wasn't there to be. Drunk thoughts bobbed inside his head, as he tried to talk himself out of calling her. Even if she wasn't here, she was, home, safe, asleep in her bed most likely. Mulder rolled over onto his back, arms thrown wide, and his hand landed on something hard, that beeped, bounced back. He forgot he wasn't supposed to and pressed the overused button on his phone. After three harsh tones, she sighed, in that breathy midnight voice he loved, one that made him feel warm. "Scully." "Hey," he mumbled, closing his eyes, "I'm home." "That's good." She slurred a little, not quite awake. "Got your money back?" He smiled into the darkness, rolling over onto his side, pulling the sheets along for the ride. "And then some." "Mhmm." Past the point of words, she exuded sleep-eons over the line and Mulder could almost feel her warmth, memory of it fresh in his bones, floating like oil to the surface of his alcohol-diluted thoughts. When he drank, filters were first out the door. "You feel nice, Scully," he mumbled and closed his eyes for a few seconds. Seconds that turned into hours.

Cool breeze carried a scent, delicate but sweet, familiar, even if he couldn't quite place it. He followed it trough the snowy woods, breathing in deeply, as the forest grew thicker around him, branches and fallen trees slowing him down. Always one step behind, the things he wanted, a hair's breadth out of his grasp. Bright lights above moved in their never-ending dance, sending waves through time and space. Energies able to change balance of fate and send even the most entangled spirits into different orbits.

Sooner rather than later, D.C. snow turned into grey sludge, filthy, semi-liquid goo splashed by passing cars, staining clothes and shoes and making life a living hell. Hell, that Scully was experiencing first hand, adding near sludge-shower to the growing list of mishaps. First, she ran out of coffee, then, her car wouldn't start, threatening her missing the flight. Then some idiot cut her off and took the last near spot she found in the parking lot. The stars did definitely not align for her, especially with going on a case on a Thursday, which meant working weekend, again. "You're late," she said. Arms folded over her chest and foot tapping nervously on tile, as she waited, last in line to board their flight. "Sorry," Mulder panted, straightening his tie. Batteries in his alarm clock died and he made a mental note to buy one that plugged in, to avoid such mornings in the future.

The plane was small, with just enough room for two rows of seats, adjoining on one side and single on the other. Scully walked ahead, picking the single, and leaving Mulder at the mercy of whatever sweaty businessman, that eventually crossed their path. Before Mulder even had a chance to offer help, Scully wedged her suitcase inside the overhead compartment and sank into her seat, lumpy and uncomfortable, but lending enough leg room for her mere 5ft3'. She knew Mulder hated these flights, but she didn't feel generous enough to switch, her morning was terrible enough already. With the case file waiting closed in her lap, Scully shut her eyes and gave herself a few breaths to calm down as people bustled around her. Soon, a young, pleasant voice sounded near by. "Excuse me, I believe you're in my seat." "Oh, sorry." Mulder said, making her look up to see him, smiling at a tall, slender blonde, in an elegant pale grey jacket, and a skirt, barely passing for professional. "You need help with that?" "If you'd be so kind," she said, obviously pleased, stepping back to let him pass before she took his place, leaving Mulder to put away her small case. "Thank you," she smiled a brilliant smile, flipping hair back over one shoulder, when he took the seat beside her. "I'm sorry I insisted on the window seat, the view helps me forget my fear of flying." "Funny," he smiled warmly, "usually it's the view that scares people." "Not me, I find it fascinating." "It can be breathtaking," Mulder agreed, leaning a little closer, to look out the window, "but maybe not in this weather." "No," the woman laughed, "I guess not." Scully sighed quietly, but Mulder didn't let it go. "Any other ideas? Tricks? Magic spells?" The woman laughed, little louder this time, sweet and melodic. "Yes, one, conversation." She smiled, hand reaching out, "I'm Leah." "Mulder," he shook her hand and Scully could hear him smile. Warning lights for not smoking blinked on and for the first time in years, her hands resting on the armrests, closed.

Before they passed over New York, Scully learned that Leah was a junior partner at a law firm, Something Or Other and Sons, lived in D.C. and loved dogs. "You don't?" She asked puzzled, when Mulder laughed. "No, it's not that, I just recently met someone who loved cockroaches, so…" "Who loves cockroaches?" She asked, a little appalled. "Scientists, researching nocturnal insect swarms." He replied, and they both laughed. "Everyone needs a hobby," she said, siping tonic with lime. "And to earn a living." He added, cheerfully. Scully tried to focus on work, but the conversation peeved her too much to pay attention to her notes. A series of murders, presumably tied to the occult, combined with what looked like a sloppy investigation, angered her even more. Another mindless witch hunt, she thought sourly. The woman laughed, just when a flight attendant passed between them, asking if they needed anything. Scully sensed Mulder shift in the cramped space of his seat. They both declined, almost simultaneously, making the girl ignore Scully, as if she didn't exist. The seat squeaked a little, each time Leah moved, crossing her legs for the millionth time. "So, Mulder, is that a first name, last name or a pseudonym?" Mulder chuckled softly, and Scully gave up, closed the folder and her eyes. They had still 40 minutes till landing, then a 2 hour drive to Comity, New Hampshire.

Two days later, the green plaque saying "Comity, The Perfect Harmony City," stayed almost invisible, as they breezed past it, not to mention other signs on the side of the road. "You just… ran a stop sign back there, Scully." "Shut up, Mulder." She barked back, without humour. "Sure. Fine. Whatever." Heavy silence fell, still seething with emotions brought on by the case. Scully gripped the wheel in gloved hands and he knew, that her knuckles would be white beneath the soft leather. Mulder's thigh throbbed, burned when his gun that went off at the police station, but playing the injury card would only set her off. So he sat in the passenger's seat, watching the mile posts blur as she kept speeding through the New Hampshire night. He hated all of it, her sudden fit of stubborn anger, himself for snapping at her, and Detective White for throwing herself at him. He didn't appreciate that. If anything, he was glad, Scully wanted to get out of there, at least they agreed on something. Big macho man. Was that what she really thought of him? That he was like any other guy, making fancy excuses for plain sleeping around? When White came to his room, all he did was try to keep enough room for writing it off as a misunderstanding, without accusing a fellow officer of assault. He didn't like it, he could have played it differently, but it wasn't his fault the woman didn't understand a polite no. No meant no, for everyone involved. Glancing at Scully, still silently scowling at the darkness, he could feel the wall vibrating around her, almost tangible. She was hurt. He hurt her. "It wasn't like that, Scully." He said, keeping his voice low and soft. "What?" "At the motel, before. She jumped me." He tried to explain, but she cut him off. "Listen, I don't care who or what you do on your own time, but when we're on a case." "It wasn't like that!" Mulder raised his voice and regretted it immediately. Scully stomped on the break, almost hanging him on his seatbelt. "I don't want to know!" She said, eyes screwed shut and head pulled between her shoulders. Leather creaked as her grip tightened even further and she fell forward, hiding deeper, her resolve crumbling down. "It's none of my business, with whom do you sleep," she whispered, without looking up. He was probably risking his arm, but he reached out, gently brushing one hand over her back. "The only person I slept with in the past four years, was you," he said with honesty. Scully didn't look up, but didn't shrug him off either, which meant progress. "I saw a motel on the map, about twenty miles from here and I wouldn't mind sleeping away from this madness for a bit. You?" She nodded, avoiding his gaze, but that too, was a step. He could live with small steps.

