Ambyrfire

 Rain clawed and rushed down outside the opening of the tribe cave. The wind whistled through the valleys and crevasses of the unyielding cliffs. Rrcatta lay curled against the rocky wall, her tail wrapped over her nose against the cold drafts pushed in by the late winter storm. Syrrn’s earlier words echoed through her mind. “So much land . . . there be a place for us to make different life somewhere. I know this. But others, they do not. We need tell them, so they do know. We must whisper to them like soft breeze from the south, tell them of other place, other life. And together, we will go to find this place, live different. Liv

 Asashi stood by warily, though her fear was slowly fading away into confusion. The stubby creatures chittered back and forth like sand-foxes. The words were strange, harsh, garbled… and yet, she could snatch an occasional fragment of understanding from the discussion. The child let it's words fall neat and delicate as dry grass stalks, while the beak-capped other creature ground it's words out like a spearhead against a whetstone. Daesh seemed to understand these strange sounds far better than her, for he listened with his ears pricked eagerly forward. Suddenly, he spoke. "Yes, every good, now?" The stunted creatures stared silently

 The pale, diminutive creature cried in great, heaving sobs, and tears gleamed on its bald face. Asashi's fear immediately subsided. This creature was no threat. It was small, and frightened, and needed comfort. "Child?" Asashi said softly. The little thing looked up at her, reddened eyes wide. Asashi reached forward and trilled a soft, soothing chirr. She gently stroked the child's headfur– someone had let it grow long and unkempt. Strange, for such otherwise furless creatures. Did they grow all of their fur on their heads? A cascade of screams and the sharp cracking noises made by the weapon-rods rolled along the strange carved can

 Bong. The muffled clock chime echoed through the thick, smoggy mist. Bong.  Marka rolled over on her thin mattress and groaned. Bong. She hauled herself up onto her elbow and peered through the slats of the air vent into the dark. Bong. "'Oo needs a pratchin' deliv'ry at four shaves o' th' mornin'?" she muttered under her breath as she rolled out of bed. She was just being sour– she knew well enough pratching who. Some factory that was having its pratching-broke coal truck repaired. She just needed to run a pratching claim notice to the pratching coal distributor, to hold the pratching factory's pratching coal supply until they coul

 The shag-deer lifted its head into the chill wind and lowed softly. Rrcatta stayed frozen and silent in a snowless dip behind a bare thicket. The shag-deer wouldn't scent the hunt-pack while they were still downwind. The shag-deer wandered closer, pulling at grayish grass clumps stuck in the frozen ground. Rrcatta tensed, fur on her back bristling, her powerful legs ready to propel her towards the prey. Just one more stride and the shag-deer would be within her range… It stepped forward. Rrcatta leaped out of her hiding place, swinging her fang-club. The shag-deer turned to run– Too late. Rrcatta's fang-club went crack! dow

        The atmosphere in the packed bar was as pratching murky as the bottom of the Great Whirlpool. Marka Wriley added her own puff to the fog and jammed her smokie back between her lips. She'd had no greasy bouncers try to get her to bed for a while- the sprained shoulder of the first pratch idiot was a good warning of all they'd get for their trouble.        The food, she mused, chewing, was kack. But it kept your stomach full, and didn't make you sick more than every once in a while. Anyway, this place didn't do its business selling food. The food was mostly an afterthought.        "Hoy!"        Marka rolled her close-set green-gra

And I will run until my frictive bones smolder with the heat of determination, sliding past myself -again- -again- until I self-ignite. Clear eyes are a blessing when the mists are black and rancid. I would rather burn than drown.