Athear Kalskelavth: A Fictional Narrative

It donned a large cloak of silken strands of the deepest silver. Its tail was long and eagerly wagged in rhythm with the arched floppy ears. It had eyes of golden thunder that became two suns in the cloudy sky of its face, but as soon as I reached to pet the creature, it galloped away, leaving me in the wake of the swirling dust and sand. I sighed, but my spirits were lifted by the sight of a person walking toward me. A god perhaps, for I saw no settlement in the vicinity.

It always feels warm, even in the freezing winter. It's strength, and quiet purpose—it's his sister's voice, soft and tickly against the skin of his ears, telling him about the gods, about Austėja who rules the hives, telling him about the empire to the south who bought their amber and called them Aestii and who Lietuva would get to meet someday, if he was good. It's the warm fire sending chills through his bones as he bent

Moving swiftly through the trees, Cobyn followed a mental map he had of the surrounding area.  He and his family had traveled from the Marshlands before. It had been the place he had been born. The Unknown had driven them out though, leaving their city to burn. Cobyn's infant sister, Aleen. Aleen, had been lost that day, as had so many other Keddish people.  The moon shone down from above, like a silver sun lighting his path. Creatures moved, fast and flitting through the trees as Cobyn walked, keeping a quick pace. He could hear the crunching of the leaves under his bare feet, and occasionally the moonlight would catch the hilt of the sword making it shine. Cobyn hurried. The armies would not clash for many days, having

He waited until the night’s 11th hour. By now the Princess rested in the highest tower of the castle, locked away from the dangerous world, yet so oblivious to the dangers that which fated the rest of her life. Silently the peasant journeyed outside, where he stopped at the wall of the tower where she lay. He watched her in the darkness from below, lifting his face to her, letting the light rest on his every surface of darkness. The night was cloudless. The winds wailed between the motionless oak trees as its thin branches clawed out, ever so slightly disturbing the leaves with its hostile screeches. Not the thick moss of the trees nor the damp leaves squirming in his toes could distract the peasant from so enticing a scent. All that encircled him was the sweetness of lavender and rosewood, filling his entire being as he sunk into the grass, like sand washed over by the water, with every breeze passing

People often describe our magical place as though they memorised the words. And, while their minds fail to seize our friend's thoughts, the faithful night pours into his eyes its mellifluous melody. From thirty men who catch our furtive hands, always one person shall blow the whistle, and the lyrics follow no particular rhyme.

Do you have a bestfriend that feels just like a sister? My bestfriend is McKenah Kloes, her personality makes you smile everyday and we have the most crazy memories. Even know she loves to goof around she’s very intelligent.

Its call to its mate caused him to long for Allie. Although they had only been husband and wife a week now, he felt as if they had always been together… she was the breath in his lungs… the blood in his veins, the beat of his heart… she was all those things and more. He did not want to endanger her by moving her out of Charleston, but he would have to figure a way for them to be together more often. As he stood, staring out into the darkness, the quietness of the night resonated deep within him. In the distance, he thought he heard the low bump of a drum and then the sound of a flute trembling through the night its soothing sound wavering upon the light breeze that blew from the west…

The Lord’s jet ebony, short/messy hair blew lightly in the wind. His fair skin glistened from the moonlight and river. His jawline was sharp; this he could tell due to the way the Lord was turning his head to view the river. His lips curved into a smile as he went back to face the other.

The thundering sound of hooves echoes in my ears as my horse comes barreling down the hill toward me. My whistle had caused him to go crashing through the tall grass and Queen Ann’s Lace in search of me once again. Coming to a sliding stop in front of me, I gently stroke his muzzle. Letting my hands glide over his fuzzy neck and into his jet black mane, I grab ahold and throw myself onto his strong back. We go running through the pasture, scattering wild rabbits and sending sparrows a flight. I watch them fly overhead, their brown wings leading them to rest in the big oak tree that my horse and I come to a halt underneath.

The howls of swaying leaves cut through the grisly night. The only light ascended from the moon, though it was barley visible amidst the trembling towers of trees. Branches of wrinkled wooden limbs creaked and groaned as they swayed to the sound of the wind’s whispered secrets. Exposed, contorted roots sprung from the ground desperately trying to escape from the ravenous demons that dragged them down to a more hellish fate. Tortured screams of those doomed to a punishment of fire and brimstone erupted from within the deafening quakes of the woodlands, and the deep cackles of a hag could be heard faintly after.

The sunrise starts to make its present known through the black bandit mask of night, its yellow belly and flashes of warm reddish brown brighten the sky as the morning first light.

Buzz!, Kugelmass started to zap suddenly as the verb tener was humming and a rumbling vibration invaded each page of the book. !puff! A fireball reached tener’s head and it was crackling until it stopped humming and a pile of ash was its only remains. Boom! Everything exploded and Kugelmass repeated a few times: !Damn it! !Damn it!. It was completely quiet and just a hissing sound from Kugelmass breathing was barely heard. He passed out.

A dark and smoky gray night fell over the green grass. An old lamp at the end of an overused power cord of a wooden pole was swinging in the wind. It lit up the surroundings of the construction and printed my moving shadow on the wall behind me. In the half-light of dusk, I walked out of the ruins that minimally protected me from the wrath of the RPF and showed my face to a fire-breathing dragon. I walked into a thick and wet mist that linked up with the wind to whisper ghostly oohs in my ears. I was scared and my legs trembled. Under the dim light, I could not see anything. The smoking of the war clouded the roof of the region and the cold breeze spread an odor of blood and brought the moans of dying people. The dense haze covering my vision

Silent. At the edge of the sky there was a magnificent white patch, a turning page, catching the sun. The rest was ivory grey, with a subtle hint of mauve, just enough to announce the coming sunset. Scanning the horizon were the white cotton balls on cerulean satin, with a subtle layer of dove grey underneath, which was thin enough to let the light through. Stood there like a ghost, a silent observer of the venerable castle, and the clouds. The colossal mountains were shielding the inferior castle. Beyond the towering mountains was a decrepit, venerable and ancient castle like structure. The azure roof was coated and concealed by the thick opaque dust. The roof was as dusty as an abandoned warehouse floor. It was an elderly going paler as it got older and ancient. As I nonchalantly walked up the moaning narrow staircase, a thick mist of cold crisp air blew through me, rustling my hair and sending a chill down my spine.

Atwood’s Siren Song seeks to cast the mythical creatures of the Odyssey from a different perspective, broadcasting their allure and softening their harsh, predatory portrayal. The anaphora of “the song” and “only you” create a pleasant lyrical flow within the poem. Combined with the short enjambed phrases and soft sounds, Atwood produces a language reminiscent of a peaceful song comfortably pulling the reader toward sleep or bliss. The tone of the poem shifts to a more urgent pleading in the second half and the repetition of “only you” serves to flatter and coax the reader into feeling powerful compared to this admiring being that needs the reader’s protection and support. The anaphora of these two phrases contributes to the manipulation of