tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1149217012399643733.post9189696927904158123..comments2023-12-06T00:48:23.734-08:00Comments on Daily Writing Practice: Sunday March 6th, 2016Marchttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14952331166517430843noreply@blogger.comBlogger2125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1149217012399643733.post-18144511346964569842016-04-26T01:00:11.967-07:002016-04-26T01:00:11.967-07:00Greg - crap, I still owe you a picture of the deer...Greg - crap, I still owe you a picture of the deer fence. I shall try to remember tomorrow.<br /><br />I quite like these two, and this setting as well. An intriguing beginning, leaving me hoping for a continuation at some point in the near future :)Marchttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14952331166517430843noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1149217012399643733.post-28147012383885904742016-03-07T12:09:16.934-08:002016-03-07T12:09:16.934-08:00That sounds like quite the family job you had goin...That sounds like quite the family job you had going on there! I'm impressed that you got so much work from the kids as well, it sounds like you're training them the right way ;-)<br />I think you ought to show us a picture of the deer fence as I don't really know what I'm supposed to be imagining... and I like your photographs. It does sound interesting though, and I'm quite intrigued by how the fence is so quickly dividing things into inside and outside in your head. It makes sense, but I think I would have expected it to take longer.<br /><br /><b>The gated community</b><br />The city of the second Lord of the Grey was called Tirin Maure and had been poisoned by a noxious gas cloud spewed out of the volcano on the island in its harbour. It was said later that it had been a foolish place to build a city, but that was when the priests had edited the holy books to remove any trace that Chiric, the second Lord of the Grey, had been quite specific about the location, and had somehow completely failed to mention the volcano. The city was rarely visited, it was a necropolis in a very real sense, and it seemed still to kill intruders.<br />Laine stood on an ashy stone street, one hand resting on a wall that was fifteen feet high and hewn from solid rock. Next to her Abbot was fishing in a leather backpack that he'd dragged off his bag and rested on his thigh. He was cursing softly under his breath.<br />"Hurry up," said Laine. She looked around, tossing her auburn shoulder-length hair to each side as she did so; she reminded Abbot of an ill-tempered horse. "I want to get through this gate before sunset."<br />"There are five gates," said Abbot. He pricked his finger on something in the backpack and withdraw his hand to suck his finger. "Damn."<br />"Yes, and we need to be through at least the first. There were castes; little communities that lived in the city, and the only ones that weren't at constant risk of death were the ones that lived behind the gates."<br />"No-one's lived here for a century and a half," said Abbot. He began his search in the backpack again. "I think we're safe."<br />"People die here." Laine was being stubborn now, still reminding Abbot of a horse. The shape of her neck and her proud nose didn't help. "I'm not dying because you couldn't get a bloody gate open."<br />"So cheerful," said Abbot. He finally pulled a brass key from the backpack. "Why did I put this in there?"<br />"Because you're stupid," said Laine. "Give it here."<br />Greghttps://www.blogger.com/profile/08503319830584828982noreply@blogger.com