purrclaws

    This is the story of the fallen ones or as the people of the marsh call them the Carniak in the Carrelian language. When I was a young lad just about 50 winters ago my father took me to the land of Obnumura for its fine harkin berries to make our wine. It was a breezy way down Gulipers Trail. The pigeon bushes were in bloom and the mantis flowers danced wildly in the mid-summer air.    Wait, you were a child once old man? Asked the boy intently looking into the old mans sunken dark eyes. Well yes, and how rude. The old man clonked the boy on the head and asked why he would ask such a question. The boy simply smiled and said for as l

    They must have gotten lost out there. He had pondered whether or not to look for them. But they had told him to stick to the rows of torches if they got separated. He was getting desperate now. The moon wasn't especially bright and the torches they had lit were slowly dimming. It started to become very cold with the chill of fall in the air. The winds slowly picked up from a whistle into a bellowing howl. Panic eventually rose up and he wandered back into the woods alone. The brush was so thick in some spots he had to turn around and find another route. Eventually he made it to a tall dark Harkin tree. It was twisted and mangled and not a