#FridayFeyDay – Enchantress of Music

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Kaylyya

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Standing immobilized, Evondair did not notice the cart finally come to a halt, nor did he see Kaylyya when she dismounted and came quietly to his side.  He did not hear her when she spoke softly to him and barely sensed when she placed her hand upon his, which still grasped the dagger in an iron-like clasp. Her words swam in a dizzying haze that combined with the pounding of his heart and a sudden rushing noise that loomed up out of nothingness and he would have been entirely engulfed, if not for the softest sound he had ever heard.

It started very quietly; just a whisper; a hint of something inexpressibly beautiful touching the essence of his being.  A delicate sound unlike any he had ever heard before; it muffled the chaos threatening to devour him and soothed the pounding revulsion circling him like madness. His eyes blinked unhurriedly; his senses melded into a sweet union of sound and tranquility, and the shuddering that had overtaken him, stilled.  His vice-like grasp upon the Legionnaire’s collar relaxed, but when his lifeless body slumped to the ground in a heap, Evondair’s gaze was focused on the snowy-jade of Kaylyya’s staring back at him.

Reflexively, he drew a deep breath as the soothing sound of her voice, singing in a language unknown to him, seemed to blend with birdsong and an underlying tone of ethereal serenity. He was surrounded by verdant, lush forest. He floated in a realm of intoxicating beauty and delicious calm.  He could even feel the warm kiss of radiant sunlight as it streamed down through the emeraldine canopy in pearlescent ribbons that caressed and eased.  There was only the sound of her voice and the luxuriant hush it created; there was nothing else.

Stillness.

Lush and deep.

The sweet balm wrapped round him, as soothing as a warm blanket on a bitterly cold day, and his only thought was peace.

Then his viridian gaze widened in surprise.

 

*******

 

Kaylyya Synnowyn is a Fey of the Light who comes into the story in the third book of the Dark Fey Trilogy.  She is an average height for a shefey, several inches over five feet tall, and her lissome frame is delicate and graceful with an uncommon double pair of diaphanous wings that spread wide in opposing directions like a butterfly’s.  Translucent lavender in hue, they take on an icy sheen near their tips, while the deep, forest green near their base reflects the snowy- jade hue of her eyes.  Her most striking feature, however, is not her twin wings or the lovely wrappings of skillfully worked wool she wears, but her uncommonly short, tousled, bright blonde hair.

She is from a small wool-weaver’s village nestled in the evergreen forests to the east of Hwyndarin and she has an extraordinary gift:  she is an enchantress through music.  Whether she sings or whether the music reaches out from her essence, its touch inspires the deepest soothing calm, mesmerizing any who are close enough to hear her and the music is inescapable until she releases them.  Fortunately, she uses this gift with pure and generous intent; although if she so chooses, the music with which she casts her spells can be as devastating as it can be comforting!

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Learn more about Dark Fey The Reviled at its dedicated website
All Things Dark Fey

~Morgan~

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Beautiful Photograph is of my Lovely Niece Katelyn taken by AK Photography
Photo editing by Bobby Linn

#FridayFeyDay – Longing – #DailyHaikuChallenge

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uunglarda2

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Rock and shale living

Each Breath leads only to pain

Longing for the Light

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The Dark Fey trilogy is Epic Fantasy that shares a story not only of Light and Darkness, but the very real, everyday struggle of living with grief, depression, and loss.  The Reviled Fey live a rock and shale existence, captive to pain and despair; yet many of them harbour Hope deep within, longing to return to the Light and Peace of their home.

To Learn more about the Dark Fey trilogy visit it’s dedicated website
All Things Dark Fey

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To take part in the Daily Haiku Challenge see The Original Post from Day One

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Day 123 / 365

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~Morgan~

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Photograph found on Pinterest.  Credit Gratefully Acknowledged to the original photographer. Thank you~

#FridayFeyDay – Vladokhyssum – A Game Played on the Wing

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The malefey glared at each other for an intense moment and Ayla could not keep from backing away fearfully, but a crooked grin then turned the corner of Bryth’s mouth and his manner relaxed.

“If you want something to do tonight, join me.”  Perplexed, Gairynzvl did not answer.

“Several Guards who are off duty, as well as a few Healers who are no longer needed this eventide, will be playing Vladokhyssum.”  Again, Gairynzvl did not respond, though his expression wavered from aggression to uncertain curiosity.

“Ever play?”  Bryth inquired ingenuously, but when Gairynzvl immediately glared at him with resentment he stepped back, raising his hands in a gesture of self accusation

“Forgive me.  Now who is the fool?”  Revealing in this innocuous manner that he comprehended Gairynzvl’s gift of telepathy; he shook his head at his blunder and tried again.

