From the corner of his eye, Beddigan watched his sister nervously fidget with the hem of her tunic. “Are you sure you want to do this?” Beddigan asked, looking up at the towering dark tree line that spread in front of them as far as they could see in either direction. A peculiar hazy fog hung inside the forest, making it hard to see past the first few trees. They stood in a bright, wildflower filled meadow near the border with Mormant. Evidently there was an old travel road buried in the murky forest from the long-past war between Mormant and Reene, that had not become completely overgrown by the woods. Or at least that was what Clottie had heard from those who had ventured the dangerous journey into the Losley Deadwoods seeking the sorceress. Beddigan looked back over his shoulder across the meadow, back the way they had come, and frowned. It feels like we’re being followed, but nothing seems amiss, he thought, watching the breeze tickle that tall grass and meadow-flowers. Clottie broke his concentration, Continue reading
The dim light of the common room was hazy with the smoke of Ganyon, a popular smoking commodity among the mice. The leaves and berries of the Ganyon bush, which ran rampant in the rolling hills surrounding Shillingdell, were dried and then rolled up in thin parchment to be smoked. Still, despite the murkiness of the room, it was alive with the sounds of laughter and conversation. The ale was flowing freely and Beddigan was delighted to see so many of his people in one place; especially since they looked so happy. And chief among the jubilant crowd was his little sister Clottie, not so little any more, drinking, smoking, and laughing with the rest of the townspeople. Continue reading
The dusty path of hard-pressed, well-travelled dirt wound through the trees. The white bark of the thin trees peeled and revealed black wood beneath, the green-leafed branches stretching way up into the sky, shielding Beddigan from the hot midday sun. After days upon days of rain, he was pleased with the dappled sunlight that trickled through the canopy of green and the dry path beneath his boots. A breeze ruffled his whiskers and Beddigan smiled, relishing the sweet, fragrant air of his homeland. Continue reading
Beddigan drew back the square of royal blue velvet that served as a curtain inside of the plush carriage and peered out into the dismally grey daylight. It had been raining nonstop since they had left Strille four days prior.
“Will you quit that?” Shianne snapped at him, slapping his arm down from where it had held the curtain. He frowned at her,
“I am sick of this carriage, Shianne! I just want to be outside for more than a few minutes.” he griped, leaning back into the pink, plush seat. Shianne rolled her eyes at him,
“Don’t sulk, Beddigan, or I may boot you out at the next stop.” Her voice held a warning edge, but Beddigan would not be cowed. Continue reading