Sioned was growing tired of the life she had chosen.

Jason and Cybille sat in opposite seats on the train as the countryside sped past. Cybille was excited to see her family, and was bouncing up and down on the bench.
“Would you calm down? People are starting to stare at us.”
“Who cares? I can’t wait to see everyone! My dad’s going to be so surprised!”
Jason rolled his eyes at her. Cybille was rarely so excited about anything, and when she was, it was pretty entertaining to watch. By the time they reached the station in Kaur, Cybille had calmed down, but not by much.

Snippet 1

"Grandad, will you play with me?"

Duncan smiled at the little girl while he closed his book. His voice was chipper, as per usual.

"Of course! What do you want to play?"

She looked mischievous.

"Will you play dolls with me?"

He grinned.

"Of course, Sweetheart."

The minutes passed by quickly while Duncan spoke in a high voice, and dressed Only Hearts Club dolls many times over. The two were so engrossed in their play that they didn't hear the knock on the front door, or notice when the visitor let himself in.

Setting: long feasting hall. Characters: Æsirs, Æsirs, Æsirs everywhere.

Thor: Hark, ye, good Æsirs! Might we entertain ourselves with a game?

(All agree heartily [who can’t? They’re all drunk])

Thor: Shan’t we be merry as we burn calories strolling and gallivanting ‘round our good table in a match of Musical Chairs?

Baldr: Here, here!

Hodr: Minstrels! Strike up a tune!

(Playing music)

(Loki enters feasting hall)

Loki: Did I hear a game?

(Music stops, all run for a seat. Loki teleports into Sif’s seat, leaving her standing.)

Snippet 1

Jules walked up to the desk with a heavy heart.

"How can I help you?"

"Your cheery smile is a good start. I'm here to see Mrs. Maldonado."

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Maldonado has just drifted off to sleep and we think it's better for her to rest. If you want to wait we can let you know when she wakes up."

"Thank you, I'll be in the waiting room."

Wynne made it to the barracks of the keep. Warrior women jogged to and from the extensive and solid establishment. Marching girls with blonde braids swaying on their backs passed by her, their blue eyes gazing on her. They whispered behind their small, pale hands in the lilting yet hard language of Skuld. Wynne smiled and nodded to the squadron, who smirked shyly and went on their way.
She knocked on the barrack door, and a lady dressed in a soft buckskin tunic and palla answered.
“Úda’lugha?” she asked plainly.
“Gwceff,” answered Wynne as she entered.

Nóe ran down the hall.
He remembered last night as if it were a second ago. Every memory was vibrant as if it had just happened. Every single word, action, and gesture was crystal clear in his mind.
“Your brother is becoming quite destructive,” mused Lord Crofton, carelessly strolling across his throne room. “It’s become… peeving. And his dog, that mangy, rabid thing… that is a lot to take care of.” He stopped mid-step, then turned to Nóe. “Has he been this way for long?”

Chance looked down at his hands. They were weathered and well-used before he woke up in the care of the Al-Izzes - who, at the time, also had to cross the border to Destrea to escape the cruelty in Úda - so there wasn’t a way he could be an aristocrat. No, Caislín was dead wrong about him.
“Nevertheless,” he mumbled to himself, now locked in a jail cell until the morning. “Sleep is what I need.”

“Chance? Chance, wake up!”
He was roused by Nóe’s panicked whisper. “Wh- Nóe, what’s up?” Chance launched himself off of his travel matt and scanned the clearing. No one was there, and the fire was doused in a hurry. Breixo must have taken Arlo away while Nóe waited up for Chance.
The night was dark and only the dim crimson embers gave off light. The canopy was just dense enough to choke out the stars and the moon.

Chance let the rest of the warm sun tan his face.
The summer-like streak that stretched on through months about Destrea halted with a torrent of rain a couple nights ago. The Tywyll Forest was cold now, but the sun peeked through the damp leaves. It was just enough to create a warm patch where he laid.
His eyes were closed. His mind was screaming, meditating, but singing. One song replayed in his mind, making his tongue dance to it.
“Rain won't wash away the memories
And the wind won't hide her perfume
But it blows