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A dirt brown rider on a dirt brown horse rode onto the fairgrounds in high spirits. Their exuberant entrance caused a few heads to turn and tired faces to smile. Argent returned these welcoming smiles with one of his own then looked about him with pleasure. As if in defiance of the browns of the land, tents of carnival bright colors had been erected and dotted the open ground like wildflowers. Crowds of people moved about with a weary sort of enthusiasm. Away from the crowds were picket lines of horses and temporary corrals.
And, thank the gods, no dust.
It had been purest luck that Argent had learned of the horse fair. He'd been just about to ride out of the last inn he'd tried his luck at when a stableboy had asked him: "Be ye headin' for the lord's Spring Fair n'the Messenger's Run, m'lord?"
It had been the fact that Argent rode a Great Horse that had prompted the lad's question. From the boy, Argent learned of Lord Arvayle's horse fair and the legendary "Messenge
They fell upon the forest mammoth and before it even had time to bellow in alarm, covered it in a writhing mass of slick shining bodies the hue of midnight. You could hear their oversized teeth clicking, like somebody rattling a box full of stones. The mound heaved and the things fell away, parting like black water to reveal a skeleton. Like land walking piranhas, they'd stripped the critter to the bone in the blink of an eye, only now did what was left slump to the ground.
Ugly to behold, they stood around, gnashing their teeth, grinding them, clicking them together. They were all teeth; all jaw; set into a watermelon head attached to a tiny ball of a body; supported by powerful bird-legs. A stiff tail stuck out from behind tipped with a red disk. If Mother Nature had fallen into a drunken, drug induced vision, she could not have dreamed up the likes of these.
They chittered and gnashed and turned their eyeless faces towards us. Their gestalt attention settled unwave
MercyOh sweet God how the grassland
ignites in moonlight tonight
I must thank you for creating
her tangled fingers' slow pace
through the handsome rain Her
trochaic kinesthesia to rhythms
in Stravinsky's The Rite of
Spring Is this how you meant
for us to love you Yahweh
Tumbling clumsily down hills
of sheets into perpetually
immutable silence I could love
you like that I think I've been
practicing on this Savanna
for days and months Lost in
her crystal canvas Rolling crests
and troughs And when she touches
me Oh fair Lord I'm dragged into
your city past Gethsemane's
pulsing green and gold
Please hold us together
under this luminous stretch
Oh Father We are live
unclothed Our reflections awash
with the skin of your sun
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A two-time Community Volunteer for the deviantART Related category, Anne is well-known as a positive, helpful force. She is the community's resident expert when it comes to CSS (Cascading Style Sheets), and her personal gallery offers a wide variety of tutorials for new and experienced coders alike. In addition, each winter she hosts a calendar project encouraging members to create Journal designs for all to use, bringing more creativity to the community.
It is with immense gratitude that we acknowledge Anne as the recipient of the Deviousness Award for October 2014. Read More