Category Archives: Short Stories

May 20, 2013 · 12:43 pm

The Remnant: 500 WC Prompted Novella


dreamstimewatermarked_25626169Ch. 30  Missed Opportunities

Like Governor McCray, High Chancellor Jojeb was under no illusion that her visit was in any way social. But in the light of what she had to share,  she was able to put aside any personal bigotry she might harbor in order to achieve  their common goal. Already runner’s had been dispatched to the other Houses informing them that a meeting would take place at the Palace shortly after nightfall.

As the chancellor waited to speak with Governor McCray she used the time to  go over the intelligence she’d received earlier that morning. According to her most trusted enforcer the reaver had discovered a way to remove  it’s collars and was even now helping the damphir’s escape the compound they had been hold up in. If her calculations were correct it would only be a matter of days before she and the others would begin to see the fruition of all their careful planning.

The gentle touch of Zuelleran’s hand and the soft click of a door knob being turned brought her thoughts back to the present. “Madam, I think the governor’s ready to hear you now.” her companion said, the melodious pitch of his voice too low for anyone else’s ears. She  acknowledged his observation by standing up and running her hands over the waist and hips of her caftan’s iridescent metallic like fabric, careful to smooth out any wrinkles or ridges her fingers encountered.

The smell of human assailed her as Governor McCray’s secretary opened her office door and announced, “Madam Chancellor, the Governor of the United States will see you now.” A gentle pressure beneath her left elbow signal she was to move forward.

Walking towards the governor’s office, she was aware the Zuelleran remained slightly behind her,  careful not to make it appear as though he were the one leading. With a light touch he helped her navigate  around several chairs, a table who’s  heartwood spoke to her of the decanting of several types of wine, and some sort of antique couch or sofa who’s lingering aroma of human, rodent and wool caused her nose to itch.

Passing from one room to the next the chancellor felt a slight shift in the rooms airflow, causing the corner’s of her mouth  to twitch.  Every the prudent human, she thought. No sense of letting herself get trapped in an offense with no way out. Extending her hand in the tradition of mundeen’s she said, “Governor McCray, so good of you to see me on such short notice.”

As Innis McCray’s hand engulfed her own the chancellor was careful not to let any of the revulsion she felt be demonstrated by either her features or pulse rate. Unlike the governor’s elevated color and enlarged pupils, her own remained opaque, her eyes a milky blue .

“Madam Chancellor.” Governor McCray said, holding her hand with just the right amount of pressure. “I apologize for not attending your  appointment ceremony. Certain items came up and I couldn’t afford to miss the opportunities they presented.”

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May 13, 2013 · 12:27 pm

The Remnant: 500 WC Prompted Novella


Ch. 29  And The Bus Pulled Away149365_462503433799068_215488620_n

Innis McCray had watched helplessly while the life blood of her family drained away.  All around her neighbors, whose children she had known almost as well as her own, had simply lost what measure of sanity remained from the destruction in their own lives and had begun killing and destroying others; including Innis’ husband and two daughters. The only reason she and her son Morgan had survived was due to her insistence earlier that day he accompany her to the mall.

That was close to twenty years ago and even now the pain of that day was there to reminder her and others  like her, that that bus had never really pulled away, and that it’s ghost was simply waiting  on the fringe of their memories, to haunt the here and now.

A sharp knock on her office door broke through her revere, “Come in.” she said, closing the  file she’d been reading prior to her lapse in keeping the past at bay.

Governor McCray’s personal secretary, Clifton Morehead, poked his head around the corner. “Sorry to disturb you Ma’am, but High Chancellor Jojeb is here to see you.”

Governor Innis McCray didn’t care for High Chancellor Jojeb, or any Rodaanian for that matter.  It had been her experience that there was nothing she or her Federation wanted or needed from what she called, ‘Scheming Houdini’s”. With that sentiment firmly in mind  she turned to give her secretary the ‘do not disturb’ glare, but was was met by raised hands.

“I tried Ma’am.” he said, ready for her response. “But Chancellor Jojeb insisted. Said it was a matter of Federation security that she speak with you.”

Governor McCray was under no illusions as to the Chancellor’s feeling concerning her. When it came to mutual dislike they were in total agreement. Which meant that regardless of how much she detested Rodaanian ilk, whatever brought their leader out of her hole in the ground was probably something she herself should hear.