“One of my teammates was injured when last we played and cannot compete tonight.  You would make a formidable replacement and I suspect you would enjoy the game.  Immensely.”  He chose his words with cunning and was not disappointed with the reaction they produced.

“Vladokhyssum?”  Bryth nodded at his repetition, but it was Ayla who answered.

“It is also known as CruciaFynnowyn.”  Gairynzvl turned to look down at her with disbelief.

“Kill the Fey?”  The incredulity of his tone made the tall Guard laugh devilishly.

“No one has ever actually been killed. That would make continued play problematic.  It would be a bit difficult finding replacements.”  His mirth was infectious.  Relaxing his guarded stance at last, Gairynzvl laughed as well, the charming sound causing Ayla to gaze up at him with open affection.

“The rules are simple; competition is challenging, escaping unscathed is difficult, but it beats doing nothing.”  Again, his description was artfully delivered and he could plainly see Gairynzvl’s interest was piqued.

 

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“There are four teams, each consisting of four players and one replacement.  Play begins on the ground, but once the ball is in motion, no part of your body is allowed to touch the ground.  The object is to score goals by getting the ball through the central goal ring by any means possible.”

Any means?”  Gairynzvl clarified and Bryth nodded.

“You can throw it, kick it, drop it, pass it to a closer teammate, and if you can manage it, you can fly through the ring carrying it, though I would not advise that particular maneuver until you have had a great deal of practice.”  Looking up at the goal ring, he illustrated how dangerous this might be by taking to wing in order to show him just how small the ring was in comparison to the breadth and scope of the playing field.  Alighting once again, he then continued.

“Play continues unbroken until either someone scores or the ball hits the ground.  Each player of one team must score once in order to gain victory, which sounds simple enough until you understand that while you are carrying the ball, twelve other players will be doing everything in their power to keep you from scoring and the only defense you have is your three teammates.”  With this explanation the true challenge of the game became clearer, as did the game’s less than official name; yet, regardless of the hazards involved, Gairynzvl could not hold back a brazen smile.  Bryth nodded at his obvious appreciation of the games inherent peril and continued.

“There are, of course, a few simple rules designed for protection.  You cannot intentionally knock your opponent over the head; you cannot kick him, bite him, or tear his feathers out.”  He paused, nodding while waiting for Gairynzvl’s reaction to these straightforward rules, but his reaction was to wait as well, clearly supposing there were additional rules yet to come, yet when Bryth did not continue, he could not contain a skeptical chuckle.

“Is that all?  Those are the rules?”  Bryth nodded with a smile of wry delight.

“If you intentionally break one of these rules, or if you touch the ground during play, you are sent into exile.”  He turned with this pronouncement and pointed at a small, bare patch of ground at the far side of the arena.

“Your penalty is to sit out two plays, which can sometimes mean two points, and that will make enemies of your teammates faster than scoring will make rivals of your opponents.”  The ferocity of the game was becoming very clear; still, the appeal of the contest was irresistible….

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A Description of the sporting event I created to give the Fey of the Light something to do.  Learn more about Dark Fey The Reviled at its dedicated website
All Things Dark Fey

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~Morgan~

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Waken – #DailyHaikuChallenge

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waken

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Stretching forth Her hand

Mother Wakens Her children

Sweetly Smiling warmth

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To take part in the Daily Haiku Challenge see The Original Post from Day One

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Day 122 / 365

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~Morgan~

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Beautiful Photograph found on HD Wallpapers. Credit Gratefully Acknowledged to the original photographer. Thank you~

Those Who Pause – #Poetry of #Inspiration

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The mystery Sings Sweetly

To those who Pause

To those who Listen

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The Rhythm of Harmony

Beats Time with Rhyme

To those who Linger

To those who Hear

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The Music of Balance

Plays Melodic Symphonie

To those who Close their eyes

To those who Seek

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~Morgan~

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Beautiful Original Photography by Anthony Harrison, public domain stock photos and Pinterest.  Credit Gratefully Acknowledged to the Original Photographers.  Thank You~

Renew – #DailyHaikuChallenge

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Renew verdant Life

Behold, the Transformation

Blossoming anew

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To take part in the Daily Haiku Challenge see The Original Post from Day One

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Day 121 / 365

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~Morgan~

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Beautiful Photograph found on Pinterest. Credit Gratefully Acknowledged to the original photographer. Thank you~

Whispering Serenity – #Poetry of #Meditation

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pools of whispers

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Cast the brazen rush of thoughts

Churning as a tempest in your mind

Unto the Solitary wind,

Whispers of Serenity there to Find.

Be Calm among the restless throng

Thrashing in the maddening churn;

Serenity Whispers Quietly

From the Hush of starlight as it burns.