Scully couldn't sleep try as she might. The sheets smelled weird, too much starch or bleach, too cold. She wanted to believe, to let go, but something inside her bled. She thought she was over it, reasoning the facts into submissions, lining them up in neat piles as she always did. Mulder was her friend, honest and loyal when it came to matters between them and their work. He was also an escort, but it never got in the way of her or their work. He knew how to keep the things separate and she could count on that. Until she couldn't, until she saw that woman all over him. When they were on the clock, no less. Anger and frustration chased each other around her heart, until they clashed, breaking it in half. Even if he didn't mean it, he shouldn't ditch her, not like that, when they were working. But as she tried to talk herself through it, she couldn't help imagining Mulder, embracing the woman, accepting, letting her in, to take her place. A place Scully only began to imagine herself in, in the mornings and the evenings, on a couch in a house that felt like hers but looked like him. Pain made silent tears soak the starched pillow, letting her drift into oblivion.

Somewhere on the edge of dream, sleep twitch jostled the mattress and something small and warm curled up against her back. Cold nose touched the back of her neck and tickled her ear, making her smile, and like that, she was gone.

On the other side of the wall, not a foot away, Mulder sat on the bed, leaning against the cold plaster with forehead resting on his folded forearms. He wiped his eyes. Stupid rhinitis.

They went home in the morning. Not talking about it. Days went by in silence. Something broke and as much as Mulder tried to reach out, he found polite denial every time. Scully didn't ask how he was anymore, she didn't laugh at his jokes as freely as she did before. It wasn't the first time, but it hurt more than usual. "How about that lunch, I promised?" He asked on a gloomy Tuesday. "Not today, I've got some samples I need to take to the lab." "You wanna come with me to the Smithsonian? I'm meeting with an astrophysics professor, to talk about what really happened in Comity." Silence. Scully only smiled and shook her head, going back to the report, or perhaps a new article. She burned through paperwork like forest fire, a telltale sign he learned to read as 'stay away'. He was growing tired of the cold shoulder.

Friday night he picked up the phone. "Hey Foxy!" Bear boomed in his usual happy manner. "How's the cold." "Gone, good as new. You got something for me?" "Not right now, but it's only 8, you clocking in?" "Yeah, let me know." Not twenty minutes later, his phone rang again. "New customer." "Where." Mulder wrote down the address. "I'm on my way."

Cold. The night was unbearably cold. She never noticed it before, having the same dream over and over. Empty forest bathed in moonlight, blue glow and shadows, walking up the path, alone, hoping to find the clearing but never reaching the top. Wind howled through branches above her head, but the mist that spread over the ground only quivered lightly. Like thigh deep water it weighed down her every step, but she wasn't going to give up, moving forward, watching every step she took in the dark. Echo of a laugh bounced between the trees, something moved in the shadows. Scully paused and listened, looking around. Nothing, blue snow and… A piercing yelp of a wounded animal cut through the night like a knife.

Scully woke up on her mother's couch, disoriented and frantic, panic sending her heart racing.

[befitnesshub1]

5 Best Ground Venison Recipes That Everyone Can Cook At Home

Venison is deer meat, as almost everyone knows, but it is also meat from elk, antelope, moose, reindeer and caribou. Currently, the white-tailed deer is the most hunted and ground venison recipes are very famous in United States.

The most common sight in the markets is the South Texas Antelope, which lives in the foothills of the Himalayas. The antelope was brought to Texas a few decades ago, and now live on the Ranch of King Ranch in South Texas, the country’s largest ranch. Large livestock are regularly slaughtered from livestock. They produce very lean meat that tastes a bit like veal.

Venison has very little fat, so you need to make some simple adjustments to the way you would usually cook beef, pork or a variety of other home-made meats.

When you’re broiling a cut of choice like tender venison or backstrap or filling the grill, cook the meat faster using more heat, then you’ll usually do with the meat. What you want to accomplish is to explore the outside of the deer, while keeping the inside rarely rare or medium. Basket the surface regularly while cooking, and let it rest for about 5 minutes after you take it out of the heat. Cut the cooked meat in front of the cereal.

Cooking venison’s fewer tender cuts should be done by moisture, either by stewing or braising. Make sure and give you more time for cooking than you normally would for beef or other meats.

If the venison you are preparing is frozen, melt it in red wine or buttermilk, one of the recipes you are using works even better. This helps to take some of the liquid meat “funny”, giving it a less harsh taste.

Most hunters will grind all their ground venison recipes, sausage, hamburger or chili meat except for backstrap and round steak. This is because other slices of meat are a little stiffer or harder to cook whole.

When cooking ground Venetian patties, brown them quickly in a frying pan over high heat, then reduce the heat. Add a little red wine or beef stock to the pan, and cook through a venison burger until rare, covered.

Do not leave the cooked deer in the air for a long time. If you don’t serve it right now, wrap it in foil before serving. Then cut it before serving.

Searching for ground venison recipes? We offer ideas for cooking venison. You will be eating the best venison you can imagine!

Venison Hamburgers

For comparison, 1 serving (72%) of ground beef lean has 248 calories, 18 grams of fat and 77 grams of cholesterol. The same serving of venison has 157 calories, 7 grams of fat and 80 milligrams of cholesterol. I’ll take Venice!

That sounds pretty cool, though some skeptics would be quick to say that when you cook your hamburger you need to add deer fat to stay with the meat. Many Venison Cooks suggest adding 1 part ground beef or pork to 2 parts deer. You can do this, and it will still be more nutritious than meat. But we have found that it is not necessary. One teaspoon of olive oil to 1 pound of venison also works, adding only 20 calories to your burger. I’ve also used diced onions in the meat, which doesn’t add anything.

With deer hamburgers you can do a lot. Our basic dish recipe is a great standby. You just mix 1 pound of ground venison, 1 tbs of oil, 1 tsp Worcestershire sauce, and salt and pepper to taste. Form into patties, sprinkle with nonstick spray and cook.

5 Ground Venison Recipes

Burgers:

The Venison burgers are amazing, and they are very thin and healthy. Roasted, stuffed, with cheese or out. It’s all good. So if you don’t have a meat grinder, invest in one. We use the attachment with our standing mixer. I usually add a little olive oil and some Worcestershire sauce to the ground meat so that the patties don’t separate on the grill. You can also tie the meat with chopped onions or bread crumbs.

Related post: 10 Substitute For Mushrooms For Kitchen Recipes

Salt Roast:

Salted Roast is one of most favorite Ground Venison Recipes. Get a 5lb bag of course salt and steam in the oven. Nice. Just mix a little water in the salt, put a roasting in a deep roasting pan, and cover it with the salt mixture. As the salt hardens, it traps the steam. This keeps the meat tender and tastes perfect. Cook on a very low temperate. We cook a typical 4lb roast at 200 for about 4 hours. Use a meat thermometer to make sure you don’t cook it. Grate salt and serve.