Opening the top draw of her desk, Governor Innis McCray placed the file she’d been reading  into a drop hanger, closed the drawer, then locked it with a key kept on a chain hanging around her neck  that never left her body. When she was done she looked at her secretary who in more ways than she cared to admit, reminded her of Michael, ”Send an aide to find the First Lieutenant and tell him Chancellor Jojeb is here. Then find the Chancellor and I something other than tea to drink.”

“Yes Madam Governor.”

As he turned to leave she said, “And Clifton.”

“Yes Ma’am.”

“Clear my calendar for the rest of the day.”

“Yes Ma’am. Do I need to know why Ma’am’, if I might ask?”

Without any change in expression she replied, “Only that I’ll need you to stay.”

“Yes Ma’am.” Clifton said, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly. Then opening the door to the outer office he said, “Madam Chancellor, the Governor of the United States will see you now.”

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May 6, 2013 · 12:02 pm

The Remnant: 500 WC Prompted Novella


1300x662_252_Danube_2013_2d_post_apocalyptic_landscape_picture_image_digital_artCh. 28  Been Here Before

Almost from the moment he and his companions entered the building,  Gloriach had known the creature was near.  As general rules of engagement went, tangling with something as elusive as one of the strigori and three times  as deadly  wasn’t exactly high on his to-do list, particularly today. Even without the torque he wasn’t under any illusions that sooner or later the Rodanians would eventually  find a way to tract his whereabouts, so the less distractions he encountered in the process of reaching his goal, the better he’d feel. And discovering one of the revenant lurking up in the  rafters above their heads could definitely be considered a distraction.

Whenever he or other reaver’s came across one of the walking dead, either in tunnels or found where they’d  stashed whatever sod was unlucky enough to get caught in one of their traps, he and his comrades  made it a point to avoid them as often as possible.  His motto, ” Hace su cosa bebe’ y haré mía”;  ”You do your thing baby and I’ll do mine.” Up until now it had worked out pretty good. He still had all twelve toes and most of his soul; aspects of himself he’d grown rather fond of.

Trying not to let on he’d spotted the creature,  Gloriach eased a little closer to Spider then whispered, “Don’t look around, but we’ve got company.”

As good as reaver’s were at sniffing out the dead, their structurally altered DNA made damphirs even better. “Yeah. Above us. There’s something un-natural about the shadows to the right of one those braces. The longer you look at it, the darker it becomes.”

With his voice still pitched low the reaver asked, “Ever had a run-in with one?”

“Nope. Never saw the need to. Enough things needed killin’, didn’t feel like taking on one more.”

The big guy chuckled, “Yeah, know the feelin. Been there before.”  Stepping around a pile of broken beer bottles and what smelled like recently skinned cat, he added, “What’s the plan?”

Out of the corner of his eye Gloriach watched as Spider navigated his own obstacle course of refuse and decay. “Hadn’t really given it much thought.” the younger man  said, the buildings filtered light causing his skin to appear even paler than normal. “We need to reach the tunnels, and I might be wrong, but I’m assuming it won’t make its move until we get there.”

Making a pretense out of studying a rather suspicious mound of old clothing, Gloriach gave it the appropriate amount of consideration then stepped left, “Think we have a chance of beating it?”

“Do you?” asked Spider.

“Not likely.”

Pausing long enough to give Wrench a chance to catch up,  Spider said, “What do you usually do when you run into one of them?”

“Same as everyone else.”

Overhead they both caught a glimpse of the revenant’s first leap.  “And what might that be?”  Spider asked, pitching his voice low.

“Run!” Gloriach laughed.

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April 29, 2013 · 12:02 pm

The Remnant: 500 WC Prompted Novella


1071_125152034305456_82782535_nCh. 27 Between Two Worlds

The creatures ability to wait in shadows and absorb the light until there was no delineation between itself and darkness was more than mere camouflage or trickery of the mind. Unlike the strigori who survived between the world of the living and dead, and took great pride in their ability to deflect the thoughts of their victims elsewhere,  the creature was a true child of darkness. One who embodied the absence of light and had no need for smoke and mirrors or to cause its quarry to look past the hunger in its eyes in order to delay the sense of rapture it received while feeding off the terror of its targets impending demise.