Unfasten the shackles of turbulent dismay

Clasping your hands, binding your feet;

Fall back into Serenity Whispering

From the garden of moonlight, Smiling Sweet.

Close your eyes to the agitation of noise;

Sigh deep and long as the world whirls;

Listen to the Silence of Serenity Whispering

As the Choice of Tranquility Gently unfurls.

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I recently found myself beside a pristine lake surrounded by acres upon acres of woodland, a crystalline cerulean sky stretching out overhead.  The Quietness and Calmness of that place filled me more sweetly and far more intoxicatingly than the finest wine and the peace that environment suffused into me has lasted days later.  I sat with eyes closed, listening in bewitched breathlessness to the Hush; the whispering wind as it swept its hands through the tawny hair of the bordering trees; the mesmerizing ripples of unobtrusively  burbling water; the laughter of waterfowl praising the golden sunlight and the tambourine chatter of dried leaves tumbling over flaxen grasses.  The Quietness and Calmness filled my senses with Serenity that soothed unlike anything else might, sharing its precepts unforgettably.

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~Morgan~

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Beautiful photograph found on Google Image.  Credit Gratefully Acknowledged to the original Photographer.  Thank You~

 

Eternity Overhead

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Majesty Spanning O’er our heads,

Divinity in Splendor Sublime,

Speaking Softly in our Dreams,

Of Peace,

Of Love,

Of Endless Time.

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~Morgan~
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Stunningly Beautiful Image found on Pinterest

Flame – #DailyHaikuChallenge

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flame

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Ruddy Harbinger

Flame of morning Sweetly Blaze

Transcending the chill

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To take part in the Daily Haiku Challenge see The Original Post from Day One

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Day 120 / 365

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~Morgan~

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Beautiful Photograph found on Pinterest. Credit Gratefully Acknowledged to the original photographer. Thank you~

Spangle – #DailyHaikuChallenge

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spangle

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Spangle of Heaven

Singing in the deep Silence

Mystery Dancing

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To take part in the Daily Haiku Challenge see The Original Post from Day One

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Day 119 / 365

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~Morgan~

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Beautiful Photograph found on Pinterest. Credit Gratefully Acknowledged to the original photographer. Thank you~

Suspirations – #DailyHaikuChallenge

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Suspirations

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Cerulean shades

Suspirations echoing

Time Heralding Time

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To take part in the Daily Haiku Challenge see The Original Post from Day One

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Day 118 / 365

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~Morgan~

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Beautiful Photograph by  Willi Hammes  Thank you~

Poem: “Move” (#guestblogger)

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For the strength in my bone,
and the ground that tics below
these feet of ours that stagger,
is neither what they used to be.

 

A. R. Frederiksen is a recurring guest blogger here at BnV, and her own writing blog can be found here, where she dabbles in flashfiction/poetry and reflects over the, much elusive, ABCs of writing.

Intangible – #DailyHaikuChallenge

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intangible

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Crystalline Embrace

Suspended moment of time

Intangible Hush

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To take part in the Daily Haiku Challenge see The Original Post from Day One

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Day 117 / 365

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~Morgan~

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Beautiful Photograph found on Wallpapers Craft. Credit Gratefully Acknowledged to the original photographer. Thank you~

Horse Power -#GuestBlogger #Author Marilyn Collier

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People wonder how I can write with so much confidence about horses and their treatment in the western portion of my stories. We had riding horses, a pony, and one horse that my husband used on round-ups while in Phoenix. I grew up on a farm where horse were used more for the farm plowing and planting than the tractor. One incident has been etched in my mine.

When I was in the primary grades, I attended Gray Consolidated School in Gray, Iowa. It was about five miles from our farm. The mode of transportation was by bus over graveled or graded dirt roads. The school bus driver during my second grade was a man named Mr. Nicely. This struck my seven-year-old brain as something that brought happiness.

When he made the stop to let my youngest brother and me off, he would make sure we were safely across the road before turning down the dirt road to continue his rounds. As an adult I’ve often wondered why he bothered waiting for us to cross the road as no one was going to be driving any faster than 30 or 40 miles in 1944. Some people were still driving Model A and Model T autos. No new vehicles had been built since the start of World War Two. Many farmers returned to using their tractors with metal wheels and that had steel lugs as treads. Any farmer that had a newer tractor with rubber tires ran the risk of not being able to use it if a tire were damaged. There were no new tires for tractors or autos. I remember some of the tubes on my oldest brother’s car looked like one big patch.

On the first day of school, I told my mother about Mr. Nicely’s name and how he watched us cross the road. She informed me that I needed to thank him nicely for such thoughtfulness. At the age of seven, one tends to be quite literal in following your parents’ instructions. The next day, I rehearsed over and over what I would say to Mr. Nicely. Of course, he followed the same routine.

