The website of Allene R. Lowrey
The scorched weed stood, accusing, before them. “Show me what you drew, exactly.” Melja’s voice was more serious than Einarr had ever heard. Einarr peered at the base of the weed, searching for his mark, but in their haste to stop the blaze it had been obscured. “It was sol, with five points. I will…
With some reluctance, the Matrons of the Conclave invited in the alfr calling himself ‘friend’ to sit in their hall and discuss the matter. They were very specific as to the terms of the invitation – so much so that Einarr questioned Saetild’s assertion that he was merely a good-natured pest. There was a comfortable…