From trusses built in the days when structural codes required anything north of the California Redwoods to be fabricated from steel the creature waited, its atramentous substance trembling with anticipation. Below, two damphirs and their unlikely companion walked twenty feet abreast in an effort to try to detect anything that might threaten their survival. But beings such as this one were seldom if ever seen and so any shifting shadows or movement of air it might cause  were simply interpreted as sun darkening clouds or  afternoon breezes sawing through gunshot ridden siding.

Since very little of its nourishment came from feeding off the flesh of another, its earlier hunger, satisfied on something caught in one of several manhole traps kept throughout the city, remained appeased. Today’s hunt was simply about exploring new strategies for  how best to separate its prey, which tunnels held the deepest caverns, and of those which would  enhanced the chase by giving its victim ample time to appreciate the futility of trying to escape.

Knowing the only exit not leading out into territory heavily patrolled by humans was directly beneath the oil pits at the far end of the warehouse, the creature leapt upward, grabbed hold of a  lateral brace and swung itself across twenty-two feet of empty space to the next truss; repeating the maneuver until reaching the buildings northern wall, near one of three pits once used to maintain vehicles like those Wrench had skirted around earlier; the only one to have access to a set of stairs descending into subterranean  to store rooms and a hidden door leading to the cities underground.

Stopping only long enough to confirm its flight had gone unnoticed, the creature of darkness began its vertical decent, needled claws discovering footholds within the metal siding only visible to flies and insects. Halfway down it released it hold, dropped to the cement floor below and moved crab-like within the walls shadowed recesses until parallel to the last pit. Suddenly the turbulent crunch of broken glass  vibrated across  translucent membranes located on either side of the its globulous head. Tilting  the mound to one side, the beast re-orient on its new-found prey, then slid under what few protective guard rails remained,  dropping into the darkened pit below.

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April 15, 2013 · 12:00 pm

The Remnant: 500 WC Prompted Novella


Romantic-kissingCh. 26 Dragons, Firewalkers, Fire-eaters & Fireworks

Shocked at what he’d just done, Fendar raised his head and once again looked down into Pedal’s eyes  afraid of what he’d find.  But instead of anger or  worse, rejection, he simply found  a mirror of the wonder  in his own.

As the audacity of the kiss gave way to the excitement he’d experienced with Pedal’s lips under his, Fendar realized that the closes thing he had to compare it to was how he felt whenever they  fought against reavers or took down one  their fire-eating mages: a firework of adrenaline running through his veins making him to want to roar like a firewalker. Suddenly, what had  only moments ago been a mutual camaraderie between fellow tribal members, now had all the subtly  of a fire-dragon fanning out his plumage for the lady fire-dragon to see, and hopefully, approve.

Fendar had known since the previous summer that it been harder and harder for him  to think of Pedal as simply one of the tribe; someone he fought with, fought for, and generally took for granted. Without even realizing it, he’d begun thinking of those times when sunlight would suddenly turn her already dark hair a deeper shade of raven blue, or how the paleness of her skin and the blue of her eyes seemed in such contrast to  the rest. Then a couple of weeks ago, while acting as guard so she and several other girls from their tribe could bath in the communal  rain barrels, he found himself noticing how her breasts had become fuller and the way her hips seemed to sway as she walked out in front of him on their way back home. And even stranger still, he remembered how one night,  after over hearing her and his best friend Wrench joking around over something she’d said to one of the Morphkind, he’d had an overwhelming urge to rip the other boys throat out.

But now that he’d actually kissed her, pressed her lips with his own and breath in the sweet scent of her breath and the fragrant aroma of something defiantly not male, he couldn’t image her being anything less than his; someone whose heart beat already matched the cadence of his own; someone in whose eyes he saw the same intensity of longing and ownership as his.

He didn’t know how it happened. He didn’t even know why it had happened. He just knew that contained within that single kiss was all the assurance he needed to know that from that moment on, no one and nothing would ever take Pedal from him. Not some other tribal member. Not one of the Morphkind or renegade humans. Not the brothers from the monastery (though when he’d asked if they ever thought about finding mates, they’d just looked at him like he’d grown a third eye), and certainly not one of the other races. For him there was only this raven haired wildcat in front of him who would in all likelihood never hesitate to try to tell him what to do or how to do it. But it didn’t matter. Whatever was in her, completed whatever was in him, and that’s all that mattered.(c)

Copyright: The Remnant: 500 Prompted Word Novella; SSpjut, Shawn Y. Spjut; Shawn Y. Gooding; 2013