Kabobs:

Cut your meat into 2-inch cubes and cut into olive oil, lime juice and cilantro for about 1/2 hour. Place the meat on the skewers, add the onion or pepper if desired. Grill for 3 to 5 minutes on each side. They are so delicious!

Grilled Strips:

Cut the meat into strips and brush with olive oil and ground pepper. Grill for about 1 to 2 minutes per side. These grilled strips are terrific on salads.

Pizza:

Brown ground venison recipes with olive oil, basil and a small portion of garlic powder. Buy pre-made pizza crust and sauces, cheeses and toppings of your choice. The deer on the pizza is a nice change of pace in the Peroni or sausage. I like to use pesto as my sauce for speed change.

Eating venison does not mean eating the same boring dishes. Be creative and have fun in the kitchen.

Venison Sausage Making

These are simple steps that anyone can follow, with minimal preparation to start your own culinary adventure of making venison and hamburgers. Filling sausages in skins to make link sausage is not a recommended recommendation for a beginner. Once you have finished making Great Pitti Sausage, it’s time to move on to linking sausage, smoked sausage, etc.

Meat Grinder:

Some hand cranks use a meat grinder, but a small electric meat grinder is relatively inexpensive and easy to use. Remember to clean all parts thoroughly as you pass, and, to be safe, you can soak the meat-contacting parts in at least one hour before consuming 50% alcohol and 50% water.

Preparation of Meat:

After deer skin, remove the meat from the carcass and cool overnight. White connective tissue is easier to remove when the meat is cooled near freezing temperatures. Some can be removed with your fingers using latex gloves. Some need to start with a knife at one end and then peel it, and some need to be cut like a fish filling. The meat is then cut into portions and lengths that will fit around the neck of your grinders.

Grinding:

Use a coarse grind as you grind all the Venetians you use. I grind my meat in a large plastic meat tub, but any large kitchen bowl will do. For every four pounds of ground Venice, grind a pound of “bacon ends and peace” or fatty pork and mix both by hand. Alternatively, if you weigh the meat in the east you can grind coarsely with both venison and pork at the same time.

Mixing:

Separate the volume you are going to use in another container as a hamburger. If you are making chili meat you may want to grind the venison differently in the previous step and pack it as a coarse grind without the extra fat. If you plan to make two or more sausage recipes, you may also want to separate each of these. Mix the spices by hand for each recipe and then run through a grinder on a small grinder. (Most grinders come with at least three sized grinders.)

Recipes:

There are lots of rec online recipes to choose from, and you should experiment until you have rides by your family. Before packaging, I want to cook a small box of each mixture to test the mixture I am using. Then, if he needs something, he can mix it up again and add something.

Packaging:

Pack your different blends to the size or style of packaging you want to use, but let it “set” in the refrigerator for 24 hours before cooling so that the spices can completely penetrate the meat. I personally prefer to vacuum my meat in King King because it will prevent freezer burning longer than other types of packaging, but if your family is like me, it will last a long time before it happens.

[pixiealtaira]

Take to the Trees

Hummel Holidays prompt 8 2016: nature/trees

pairing: Kurt and Elliot friendship, not Blaine friendly even though technically still Kurt/Blaine relationship. 

Note: my goal for the 2016 prompts was all Kurt/Adam...and then this popped up as the first go, so i wrote it and then wrote the Kurt/Adam story. So everyone can have an extra!

Kurt Hummel couldn’t claim to be an outdoorsy type of person, really.  It wasn’t his favorite activity choice.  He’d rather go to the theater or shopping. He was fond of hotels and room service.

That said, Kurt Hummel also was not a stranger to the outdoors in the grand scheme of things. His dad had dragged him off camping every summer of his life until his dad got involved with Carole and was too busy to go.  His dad dragged him off hunting three times in the fall.  They went bow hunting, they went bird hunting and they went deer hunting with guns.  Kurt did his level best to never hit anything and his dad and whoever they were with let him avoid field dressing anything.

There was one season he liked it outside, though.  Kurt Hummel liked winter.

He liked coats and hats and gloves and scarves.  He liked boots.  He liked crisp feel of the air.  He liked the sound of leaves and then snow as he walked through them.

He liked ice skating and sledding. He spent time at those activities rarely in his high school years.

Throughout high school he sometimes wondered if he should invite others to do outside things with him…go ice skating or sledding or hiking in the snow.  But most of the New Directions hated the snowy winter outside stuff so he never did.

It turned out a good thing.

If he’d thought the first Christmas in New York was bad, the second was one step away from being an utter nightmare and it started in October!

First, as much as Kurt liked winter and snow…he did not like slush and wet nasty streets.  He did not like power outages and he absolutely hated whining about any of it.

Blaine didn’t like winter…or maybe he did but didn’t like it in New York?  Kurt wasn’t sure. He just knew that Blaine hadn’t stopped complaining about the cold and his hair gel working badly in the freezing temperatures since it started.  Sam wasn’t too fond of the cold either.  Apparently the air mattress he was sleeping on didn’t keep him far enough away from the cold floor and the living room area was too drafty at night and Sam kept getting chilly.  Blaine took to sleeping next to Sam Mid October so he wouldn’t get too cold…instead of with Kurt.  However, even though Blaine wasn’t generally sleeping with Kurt, Kurt was NOT allowed to change the sheets to Kurt’s favorite wintertime sheets…flannel…because Blaine ONLY slept on cotton sheets, or satin or silk.

The second issue was…Blaine’s family started decorating their house for Christmas the first of November.  Blaine talked Rachel and Sam into decorating the loft…starting in mid-October.  Before Kurt was consulted, let alone given a chance to nix the idea, tinsel garlands and snowman and Santas had overrun the loft. Rachel talked Blaine into a Baby Blue fake tree, which they had covered in pink and gold ornaments. Kurt wanted to throw-up every time he entered the loft.  Blaine also liked singing stuffed things….the kind that started singing when anything around them moved.  Kurt couldn’t walk from the bedroom to the kitchen without setting off at least six.

The third issue was gift lists.  Rachel posted hers up in October and told everyone that since she had had such a hard year, everyone owed her at least five items from it.  Not a single item on it was under a hundred bucks.  Blaine, Sam and Santana took Rachel’s posting of her list as a signal to post their own and each reminded the others over the course of the next several weeks that they had had just as shitty of a year so deserved multiple items.  Kurt decided to post a list of his own, but his list always went missing within a day of being posted.  He never made any comment on them buying more than one item…he figured if the years previous were anything to go by he’d be lucky if any of them bought him anything.

Finally there were the travelling plans. It started with Rachel’s dads calling to cancel their family vacation but offering to send her on a cruise just herself.  Rachel didn’t want to go alone so she invited Santana…to make further peace, so to speak. So Santana and Rachel were off on a cruise to Mexico for a full week and then they both headed to Lima for another week. Then Sam’s family said they wished he could come home for Christmas…and Blaine decided to make that happen. Since Blaine was spending the money to help him get home, Sam invited Blaine to go with him…and Blaine accepted and invited Sam to go with him and his family on their family vacation to Disneyland.

Kurt’s parents decided that they would spend Christmas with Carole’s family…they were all going to Texas. Kurt wasn’t invited.

Fine and Dandy, Kurt figured after he found out Blaine lied to Kurt’s parents and said he was going with Blaine and Sam to Disneyland, so his dad and Carole didn’t even feel the least bit badly.

