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Iara's Crossing-Ch 13-LossFlash snuck behind Iara, Sir Charles and Atum-Bennu as they made their way toward the Great Stone Circle.
He watched them leap into the tunnel. He took his chance, and dove in after them.
Sir Charles suddenly vanished in a twisting flame. Atum-Bennu shifted into a wolf and was diverted into a side tunnel. Iara fell straight down.
Flash fell straight down as well, his eyes locked on Iara, who did not see him. He closed his eyes, preparing to shift into his Confuciusornis form.
Flash opened his eyes and choked, bubbles arising from his throat and nose. His fur wavered in the clear, cold water. He struggled to rise to the surface, his paws gamboling like mad, their claws fully unsheathed.
He surfaced, gasping for air. He spat out the water that clogged his throat and made a beeline for the riverbank.
Spluttering and panting, he dragged himself to shore, a soggy mess of a jaguar. He flopped in the mud, blinking several times and coughing.
Once he regained his composure, Flash looked
Iara's Crossing-Ch 12-Inner StrengthDarkness surrounded them as they fell.
Iara’s body was incredibly light, as a feather drifting down from the canopy and slowly making its way to the forest floor. Her head spun as her body continued to drop, the wind rushing around her in cold, sharp gusts. The air began to feel heavier and had a moldy fragrance the longer she fell.
Iara tried calling out to her companions, but her voice was consumed by the darkness and the air buffeting her body. All sense of time was lost to her, suspended like her body in the depths of the tunnel. She felt her contour feathers flapping madly, the intense cold tracing its way along her skin like icicles releasing sputters of droplets into the snow. She tried spreading her wings to slow her descent, but the force of gravity made it nearly impossible to open her wings fully—it was as if heavy boulders pinioned the top of her shoulders and arms.
An odd sensation of warmth crept up from her toes and slowly filled her legs and tail. Iar
HomesickI am the river's son,
my arteries flowing turquoise
and turning to rapids
rushing around my frame,
filling me with this sense
of buoyancy, minnows
tickling my sternum.
I am the river's son.
My palms caress each
silty shoreline, every
battered bank and bend,
and these places I know
so well become me
as my fingerprint,
even the bridge above me
inflamed by the afternoon
sun-glow, burning rusty and
the steel blue sky.
I am the river's son;
I bring my home along
like hermit crab,
where I step
I pull water from the earth.
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Lilyas has dedicated herself to making our community a brighter place with her vibrant artwork and infectious enthusiasm for interacting with others in our community. It has certainly paid off, as many deviants flock to her page on a daily basis to let her know how much of an inspiration she is. We absolutely agree, and couldn't let all that hard work go without recognition, so it's with great pride that we bestow the Deviousness Award for March 2014, to ... Read More