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April 8, 2013 · 12:13 pm

The Remnant: 500 WC Prompted Novella


20397_358947740868849_148686447_nCh. 25 The Cookie Conspiracy

With every breath, every jostle of its shaft, Aryan could feel the arrows point scrape along the ribs that had initially stopped it from passing through to the soft organ tissue beneath. She also knew by the continued loss of blood that the quarrel in her side was one the military had developed during the great wars; its artificial intelligence even now still finding its way into the hands of hunters like those that had attacked them on their way to the island. But even her best efforts to keep from bending or twisting couldn’t prevent the quarrel’s sentient  barbs from burrowing themselves deeper and deeper  into her flesh, until it finally found what it was sent for; the life-giving organs within its host.

Like Fendar, Aryan recognized the danger she was in. As a damphir, her ability to stop any bleeding, even to repel an intelligent being such as the hunters quarrel, would have been relatively easy. But the diabetes made blood clotting difficult under normal circumstances; coupled with a living organism trying to bore its way through her flesh in pursuit of vital organs… She didn’t want to think about it. They’d made it to the island where hope, if there was any, waited just over the other side of the hill.

As she took a second to rest against a large boulder, she felt her strength being siphoned off by the creature as it conspired with the environment around itself in an attempt to steal her life; much like the orphans Spider and other tribal members were always rescuing, who if not watched, would find ways to  steal cookie dough or fruit brought back from hunting forays to the north, one little piece at a time.

While trying to decide whether to push on or wait for Brother Theoloplis to reach them, it was several moments before Aryan realized that Fendar’s hand no longer rested on her shoulder, and that the warmth provided by his large frame acting as buffer against the sudden gusts of cold air trying to wrap themselves around her already chilled shoulders, was missing.

Turning to see what it was that had removed her protectors presence from her, Aryan found her oval-shaped brows rising in disbelief as she witnessed Fendar take Pedals face in his hand, bend down t0 say something too quiet for Aryan to hear, then kiss the girl.

In light of her own bonding with Spider, the act of watching two people kissing wasn’t anything new. And it wasn’t like there hadn’t been other signs of romantic interest between tribal members such as Trevor and Dash, or Wrench and Kia. But if anyone had asked her what she thought of Pedal and Fendar bonding, she’d have laughed in their face. For all his kindness, Fendar wasn’t one to tolerate others telling him what to do; and bonding with Pedal would definitely put him in the category of someone else, besides Spider or herself, telling him what to do.(c)

Copyright: The Remnant: 500 Prompted Word Novella; SSpjut, Shawn Y. Spjut; Shawn Y. Gooding; 2013

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April 1, 2013 · 12:18 pm

The Remnant: 500 WC Prompted Novella


267818_541827572514592_1850303507_nCh. 24 Words Aren’t Enough

Sucking air through her teeth, Pedal’s jaw clenched in an effort to hold back the retort threatening to lose itself from her tongue, and the rage struggling to find expression in the length of her canines. “If it weren’t for Aryan” she thought, ” I’d teach Mr. ‘Who Made You The Boss’, to show a little more respect. I’d hamstring his sorry hide and leave him hanging from a truce pole for the Strigori or humans to find, or maybe pull those poor excuse for fangs out of that pasty white face of his and wear them on a chain around my neck, or maybe make myself a nice pair of earrings or…”

During her internal monologue of the one hundred and one ways she intended to bring retribution upon her tribal mates life, Pedal hadn’t realize that she’d begun to voice her thoughts out loud until she felt the bite of Fendar’s fingers digging into her arm. “By the teeth Pedal, will you shut that infernal jabber up.” Then loosing his grip, he forced himself to take a calming breath, leaned down, and  in a gentler tone added , “Look, I’m sorry I snapped your head off just now. But you’ve got to remember, whoever was shooting at us earlier is still out there, and voices carry over water like birds on the wind.”

Feeling heat rise to her face Pedal forced her pale blue eyes to focus on a clump of  wild poppy trying to makes its claim on what little soil the islands northern face had to offer. She could handle Fendar’s anger. She could deal with his sarcasm. But what she had little or no defenses for were his kindnesses. So in an attempt to keep the moisture gathering at the corner of her eyes from leaking out, she tried very hard to remember why it was she hated him.