(“Of course I told Carole I was bringing you, too.  She would have thought it weird if I only brought Sam and then she would have fussed and I’d have felt bad and it would have ruined my whole vacation. They will never believe you didn’t go, so you should just remember to be silent about not being there….make shit up if they ask.” Blaine had insisted when Kurt asked him about why Carole and his dad thought he was off to California.)

Kurt called Elliot and asked if he knew of any place that was relaxing and far away from it all.

Elliot helped him book two weeks at the Yoga Retreat being held at a spa in the woods of Vermont, where Elliot was already slated to attend.

Kurt wasn’t sure what he expected, but the spa was centered around hot pools, which had been fixed up for year round use.  People stayed in small cabins which seemed more window than wall but due to massive fireplaces and thermal heat were always warm.  He and Elliot shared a cabin.

Mornings were spent doing yoga and on meditation exercises and swimming laps. Lunch was always sandwiches and soups, but in the two weeks there were there it was never the same soup, although Kurt had the same sandwich option a few times since the meat options weren’t as varied as the vegetarian.

Afternoons, though, were free after the single class offered after lunch.  Kurt went to several of them…there was one on finding the proper clothing options for yoga that was interesting and one on maintaining peace in your life that left him writing a thank-you note to the instructor, he had needed it so badly.

The spa offered spa packages, like other spas…massages and manicures and pedicures and the like, but they also offered outdoor activities.

Elliot liked the outdoor options as much as Kurt did.  One afternoon was a sleigh ride and another an informative walk through a syrup grove where they learned about tapping syrup. They went on a wine tasting tour and a historical building tour. They went on the local small art shop tour and Christmas shopping tour.  They got cross country skiing lessons and went ice skating. Several afternoons were spent in the hot pools and just relaxing and playing card games or chatting. And one afternoon was spent getting the spa’s full package treatment. Kurt loved it, but he was just as pleased with all the other offers.

Dinners were often hosted at different restaurants in the area. The spa sent a van out someplace different each night.  Kurt and Elliot went sometimes, but more than half the time they stayed at the spa. The main lodge’s restaurant had excellent meals, mostly vegetarian, but with a meat option each night and if you didn’t want to eat up at the restaurant, rooms service would deliver to the cabins.

The whole get-a-way was relaxing and delightful and energizing to Kurt’s body, soul, and mind.

They got home the day before anyone else did. Kurt washed all his stuff and spent the evening having band practice with Elliot and Dani.  The day all the rest got back, he went to work and went shopping for school supplies and groceries.  He wrapped gifts and sent those needing to be mailed off.  He set up for another band practice and made diner.

His loft mates all arrived at the same time…having all ended up on the same flight out of Columbus.

As Blaine and Rachel spilled in with their excess of luggage and Santana and Sam came in right behind, Kurt smiled and welcomed them home and told them diner would be ready in a half hour an Elliot and Dani would be over for band practice in two hours.

He listened to the whine about band practice and then listened as the all spoke about their vacations…right over the top of each other so he couldn’t really hear any of it well.

“How about you Kurt?” Blaine said. “Did you go out of your mind with boredom while we were gone?”

Kurt smiled. “No, I had a relaxing time. Did some yoga and shopping. Not much else though.”

With that, they rushed to the packages left out for them and babbled about what he got them.  Rachel of course also whined he didn’t get the exact items off her list, but what he got her would do.  Blaine asked why he didn’t have tons more, since he was Kurt’s fiancé. (Blaine hadn’t got him anything…he forgot.)  Only Sam asked where Kurt had actually bought the items from. Kurt just smiled and said he got them from a small art shop.

Kurt’s dad called before the band got to the loft and Kurt managed to talk about his vacation without lying at all.

And if Santana gave him an odd look when the band got there and they had a more in depth discussion on yoga and vegetarian foods that she thought he should be able to have…well, she liked her gifts too much to mention it.

[dreamin-of-somewhere-else]

A Day in the Life

Characters: John, oldest Winchester sister!reader, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester.

Words: 2000

Warnings: A teeny tiny bit of blood, a little bit of a language (probably just one word or something), a little bit of fluff. Nothing bad at all in this one.

A/N: So I was debating whether or not to post it since it’s a bit similar to stuff I’ve written lately, but then again, I felt like I needed to post something, and some of you even seemed to want me to post it <3 

Have you seen Shameless? I’ve only seen a handful of episodes (started watching the other day) and this is a little bit inspired by Fiona taking care of the other siblings. I think it’s cute, so yeah, just a fun fact I guess. Also, this is pre-series (my favorite thing to write) and pretty much focused on the reader and her life.

So yeah, hopefully this is okay for now and I’ll try to vary the fics more until next 

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You looked down at the fresh fake IDs you just made for you and your dad, pictures of the two of you staring back at you as you thumbed through the thin stack. Reaching the Impala, you opened the door, and sat down, stuffing them into the glove compartment for now. You would need them for the investigation you were continuing tomorrow, going undercover.

Nowadays, you and your dad split up for the most part of the cases, during basically all of the research. It was fine, you were young — 21 years of age — but still good at your job. You did have quite a lot of experience contrary popular belief, judging by your youthful appearance. Since you graduated, this was what you did 24 hours around the clock, hunting was the only thing that made up your life. That, and taking care of your baby brothers, of course.

Money always had been a bit of a problem, to you more noticeable than ever since you now had the main responsibility to make sure you had it. John had basically passed it over to you, gradually over many years. For the most part, you tried to do it legally. Working a few shifts at a diner or a bar was the usual — it was surprisingly easy to get a job if you just dressed up in your nicest clothes (or in other words, the one outfit you had saved for that very purpose) and smiled a lot. They didn’t know that you would quit in less than three weeks in most cases, because you just didn’t tell them.

But, despite that, it wasn’t enough. You were four people after all, with two still going to school, and the few shifts you had the time to work (hunting was to blame for the lack of time) weren’t enough to pay for everything. So, credit card fraud and other stuff like that had always been in the picture. And although it was John who handled that, you could tell he was planning to drop that task on you too sooner or later.

Starting the car and looking down at your wristwatch (probably your most expensive possession) you cursed out loud, even though it was only you there to hear.

”Shit!”

You were supposed to pick up your brothers, like, ten minutes ago. The cheapest motel of the small town were located a bit too far for walking distance from the school, so you were driving them every morning and afternoon.

With guilt growing in your stomach, you stepped on the gas to get to the high school where Sam, a freshman, and Dean, a senior, currently went.

Five minutes later you arrived at the school building, pulling up into the now empty parking lot. They both walked towards to the black, sleek, car once it had come to a stop, climbing into it.

”Guys, I’m so, so, sorry.” You apologized with a guilty expression on your face, flashing a tiny remorseful smile on your face that never reached your eyes. ”I lost track of time,” you lied because the truth was that you had had too much to do today.

You looked from Dean besides you in the front seat, to Sam in the back.

”It’s okay,” Dean responded, and that was it.

Sam just looked tired and the rest of the car ride was quiet.

