By Janet Harost
When Kaelara fell out of the swirl of time and into the moist soil of the glen, the last thing she saw was green, a mass of green, hairlike– a carpet of lush and verdant fur.
Flowers sprung up around her body, traced vinelike across graying skin. Roots etched words into her flesh, arcane runes of nature; and then the glen bloomed with a ferocity unlike any spring it had seen before. Life tore rampant across the grasses, stirred like wind among the flowers– and then the sun set and one by one the flowers died.
But in all that heat, never once did the worms come.
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The sleeper is ready to awaken.
Labels: Janet Harost