And she would have, if it weren’t for the fingers now cupping her chin and forcing her to look into irises the color of summer skies. “Pedal, I know words really aren’t enough, but I am sorry. I know you meant well.” Then those same eyes shifted their gaze to her lips and before either of them knew what he was doing, Fendar lowered his head and gently pressed them with his own.

She should have been shocked. She should have been angry. Everything in her that only moments ago was ready to rip out his eye teeth, impale him with a truce pole, and feed his still breathing carcass to vampires, should have torn him apart right there. But she no longer felt or thought any of those things. Instead, in that very moment there wasn’t anything, including the fierce bond she had with Trevor, that felt as right and as perfect as Fendar’s lips on hers, or the instinctive response of her own.

Pedal didn’t realize her eyes had closed until she opened them and discovered what had felt like a very private moment, had in reality, become a very public one. (c) Copyright: The Remnant: 500 Prompted Word Novella; SSpjut, Shawn Y. Spjut; Shawn Y. Gooding; 2013

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March 25, 2013 · 12:58 pm

The Remnant: 500 WC Prompted Novella


hCh. 23 They Had A Poet in the Family

Wanting to reassure Aryan that he was right behind her if she got too weak or lost her balance, Fendar kept a restful hand on her right shoulder, while shortening his own stride by half so as not to get his feet tangled up with hers. He wasn’t all that convinced she’d be able to make it to the top of the cliff-face on her own, but with the path being only wide enough to accommodate them in single file, he was forced to stay behind her.

Even without his heightened senses, the ever-growing stain beneath the girls left arm would have been enough to convince him that time was running out. If they didn’t reach the monastery soon, whatever hope there was to stop the bleeding and remove the arrow before Aryan went into shock, was getting narrower by the moment. Provided vital organs weren’t hit, a damphir would normally not have to worry about recovering from an arrow wound.But Aryan wasn’t like other damphir’s, and with the diabetes, her chances of recovery wouldn’t be considered normal.

A small avalanche of rocks alerted him that there was movement above. Looking up, Fendar caught site of a cap of curly brown hair bobbing between monolithic size boulders. Gently squeezing Aryan’s shoulder, he signaled her and Pedal to stop while they waited to see whether it was friend or foe.

“It’s Theo”, whispered Pedal in his ear, her breath warm against his neck. “I can smell comfrey and some kind of sage maybe clary though it could be white sage or possibly qaashil but I’m pretty sure its …” ”Enough already! I get the point.” Fendar growled quietly, his usual calm all but gone under the strain of trying to get the three of them to safety.

Normally Pedal’s obsession with plants and dirt elicited nothing more than mild amusement from him; rather like her families partiality for dead poets and forgotten minstrels. But with Aryan bleeding out and the monastery still more than several hands away, he didn’t have a lot of patience left for her running commentary on medicinal plant life. He knew she meant well, but it was times like this that he wished she wasn’t what the brothers called a ‘walking encyclopedia’. Though given that he’d never seen an encyclopedia or even knew what one was, he really couldn’t say one way or the other. All he knew was that once she got started, it wasn’t all that easy to shut her up.

He heard the sharp intake of breath as she bit back what he knew to be a scathing retort that  in all likelihood, would have included something to do with the size of his ego and the origin of his birth. Even with the severity of the situation, he couldn’t help but smile. No one changed mental gears quiet as fast as the raven haired girl bringing up their rear. Obsessions or no, Pedal was never at a loss for words. (c)

Copyright: The Remnant: 500 Prompted Word Novella; SSpjut, Shawn Y. Spjut; Shawn Y. Gooding; 2013

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March 22, 2013 · 8:13 pm

The Remnant: 500 WC Prompted Novella


109916047125639728_ASqQUCw8_bCh. 22 Stress, Taxes, Knee Surgery and a 40th Birthday

The distance from the trails head to the peak of Grays Point, took him less than half hand space to travel. By the time he drew level with its lichen covered rocks, the suns morning light had already left the Cascade Mountains  behind, and begun spreading it harsh wings across Puget Sounds pearl like chain of islands.

Shielding his eyes Brother Theoloplis took careful inventory of the reflective grey landscape before him. Here and there he noticed projections of rock similar to the one he now stood on: their tectonic shale plates jutting skyward like determined bastions of hope. Before him lay an archipelago of  islands harboring everything from monastic communities such as his own, to pirate cities whose main source of commerce was found in supplying creatures such as the Strigori, Varloc, and Rodaan with live food and raw material. God help the creature caught in a pirates net; once taken, few if any were ever heard from again. Or at least not in any form that resembled their former existence.