The next morning you woke up along with your little brothers, just like you always did, despite the fact that you don’t have any particular place to be any certain time. But, you helped them get ready, just like you’d always done. Dean sometimes complained quietly at you running around and fixing things for him, practically being a mother hen, but then again, he hadn’t straight out asked you to stop.

This specific motel had the luxury of a mini fridge to put some food in, so you had made them sandwiches to bring to school during the latest week you had been spending here, while they shower, brush their teeth and what not. Today, it didn’t take you long to realize that there weren’t any bread left — you forgot to buy it yesterday — which meant that that lunch plan went down the drain.

You quickly strode over from the minuscule kitchen to your oversized denim jacket that was thrown over the backrest of a chair. Rummaging through the pockets, you brought out the last money you had since your latest payment from the diner you were currently working on, and handled the crumpled dollar bills to Sam and Dean, placing half and half in each of their outstretched hands.

”Don’t you need that, (Y/N)?” Sam asked as he looked up from the cash in his hand and at you, frowning.

You shrugged as you ushered them through the door and to the car.

”Nah, I have a few more left.” It was obviously a lie, but you could always call your dad and have lunch with him today, or ask him for a few bucks to pay for your own.

Although, he never did answer your phone calls.

That day you talked to the old, divorced, Mrs Colton at the end of the street from where the body was found. She was supposedly always watching everything that goes on outside of her very ordinary house, and you hoped that she had seen anything — something that didn’t quite make sense, something that wasn’t supposed to be real. She didn’t have much to offer though, and except of talking about sightings of what goes bump in the night, you ended up having a quite long conversation about her red tabby cat once named Catshup but re-named Susan after her kids moved out.

One hour later you thanked Mrs Colton, and left her home behind. Your next stop was the victim’s house further down the street and on the way there you grabbed a duffle bag with tools from the Impala. It was in the middle of the day, and nobody seemed to be home in the closest houses — except for the woman you just visited — but you kept out of the areas she could see from her freakishly clean windows.

Opening the worn duffle bag and pulling out your lock pick, you looked around yourself. It was one of those chilly autumn days where everything was just kind of grey. A flock of birds lifted from a close by tree, and your eyes shot in that direction but there was no one there. The coast seemed to be clear.

20 minutes later, you walked out of the house, sighing and not knowing any more about what had happened to the poor guy. You had checked for EMF — but there was nothing. Not even a trace. No sulfur, and no strange claw marks either.

Soon after you reached the Impala and yawned as you sat down inside. Maybe you stayed up researching a little bit too late last night. Meanwhile, hunger was gnawing at your insides from the lack of lunch.

You pulled up a note from your pocket where you had a handful of names scribbled down. They were all friends of the victim who you were planning to talk to as well. You doubted you’d have time to interview them all before you had to drive to the diner to work today’s two hour shift. And then, after that, you had to pick up your brothers at school. On time this time.

John was a bit annoyed when you told him that you didn’t really find anything new, groundbreaking today. Fortunately, he didn’t share the same bad luck.

Turned out it was a shapeshifter. A monster who took the shape of a human, and that’s why no one suspected anything supernatural. So, John sent you out to the car to go and get all the silver bullets you had, and then you loaded your guns.

After persuading your father to not bring Sam and Dean — he wanted to at first and if Dean would’ve known, he would have wanted to as well — you left just you two to kill the damned shapeshifter.

Four hours later, just after midnight, John stumbled into the motel room, your arm wrapped around his shoulders as your head hung low. He was helping you walk, with most of your weight on him.

Sam and Dean, who were doing homework and watching TV respectively, stared at you both and when they saw that the white t-shirt you were wearing had a dark red stain, they practically flew off their beds, rushing up to you.

”Shit, what happened?” Dean questioned, looking up at John with wide green eyes.

As he and Sam waited for your dad to answer, they took your weight off him and carried you to the closest bed. Sam then went to go and get the first aid kit.

”It’s not that bad,” John responded finally, as he shrugged off his dirty jacket, throwing it at the floor.  

Either he hadn’t noticed or he didn’t care that you had taken time in your day to clean up the messy motel room a bit, clearing the floor.

Dean settled you down before glaring at his dad. He neither believed him or was happy. You looked dazed and tired, and for John to just shrug it off like it was nothing made Dean angry. He bit down on his lip, not wanting to start an argument with his father.

”It’s… not that bad…” you told him, agreeing with John, but your words were sluggish and Dean had to concentrate to hear what you were saying.

He placed his hands on your cheeks, and his thumbs under your eyebrows. When he gently lifted them, your eyes automatically opened wider. Simultaneously, Sam came back with a flashlight and shone it into them. You shrugged back, but them both had the time to see the unevenness in your pupils.

”Concussion,” Sam and Dean both mumbled at the same time, looking at each other.

Then Sam gently lifted your shirt a little bit, to check on the injury. It’s not that bad thankfully, but it did need some stitches. Dean brought out the needle and thread which meant it was Sam’s job to distract you.

”I’m tired,” you groaned, and tried to lie down. Your mind was all fuzzy, and the only thing you knew was that you wanted to sleep.

”No, no, no, (Y/N),” Sam grabbed a hold of your wrists and pulled you upwards, Dean supporting him and you by putting a hand on your back while holding the needle in his other.

”But I’ve had a loooong day,” you pouted, shoulders sagging down even more.

”Yeah, I know sis, but you gotta sit still a little longer,” Sam coaxed you, rubbing your shoulder.

You looked deep into his hazel eyes. He was 14, you 21, and you were the one that acted like a baby. And even though you practically ran the household and took care of him ever other hour of your life, you still felt guilty.

But you were too confused and tired to do anything about it.

You reached up a slack hand and placed it on his cheek. ”You cute,” you smiled.

Later that night, when John had headed out as usual, you, Sam and Dean all sat on one of the beds, curled up closely without thinking of it. You were watching some random 80s movie on the small motel room TV that probably originated from the very same decade.

”Thank you for taking care of us,” Dean mumbled to you sometime after Sam had fallen asleep, head resting against your shoulder. ”I mean, you work your ass off, and we appreciate it. We really do. Thanks.”

”’S no problem,” you grinned softly in return through the darkness, the moving scenes on the TV lighting up your face a little bit. ”My pleasure.”

Dean grinned back at you, before turning his head towards the TV again, before whispering one last thing. ”Yeah, you say so.”

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[mikakomori]

So, I’ve tried myself at writing...

Since all of you guys seem to be amazing at writing stories, I thought I’d give it a go, too.  But well, I suck at writing fanfiction, which is why I decided to create my own, completely new story!   So, here’s the outcome: Song Stories As you can see I’m really creative with names (and anything else). Anyways, it’ll be a collection of short stories based on a song each. Or rather underlined with a theme song. Each chapter will reveal a part of the lyrics at the end, making it a little “Guess The Song” game (or you can just google it). All the lyrics belong to the amazing artists, who will be credited at the end of a story (to not destroy the “mystery” beforehand.) You can find Song Stories on wattpad:  https://www.wattpad.com/user/MikaKomori 

And of course, I’ll post the chapters here, too. Well, that’s enough rambling, here’s the prologue (under the cut). Have fun reading :)

Ouverture

It was already past eleven when Melinda left the hospital. Visiting hours were long over. However, as usual none of the staff had seemed to care about her not abiding the rules. As long as she didn't bother other patients or got in the way of her sister's treatment, she was allowed to stay for until whenever. At least, that's what the doctor had said to her, when he had found Melinda in her sister's room an hour after visiting hours were over one day. Although, she knew the only reason she got this privilege was because her keeping her sister busy meant that the latter wasn't able to annoy the nurses or doctors. 

