Previous: Pyrus and his Particular Price, Part Two

 

Holly bounced around Hazel as she left Pyrus’ home.

“Well?” Holly said. “What did he say?”

“He gave me a name of someone we can talk to that might know where one goes to learn necromancy. I’ve also decided to become a Wyr witch.”

Hawthorn snorted. “A Wyr witch?” He shook his head. “Perhaps it would be best to stick to Weaving, and leave Wyr to the men.”

Hemlock put a hand over his face, while both Hazel and Holly glared at Hawthorn.


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A Moment of Thanks

November is a dreary month in Sweden. The beautiful autumn leaves have fallen and the trees are barren, the days are rapidly growing darker, and the snow hasn’t yet come to help brighten everything up. Motivation has a tendency to sink a bit during this month; everything seems just a little bit harder.

Even though we don’t have Thanksgiving in Sweden, it seems appropriate to take some time to appreciate the positives in life to help brighten the more dismal parts of the year. Plus I’m American, so I like to think of it as a little holiday bubble that I carry around with me. Portable joy!


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Previous: Pyrus and his Particular Price, Part One

 

Hemlock and Hawthorn left the parlor. Holly, however, planted herself firmly on the sofa and folded her arms.

“Why in private?” she said. “I don’t like all these secrets. I deserve to know too.”

“I’m sure you do,” Pyrus said. “But you are a Wild witch are you not? With a secondary in Hearth?”

“Yeah,” Holly said, scowling. “So?”


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Previous: Hawthorn’s Help

 

Hazel, Holly, Hemlock, and Hawthorn sat in an ornate carriage as it rattled down the road. Holly stuck her head out the window, grinning as the wind buffeted her face. Hazel closed her eyes as she tried to keep her stomach from lurching in time with the coach.

“How is it that you know Pyrus?” Hemlock said. “Better yet, how is it that he owes you a favor?”

Hawthorn waved a bejeweled hand. “I know it’s sometimes easy to forget, but I am older than you.” He narrowed his eyes. “Honestly, Hemlock, would a simple glamor be too much to ask? People are bound to think you’re my father rather than younger brother.”


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Things have been a little crazy for me lately, though it’s pretty much my own fault. I’ve given myself way too much to do. I’ve put off writing a blog post for the past couple of weeks because each time I think of it, it’s like I revert back to being a 10-year old, stomping my foot and complaining that I don’t want to.

The truth of the matter is that when I feel like this, on the edge of burn-out, it’s hard to create new writing–creative or otherwise. It’s also hard for me to write about something as if I didn’t have all these clouds looming overhead, like I’m being insincere. Honestly, though, I think I just need to vent my brain on occasion–acknowledge that big hairy monster in the closet so that I can move beyond it. That’s the hope, anyway. Lucky for you, you get to be here to witness the mess. You’re welcome.


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