A freezing gust of wind, kicked up no doubt by air streams flowing south from the gulf of Alaska, flung an unruly lock of dark brown curls across his eyes, temporarily distracting him from his vigil. In a burst of impatience Theoloplis pushed  the errant curls back from high cheek bones, beak-like nose, and wide-set oval eyes. The movement un-expectantly reminded him of another face, similar to his own, whose golden eyes had  mirrored their terror of being captured seven years earlier by pirates in a surprise raid on the monastery. As his younger brother Victor and Bishop Azarov had been taken away in chains he’d known, that apart from divine intervention, there’d be no hope of his sibling ever seeing his 30th, let alone 40th birthday.

He’d tried getting them back, even going so far as to offer to supply the raiders with enough penicillin to keep their rotting carcasses alive longer than any of them had a right to. But by the time he was allowed on their island to negotiate,  Bishop Azarov had already died of camp fever, and of his brother Victor, nothing was ever found; even among the Strigoir, who were known for keeping their food supplies alive so as not to deplete their resources.

The sound of whispered voices drifted upward from the rocks below. Looking down he saw the hooded shapes of three creatures working their way towards him; the one in front  clutching what looked like a quarrel protruding from its side. The kind used by pirates in pursuit of prey. Pushing memories of Victor aside for another day, Brother Theoloplis began his descent,  wincing as the stress of going down hill strained the sensitive scar tissue alongside his knee, where Brother Pavol had recently performed minor surgery to remove an over abundance of joint cartilage; as though their altered DNA expected more from them than their current level of humanity could provide. (c) Copyright: The Remnant: 500 Prompted Word Novella; SSpjut, Shawn Y. Spjut; Shawn Y. Gooding; 2013

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March 18, 2013 · 12:18 pm

The Remnant: 500 WC Prompted Novella


deadlight1Ch. 21 Nestled in the Corner of the Attic

Brother Theoloplis drew the frayed hem of his cassock up under over the hemp belt he’d taken off the porch railing on his way out of the monasteries rear kitchen. Outside the air was heavy with the scent of fog, saltwater, and the ever prevalent mixture of sulfur and decay that so often felt as like it was trying to envelop more than just the body. As if it too had somehow found a way to become ambient, seeking to feed itself on the life of those who had not yet given up their humanity in the relentless struggle to remain human.

Picking his way over lichen faced rocks worn smooth through time, salt, and hundreds of sandaled feet like his own vying for secure footholds to support the climbers weight, Brother Theoloplis wrapped fingers stained browned by long hours spent working in the monasteries herb gardens or helping Brother Uriah on vine-covered hillsides, into familiar handholds hidden at various intervals along  the cliffs face.

He knew going up to the point without first alerting the other of his where about would cause some to worry, but he hadn’t been given enough to know whether the vision was for now, or later; and if it was for now, then he had no time to lose. “This is the burden one bears for such things,” he thought, careful not to take his eyes off the path before him.

Not everyone in the small community of priests had been given special abilities. Most remained relatively human; showing little or no indication of what government officials who had come to the island years ago called, extra-sensory mutation. But those who did possess such gifts were sworn to secrecy in case creatures living on the mainland found out and took them captive like military scientists had once done when it became known what the priests were capable of doing.

Reaching overhead, he pulled and pushed himself over the last few feet of smog dampened shale, then stood up. From the top of Grays Point rising above the jagged rocks bordering Luna Beach’s northeastern corner and the frigid waters of Puget Sound, the young priest held an unobstructed view of the Olympic Mountains to the west and the Cascades to the east. Ahead he could see, like a javelin emerging out of a corner of the city’s fog filled attic, the Space Needles upper decks. He felt an all too familiar shiver run down his spine remembering that he wasn’t the only one using high places to gain a better view of what moved beneath the layers of sooty gray clouds just beginning to part before the glare of morning sunlight.

Mindless of his dew soaked feet, or the dangers of remaining exposed out on the cliffs open plateau, the priest stepped into a shallow trenched pathway running parallel to the  buttes serpentine face, and began jogging north.

(c)

Copyright: The Remnant: 500 WC Prompted Novella; SSpjut; Shawn Y. Spjut; Spjut Y. Gooding, 2013

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