Strange creatures with their elven ears
converge and chitter, sparkle here;
on tiptoes so they dance, my dears
while their master dangles petty fears
"Hold up your lovely faces, darlings--
remember, no more tears."

One-winged they in circles ring
while the great white bird, it sings;
it spreads its wide, majestic wings
while inside its iron cage, hovering
"Violins, knots and puppets, darlings--
all are made with strings."

To war!  To war!

With brandished sword

And pointed spear

And arrows bent

And banners raised

We lift our voices high!

For life and land

Queen and kin

We shout out to the sky!

To war!  To war!

We might not return

But fear do we spurn

We voice our battle cry!

To war!

So the Fairy Folk sang as they marched to battle.

I couldn’t stop staring.

Here they were! The ones I had dreamed of seeing for years:

*It’s been at least three months since the last post. What can I say? I’m really, terribly sorry! Though it seems that every time I apologize for my delays, I take longer the next time. Anyway, here it is…constructive criticism not only welcome, but politely requested.* 

Notebook flipped open to an empty page

Pencil in hand, eraser in range

A mess of ideas desperately waiting to be written

But yet I think to myself, "Where is my inspiration?!"

Empty, like a useless vessel, I feel

If I was really blessed with such an incredible gift

Why am I not pouring it out to the world?

Oh what a God-given gift I have blessed with!

The gift to design a world of my own

The gift to sing without a voice

The gift to fly on the wings of the wind

A fantasy dream of forests deep

With leaves of abundant green 

And sparkling rays of morning sun

Where fairies are dancing bright

Girded some with swords

While others with stars and flowers

On paths of moonbeams blue

And golden roads abide

And flitting snowflakes and summer rain

All dance about with harpers and songs

And the branches are winding

Tangled and smooth

Little trees and trees which are tall   

A fantasy dream of midnight sky

Part Six: Irtyla

Irtyla had been a relatively peaceful area of late, when compared to the dwellings of the other races.  Elves had been preparing at a frantic rate for battle, and the dwarves had already engaged in a small skirmish outside the Spotted Hills.  Centaurs were being a bit secretive about what they were doing, but nobody doubted that it was something big.

Part Five: The Curse

Sedera vanished through the trees without waiting for an answer.  Bridget turned and walked the opposite direction.  And tripped over a root.  Sprawled on her face and very much annoyed, she heard laughter, evil, ugly laughter.
"You- *snort* -must be- *gurgle* -Bridget.  How nice- *snort* -to meet you. *giggle-snort*"

Part Four: Sedera