Of life and chicken legs
I just realized that Mythcon is held in Berkley and I am only across the Bay. And then I looked at the ship's calendar and realized that I will be in Monterey that whole time, and I will have a free day during Mythcon -- but in Monterey. Phooey.
But look! Story blurb!
When you're inside a house that runs on chicken legs, it feels like being on a boat. You'd never think so, looking at it from the outside. What could be farther from the ocean than a chicken? I mean, really? Come on. But it does. It runs through the woods with a rocking, gliding gait -- not something you'd associate with a chicken either. It's not really a chicken, though. It never was.
The houses grow from eggs. Baba Yaga, the caretaker of them all, has a secret ivy patch where she incubates the houses. I've been there; invited, strangely enough, and seen the square eggs with their brightly painted shells. Not that she paints them, of course. They were planted that way.
The seeds can be found in the thatch of mature houses, and their colors indicate different powers or worlds or places that the windows and doors open into. I don't know much about that -- I haven't been told all the secrets. That would be silly.
But if you want to know a secret, here's one to remember. Baba Yaga helps those who help themselves. She is not kind, she is not nice, and she is definitely not your sweet old grandmother who fed you chocolate chip cookies. She is best known as fate. She loves those who are clever and she has a soft spot (but don't say I told you) for those who are kind. She is never outsmarted; she just likes to pretend she is. But she always tells the truth.
But who says I am telling the truth?
But look! Story blurb!
When you're inside a house that runs on chicken legs, it feels like being on a boat. You'd never think so, looking at it from the outside. What could be farther from the ocean than a chicken? I mean, really? Come on. But it does. It runs through the woods with a rocking, gliding gait -- not something you'd associate with a chicken either. It's not really a chicken, though. It never was.
The houses grow from eggs. Baba Yaga, the caretaker of them all, has a secret ivy patch where she incubates the houses. I've been there; invited, strangely enough, and seen the square eggs with their brightly painted shells. Not that she paints them, of course. They were planted that way.
The seeds can be found in the thatch of mature houses, and their colors indicate different powers or worlds or places that the windows and doors open into. I don't know much about that -- I haven't been told all the secrets. That would be silly.
But if you want to know a secret, here's one to remember. Baba Yaga helps those who help themselves. She is not kind, she is not nice, and she is definitely not your sweet old grandmother who fed you chocolate chip cookies. She is best known as fate. She loves those who are clever and she has a soft spot (but don't say I told you) for those who are kind. She is never outsmarted; she just likes to pretend she is. But she always tells the truth.
But who says I am telling the truth?