Lucy, the younger of the two, was a bundle full of energy. Always smiling, always bouncing around happily, doing whatever weird thing her head thought up. Whenever Lucy was bored, she started chatting up people. Whether they wanted to talk or not was none of her concern. As long as they entertained her, helped her pass the time, her sister didn't care about how annoyed her opposite was. Recently, she even started some sort of game. 50 ways to annoy the hell out of someone, that’s what she called it. And while staying at the hospital, Lucy had already filled in 27 spots of that list, much to the working peoples’ chagrin. Lucy had decided to make them her playing pieces, meaning, as long as she was bored enough to play her game, they got next to nothing of their work done. That’s why the doctors were always happy to see Melinda. The blackhead was even once called "an angel sent from heaven" by one particularly stressed out nurse. One look at the young woman had been enough for Melinda to know, that the poor thing had been one step away from a nervous breakdown. Lucy could have that effect on some people. Or any person, if she just set her mind on it.

Melinda stood under the roofing of the hospital’s entrance, looking up at the sky. Small droplets of rain came down in a steady rhythm, glistening in the light of the nearby street lamp. The rain wasn’t particularly heavy, but hard enough for one to come home drenched after a 15-minute walk. That was the amount of time it took Melinda to get from the hospital to her apartment.  

Thank god I brought my umbrella today. 

Putting it up, the black and white striped fabric was immediately getting damp by the tiny raindrops. Seeking cover after putting her headphones on, Melinda started walking down the sparsely lit street in a steady pace. There just wasn’t enough money to set up more of them. Milton wasn’t exactly a major city, but it was far from being a village either. Walking the thin line between sleepy, rural small-town and buzzing, modern city made it both attractive for young people taking their first steps into independency and families looking for a safe and cozy place to raise their kids. 

Safe. 

At least that’s what Milton was like until a month ago. Peaceful days that went on and on. A time before the murder spree started. Four victims counting, so far. All brutally murdered. Cut with a knife a dozen times, before finally getting released from their pain via a slice through the throat. A messy way to die. As usual these days, the police had absolutely no clue about anything. There were no major leads, no suspects, not a single piece of useful evidence left behind by the killer. Or was there? 

Well, they knew 3 things – but so did the public. First: All the victims were young women in their mid-twenties till early thirties. Second: All of these women had dark blonde, shoulder long hair. And third: They were all kidnapped at night in the southern part of the city. These were all the useful information they had. 

Useful - for when one wanted to analyze the chances of being targeted. But not exactly handy for when it came down to hunting the culprit. However, unlike most citizens, Melinda didn’t think the detectives assigned to solving the case were completely incapable. They had to have some information. Something they just didn’t enclose to the public, as it would either only fuel people’s fear and agitation or would alarm the killer. In some cases, it just wasn’t a good idea to let the murderer know that you were onto him. It could lead to him disappearing forever or committing an even more hideous crime than he had already done.

Not that Melinda was an expert or anything. She was just one of those people who loved crime shows. And although she knew, of course, that real-life police work was nothing like the stuff depicted on TV, there was one thing she liked to apply to reality: The criminal getting caught. However stupid or far-fetched the process of the investigation was, at least the culprit always got what he deserved. Well, almost always. 

Melinda wanted to believe real-life police was also capable of catching every monster that terrorized Milton and its citizens – just like the characters in her favorite shows.

Maybe that’s why she still naively kept on walking home from the hospital alone, like she had always done. That and the fact that she didn’t match the killer’s prey. Sure, she was 26 and therefore in her mid-twenties. Her hair however, was neither blonde nor at shoulders length. The one who fit that description to a T was Lucy. Adding on, Melinda lived in the eastern part of Milton. With the hospital located in the north-east she was far away enough from the murderer’s hunting ground.  At least that’s what she told herself and the people around her, who kept nagging her to drive the way home with her car or take a taxi. Melinda brushed them all off. She didn’t want to take the car for a mere 15-minute walk. Pollution was high enough already. On the other hand, the young woman didn’t want to be a burden to the doctors and nurses who kept on offering her a ride home, so she declined every single one of them. 

Resulting thereby, most of the hospital’s personal had already given up on trying to change her mind, but the same thing couldn’t be said about Lucy. Her sister wasn’t happy at all about Melinda’s stubbornness and reckless behavior. She kept on nagging the older one every time she visited. And knowing Lucy, she wouldn’t stop any time soon, even though her words were hitting on deaf ears. The last few days Lucy had tried a new approach, namely telling Melinda all kinds of horror scenarios that could happen to her if she kept on walking home alone at night. While those didn’t exactly scare her, it wasn’t particularly nice to hear your own sister talk about gruesome ways to murder oneself either. So, she had caved in and had bought the pepper spray Lucy kept on recommending to her, in hope it would ease her sisters mind a bit.

Good thing Lucy didn’t know how her sister walked home. If she knew about Melinda listening to music while walking, effectively blocking out all of the noise around her, Lucy would definitely go apeshit crazy. 

Melinda had always gone home that way and not even once did anything bad or unpleasant happen to her. Listening to her favorite songs while walking through the night made her feel safe, no matter how many of the sparsely placed street lamps were flickering ominously. The gushing wind blowing through the trees, making the twisted branches creak, or the little mouse that caused the rustling in the bushes didn’t bother Melinda. She couldn’t hear it.

But neither could she here the staggering footsteps that followed her today. She didn’t notice them taking up speed, coming ever closer. She was oblivious to the rustling of the piece of cloth in that gloved hand. What she did register was the sweet smell that slowly made its way up to her nose as the cloth was suddenly pressed on her mouth. A smell Lucy had spoken about in one of her horror tales. A smell that burned itself into Melinda’s mind as the world around her started to spin. The last thing she heard were the first lines of the song that had just started playing on her phone. Then everything went dark.

 Just sleep, just dream

 In the back of my mind

I've been trying to chase a monster this whole time

But I couldn't see the monster was me

And no one heard our cries

  *Song lyrics belong to the rightful artist*

[paxpaxpax-3x]

{Daria} Installment 1: Not so humble hunters

(This is the rewrite of my first ever book that i’ll be posting along with the other projects on this blog. Enjoy what me six years ago created and what me now is trying to improve on) “You shit eating son of a whore, sit the fuck down!” the brute shouts, throwing his hand to the side of Hawks face, finally forcing him down to the muddy morning ground. Hawk chuckles, spitting a glob of blood to the ground and looking up at the bandit again “Your mother teach you how to hit? Cause you hit like a bitch.” a swift kick to the side of his head and the bandit is walking away as another pushes Vae’lin to the ground. She doesn’t do nearly the same thing and stays silent until both bandits are far out of earshot.

“Hawk you idiot, you keep antagonizing them you’re going to get us killed, and frankly, I’d rather not lose my head here or with you.” Hawk chuckles, looking at her with a side glance and rolling his eyes. “They’ll be cutting out heads off regardless if I talk shit, may as well do it anyways right?” he says as he says as he looks out into the camp and then nods to the large tent in the center of the camp. “Besides, I think the big man himself is coming out to meet us.”

