She is very like a young hawk, thought Breannan. She fights for everything, I'll wager. Hmmm . . . I wonder if she'll eat some more. "Bláthín," he said, "I would like to try something. She is stick-thin and needs as much food as she can get down. Do you have more soup ( Read more... )

What a frail little bit of a thing, thought Bláthín, the cook. She and Caítlín, the seamstress, like Bláthín living in the Laird's castle itself, had been helping to tend the poor little girl-woman ever since Ian, the gamekeeper, and his assistant, Blár, had found her lying on the hard, rocky ground just outside the wall surrounding the castle one ( Read more... )

Well, not exactly dreams. More like memories from a life lived centuries ago by a girl who, at the age of 14, lost her entire family -- and gained a Laird and a people ( Read more... )

Opposites attract: The kitten raised by a crow | MNN - Mother Nature NetworkSome propose that keeping pets is strictly reserved for sapients like us. Others go with fire. Crows ant with fire, can learn to strike a match to fire the contents of a brazier so they can ant over it, and adopt other creatures. You know who will inherit the Earth from ( Read more... )

http://skippyslist.com/2010/02/25/my-son-the-next-me/

% cutelildrow

Remember Skippy of the Skippy List -- 213 Things Skippy is Not Allowed to Do in This Army? Well, here's Skippy Mark 2 -- with all the trimmings.

From Unicorns: A Cycle of Six Poems of RedemptionIt stands at the crater’s jagged lip ( Read more... )

The satyr
Spins upon a basalt hoof;
His pelt is smoke-dark, shaggy flame,
His skin all rosy, wood-salt scented embers,
And from the pipes
He holds in satiny fingers of fire
Streams a liquid galaxy of sparks,
Every spark a trembling cry
Of desire.

* * *His eyes, two seething coals ( Read more... )

(Dedicated to the memory of Chev, Gary Scott Csillaghegyi, 1942-1995 e.v.
You were the wind beneath my wings)

“Euclid alone has looked on beauty bare” -
So the poet said.
- She lied. I’ve sat with you
Long hours in a golden evening,
Looking upon your face,
Into your eyes, into your being.
The poet lied. I know.

http://losangeles.cbslocal.com/2011/09/27/surfers-rescue-injured-great-white-shark-near-venice-pier/Read more... )

He was going to be the last cat ( Read more... )