As I stepped down from the bus, I said, “Thank you nicely, Mr. Nicely.” I thought he looked a little funny turning red so rapidly.

Later, at the PTA meeting in Gray, he told my mother about my thanking him and his struggle not to let me see him laugh. He was laughing when he told mother. I was slightly miffed when I heard it as I thought I had done the correct thing and adults laughing meant I had not.

All through the year, Mr. Nicely piloted the bus without incident. March in Iowa was like most:  Snow, then snow melting, rain, ice, more snow, warmer weather and melting snow. It would be a challenge going to town to buy groceries and everyone made sure they had sufficient gasoline for farming by keeping a gasoline tank. The gas for the farm equipment was purple and delivered by truck. The allotment was quite high, but if any farmer were caught using purple gas in their automobile gas tank it was instant arrest. Like the rest of the populace, farmers had to use ration stamps to purchase gasoline for going to town or church.

By the end of March there were but a few lumps of snow left in isolated spots. The ground was spongy from melting snow and the plentiful spring rains. It was warm enough that mother let me wear knee highs instead of the hated long cotton socks.

As Mr. Nicely turned the corner and started down the dirt road without gravel, the bus slid into the ditch. No amount of gunning and trying to move forward or back made it budge. Mother appeared wondering why we hadn’t returned to the house immediately.

“Tell Mr. Nicely I’ve gone for my husband,” was her command.

Papa appeared shortly as he drove down the lane and onto the graveled road with the iron monster that was our tractor. This thing had metal wheel and metal lugs on the wheels. Once hooked to the front of the bus, Papa put it into gear and tried to move forward. Nothing happened.

Mr. Nicely requested to use the telephone. We did not have one. He was directed to go over to the neighbor’s house a few yards down the road and use theirs.

“I’ll go hitch up the team while you’re doing that.”

Mr. Nicely shook his head and headed for the neighbors. Few believed that horses could do what a machine could not.

Mr. Nicely returned hanging on to the seat of the neighbor’s John Deere with rubber tires. Mr. Fredrickson had purchased it in 1941 prior to the attack on Pearl Harbor. They looked at Papa coming with our team as a madman and hitched the John Deere to the bus. The results were the same as with the iron monster. The bus remained mired in the red clay and dirt mud.

“Guess I’ll have to call the school, but thanks anyway. I thought sure it would move it.”

Papa brought our team over and proceeded to hitch them to the bus. Mr. Fredrickson and Mr. Nicely were shaking their heads at such folly.

A more mismatched team would have been difficult to find. Molly was older and slower, part Clydesdale and just as large as one. Betty was younger, but still less than middle-aged for a farm horse. Her background was part Morgan and part quarter horse. That meant she was at least two hands smaller than Molly. Her chest was a Morgan’s wide chest, but she had slimmer legs. If things went too slow in the fields, she would move the wagon before Papa had finished with the hay or corn.  His powerful voice would be clearly audible for incredible distances as he yelled obscenities at her in both German and English.

Once they were hitched to the bus, Papa slapped the reins over their backs and shouted, “Yo up, Betty, Molly, up.”

The two horses leaned forward pushing their chests into the harness and felt the weight behind them and the resistance of the muck around their hooves. I watched their haunches descend in unison and the muscles tightened in their back haunches. Then their necks stretched out and it was like watching the stored strength in the muscles flow forward. Their steps were perfectly matched as they moved slowly, inch by inch as the bus began to move. Even to my eyes it was strange. I’d never seen them pull so evenly together.

This time Papa kept his voice lower and guided them and the bus up onto the road. Both Betty and Molly were covered with foam and their muscles were quivering while they waited to be unhitched.

The “thank you” and the “I didn’t believe it could be done” were profuse. Papa nodded and grinned and took Molly and Betty back to the barn for a rub down and probably an extra ear of corn or some other treat.

I had never been so proud of Betty and Molly and I never forgot that lesson in horse power.

My Bog Posts:  https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4618494.Mari_Collier/blog

Mari Collier Blog was first set up to publish my memories of growing up.  This was for my daughter and son and their families.  Then more of my relatives loved the posts for it included their Grandparents and fathers.  Somehow I have continued to post bits of my life there.  Occasionally I do post about my novels and anthologies and the struggles and processes of publishing and marketing. Perhaps the best way to explain my weird writing is my website. Such a bucolic upbringing gave plenty of time for my imagination to venture into far places.

http://www.maricollier.com

I searched diligently for a picture of Betty and Molly, but could not find one.  I have included a picture of my husband ready to go on a roundup in Northern Arizona.