Hammond was a man of many things, patience and mercy were not one of those things. Greed and wrath were however and when he had been notified that two lowly named bounty hunters had snuck into his camp and managed to kill nearly a dozen of his men, he was angry. But Hammond was also an opportunist. Two people to a dozen of the meanest and ugliest men and women he had been able to find in all of Daria and Turia and they won? That sounded like an opportunity to him if there ever was one.

He steps out of his tent and looks upon the intruders. An Elf woman, strong jawed and sharp features with the look of murder on her face and green eyes at her accomplice. He was a sight to see, a rare one nowadays. Dark skin, silver hair and crimson eyes, a grin on his face as he watches Hammond approach. A Klanossian if he had ever seen one, a near dead people and some of the nastiest fighters he’d heard of. Not many got to see one and tell about it if they were being hunted. Hammond smiles at his catch.

He got lucky today.

“Stand them up, bring them to my tent. I wish to have a word with them.” The man known as Hammond the Foul says, a sneer on his face. An impish man, long fingers and a hunched back, eyes darting this way and that hobbles next to Hammond speaking in not so hushed tones “My lord, they are intruders. We should kill them, show that we will avenge the soldiers they killed. You shou-” Hammond back hands the man “Shut it Cazra! I do not take orders from you! You will do as I say without questioning me. Stand them up and bring them to my tent.” He growls, looking back to the bandits who follow his orders thusly, picking the two of them up and pushing them towards the tent.

“Don’t you normally kill your prisoners Hammond? A ‘Display of power’ or some shit like that?” Hawk asks, a grin on his face as he glances at Vae’lin again, who rolls her eyes, a small grin on her face now though. Hammond says nothing until they are all three in the tent, it’s littered with spoils from raids on towns and caravans. Silk and tapestries hanging off rope on the sides with chests resting at the bottom, armor and weapons on racks. “You two have cause me some trouble, killing nearly a dozen of my men in just short of an hour looking for me. And as I understand you two have quite the names as hunters and now that I see you, I believe I know who you are.”

He points to Vae’lin “Vae the Strider. The Lyskan huntress who is the best shot on the continent with a bow.” He points to Hawk “Hawk the Blade singer. Unmatched skills in several tourneys against trained soldiers, and a member of a dying people. Quite the pair you two, inseparable from what I hear from my men, some of whom were are part of crews brought down by you in the past.” he says, a smile growing on his face. Vae’lin speaks up now “I’m sure plenty have heard of us, you should also know that your head is worth three thousand to quite the rich benefactor. I believe you robbed one of his caravans recently.”

“I’m sure if you paid more and let us go you could get away scott free without chasing you.” Hawk says, hardly even hesitating to step forward. “I mean, look at this place. What’s fourty five hundred to a warlord like you? And I mean it’s not like we could take you on with all the guards you have around here anyways.” Hammond cocks his head at that, a smile growing on his face “ A bribe? Truly? And here I thought you two were something to be feared.” he says, shaking his head and untying the bonds around their hands.

Vae’lin shrugs “We aren’t interested in the morals of our jobs, the money is more than enough for us.” she says, rubbing her wrists, casting a glance towards Hawk. “Vae is right. Though more often than not the people we hunt don’t listen so they force our hand, gets our hands dirty and frankly cleaning blood off of clothes is a pain in the ass.” Hammond laughs at that and shakes his head. “Now you two are opportunists if i’ve ever seen any. And as one myself, i have a proposition for you.” he says, grabbing a long chest and placing it on a desk, sitting behind it before opening it.

It was filled to the brim with jewels and gold, silver and delicate and expensive jewelry. “Ten thousand pieces of five for you to join my men. Consider this the beginning of our relationship as business partners, that is, if you accept it of course.” Hawk and Vae’lin exchange a glance and find a silent agreement among themselves. Vae’lin steps forward and nods, holding out her hand to Hammond “You have a deal boss. But on one condition.”

“Yes? And what might that be?” Hawk speaks up “Our weapons. We can’t exactly fight for you with just our fists. You want us in the fight, we need what we’re best at.” Hammond nods, looking past them and shouting to the guards outside his tent. “Bring our new friends their weapons! You useless dolts haven’t got a grain of salt in the shadows of these two.” he looks back to them, a smile on his face. “Sit, drink, i believe because of you two we will do great things in the near future.”

Hawk and Vae’lin sit across from him, smiles on their faces, waiting for the right time, all they needed was their weapons. “So, how is it the two of you got your names to begin with? ‘Strider’ and ‘Blade Singer’ are the more odd ones i’ve heard of.” Vae’lin speaks up “Strider is just a term for Hunters where i come from. It stuck when i got into the work, it’s nothing special really. Hawks though, that’s something you have to see rather than hear about.” Hawk chuckles and shakes his head “It’s word of rumor that spread. I’m just good with a sword.” he says shrugging.

They drink in silence afterwards until the weapons arrive, the guards carrying them looking at Hawk and Vae’lin with an unmistakeable look of hatred in their eyes but handing them their weapons regardless.

To Vae’lin, an elegantly carved bow from the wood of a tree in the crows forest, intricate designs along the light wood and a single feather tied to the top and bottom of the bow. The quiver holds a sum of arrows, more than enough to hold her own for more than a while carved in the same wood as the bow, the arrows expertly crafted with red and white fletching at the ends. To Hawk, a saber made from a dark metal, the scabbard holding it crafted in a fine leather, designs of Hawks own making carved into the sides and inlayed with gold and silver. A clawed gauntlet of Klanossian design is also given to him, a light metal placed onto a leather glove with sharpened ends, a notable bloodstain in the palm of the gloves hand.

Hammond and the guards watch them prepare, keeping a keen eye on both of them as they do so. Once they are finished, Hammond clears his throat “Now than, I believe we have a deal?” Hawk looks to Vae’lin, who then nods. “That we do.”

“Excellent! I will begin mak-” he’s cut off as he watches Vae’lin duck under Hawks blade. He hadn’t even heard him draw the blade, much less see it as he slices open the necks of the guards as Vae’lin draws an arrow and looses it into Hammonds eye, throwing his head back in the impact and falling to the ground in a quiet thud.

“Grab the head, I’ll get to skimming.” Vae’lin mutters, moving to the chest and beginning to throw coins into her satchel as Hawk walks around the desk and kneels down next to hammonds body, cutting off the head at the base of the neck and throwing it into a bag tied around his waist. He stands and looks to Vae’lin with a grin “That wasn’t so hard was it? But next time you take the punches.” She nearly snaps back but the tent flaps open to reveal Cazra standing there, staring at the two of them.

There’s a beat of silence before the flaps close and the sound of feet running away can be heard “Guards! The intruders have killed Hammond!” Hawk looks to Vae’lin with a half cocked grin now “So i may have jinxed us.”

“Gods damn it you bastard run!” she shouts, hopping over the desk after shoving a final handful of coin in her satchel and following Hawk as he jumps out of the back of the tent, tearing a hole in the canvas. Vae’lin lands fine next to a horse, Hawk however jumps right into its rear end and falling backward. Vae’lin pulls him up by the collar and shouts “Ride you prick!” as he climbs into the saddle, the sounds of angry bandits and hounds being set loose echoing in the early morning as they ride away from the camp.

[susantregre]

Gaylord Texan ICE Experience 2018 & 40% Coupon Code

Today my family and I went to ICE! at Gaylord Texan featuring Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.

I am almost embarrassed to admit that this was the first time visiting ICE!

It is a holiday Dallas-Fort Worth area tradition that I live a handful of miles away from…and how it is possible to have missed it until now, I do not know!

Pssst…we have a 40% off EXCLUSIVE coupon code for our readers: KIDSACTIVITIES to use at ChristmasatGaylordTexan.com:

But I am so glad that we went today.

I love the Gaylord Texan hotel.  And Christmas at the Gaylord is gorgeous.  Tons of lights, trees and festive events throughout.

This year the list of holiday fun is long:

Christmas Carousel

Snow Tubing

Santa’s Snow Throw (real snowballs!)

Gingerbread Decorating Corner

Mrs. Claus’ Christmas Traditions

Reindeer Games Scavenger Hunt

Ice Skating (Outside! In Texas!)

On The Blocks Ice Bar (21+)

Photos With Santa

Holiday Escape Rooms (We will be returning for this!)

Rudolph’s Holly Jolly Breakfast

Build-A-Bear Workshop (with the exclusive ICE! jacket)

Christmas Brunch

and…of coures…ICE!

We started by layering on the big, blue hooded coats.  I was already wearing a coat, but added this on top.

I was so thankful I did because the 9 degree temperature inside ICE! starts feeling very cold quickly!

Next time I am going to wear gloves because getting these photos was not as easy as you might think.

The first ice sculpture exhibit we came to inside ICE! was this large Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer sign.  I grabbed my closest kid and handed the phone to grandma to take the picture.

Despite what it looks like, Rhett was neither a hostage or not having fun…!

It really is magical.  There are over 2 million pounds of ice that was sculpted by a team of 40 sculptors from China brought to Dallas for this event.

What struck me (in addition to the scale of everything which was soooo big) was the bright colors.  It is truly vivid!

Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer is such a holiday classic.  It was fun to see the familiar characters bigger than life.

A favorite place is where Bumble peeks out over ice mountains.  It is hard to tell from the picture how large this actually is…it was funny because it is so tall that the first time I looked this direction, I missed Bumble!

Within the ICE! exhibit there is an ice slide for kids that is included in the tour price.  It is one of the prettiest parts of the journey.  The clear slides are lit from underneath and the whole place has an icy glow.

These slides are perfect for littler kids and those who want a leisurely decline.  Outside of ICE! is the tubing “hill” comprised of two story snowy tracks to FLY down in an intertube.

This is what it looks like when sitting in a tube at the top of the hill…

Wheeeeeeeeeeeee!

The speed you can accumulate in that distance is pretty impressive.

Since this was my first visit to ICE! I thought it might be helpful to answer some of the questions that I had before going…

How cold is Ice Gaylord?

The temperature in the exhibit hall for ICE! is 9 degrees Fahrenheit. It feels even colder.  As someone who loves to ski and spends several winter weeks in the Colorado mountains, the cold surprised me.  It is a deep cold! If possible, bring gloves and wear a coat underneath the one they provide.

Is Gaylord Ice worth it?

General Admission prices for ICE! range from $17.99-32.99 depending when you attend and your age, but visit this website and use our exclusive promo code for a 40% discount: KIDSACTIVITIES

It is like nothing I have ever seen or done before.  The craftsmanship, whimsey and uniqueness cannot be fully understood until visiting. There is over 17,500 square feet within the attraction. My family really enjoyed it today.  We took grandma/grandpa, two boys ages 12 & 15 and myself.  Even grandpa did the slide and tubing hill!

How much are Gaylord Ice tickets?

Adult tickets for ICE! at the Gaylord Texan are as low as $22.99 on VALUE DAYS, $29.99 for General Admission, and $32.99 on Peak Pricing days.  Senior tickets range from $20.99-29.99, Child (4-11) range from $13.99-19.99, Military $19.99-29.99 and kids 3 years old and younger are free.

Don’t forget to use our coupon code: KIDSACTIVITIES for a 40% discount (restrictions apply) at the Christmas at Gaylord Texan website.

Where is Ice Gaylord?

ICE! at Gaylord Texan is set up in a tent next to the convention center which is attached to the hotel.  As you enter the property, look to the left at the first major stop sign for parking within the convention center garage which is clearly marked for ICE! visitors.  The Gaylord Texan is located in Grapevine, Texas in the heart of the Dallas-Fort Worth metroplex less than 10 minutes north of DFW Airport.

What is Ice Gaylord?

The Gaylord Texan calls ICE! their “signature holiday event” and boasts that in 2018 it is bigger than ever!  This year 2 million pounds of hand-carved ice sculptures fill a 17,500 sq ft attraction devoted to telling the story of Rudolph The Red-Nosed Reindeer – the traditional holiday classic. It is kept at wintery 9 degrees. Crafted by master artisans who travel across the globe from Harbin, China, families can enjoy spectacular holiday scenes, colorful characters, five ice slides, and even an ice bar (21+).

What to wear to Ice Gaylord?

Complimentary parkas are provided for both children and adults to help keep you warm, but we do suggest that you bring your hats and mittens for wintery fun! I definitely second bringing gloves…especially if you want to take some pictures.

What time does Gaylord Ice Close?

Regular hours have the attraction closing at 8 pm on weekday nights except for Friday which closes at 10 pm. Saturday night close is also 10 pm and Sunday closes the earliest at 6 pm.

There are extended hours for 11/19-11/22 which are 10am-8 pm, 12/16-12/20 which are 10am-9pm, and 12/23-12/27 which are 10am-9pm.

When does Gaylord Ice open?

In 2018 the Gaylord Texan opened ICE! on November 9. This year’s attraction will close on January 1, 2019.  Daily the attraction opens at 10 or 11 am.

Is there an Ice at Gaylord Groupon?

We have an amazing exclusive coupon code here at Kids Activities Blog for our readers…no need to worry with Groupon! To grab our deal, just click through to the Christmas at Gaylord Texan website and use the promo code: KIDSACTIVITIES

Is the Gaylord hotel in Grapevine, the Gaylord Texan?

Yep! They are one in the same.

Does the Gaylord have both Ice and snow tubing?

Yes, you can see the difference in my article above.  The ice slides are within the ICE! attraction and included in the general admission purchase price.  The 2-story tubing hills are outside of the exhibit and a separate cost. Smaller kids can ride with an adult in a double inter-tube.

How close is Gaylord Ice to Fort Worth?

The attraction is in Grapevine just a few minutes north of DFW airport.

Ice at Gaylord Coupons? Ice at Gaylord promo code?

Yes! We have you covered. Check out this awesomeness…

I hope you will venture out to see all the festivities.  This picture just gives a peek at what is available BEYOND ICE!…

It is totally worth the trip…even if you live further than me :).

Big thanks to the Gaylord Texan for hosting my family today with a group of other family bloggers for brunch and complimentary ICE! admission.  All opinions expressed are my own.

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