So, bit of a rant.
I found out that the way my vision insurance works is that I need to mail my claim with a receipt to get reimbursed.
Holy shit, does every single possible executive disfunction issue I have with ADHD make this so god damn difficult.
I don’t have a printer to print the claim form, I don’t know how to write the mailing address to even send the damn thing, remembering to even mail the thing is a daunting task in it and of itself, actually GETTING to USPS to be able to mail it is another hurdle. It’s like this impenetrable wall of awful just to be reimbursed $60 for an eye exam (which is a whole other problem in itself). All it does is send my brain into full shutdown and avoid mode.
Why did I have to have ADHD, vision insurance stuck in the 20th century, and shitty vision?
I’m just grateful my wife is able to help me pull through it.
tl;adhd;dr: mailing insurance claims is horrible and sends my adhd brain into full shutdown mode.

Summary: place where piglins smelted their stuff, can get cool infinite fuel source from it
Abandoned Super-Smelters
Abandoned Super-smelters are dilapidated Blackstone structures that can rarely spawn in any biome. Vaguely resembling an aircraft warehouse in shape(but more detailed of course), rows of lava, furnaces and cauldrons line the sides of the structure, although many of them have been buried or destroyed during the decline of the structure, with holes inside it and lava pouring over the central walkway. Inside those furnaces still intact, may be found coal, charcoal, gold nuggets and gold ingots.
In the centre of the structure lies a Central Area with a prominent pillar of Blackstone bricks and chiseled Blackstone with blocks of gold; while unassuming, pressing several hidden Blackstone Buttons within the structure will cause the pillar to open up into a downwards shaft leading to a secret room within the depths of the super smelter. Or you could just break in, that works too.
This secret chamber is considerably more intact than the surface smelter rooms and contains blast furnaces, lava-filled cauldrons and blocks of gold. Obsidian and lava features are also common and the entire room is encased in obsidian, making it harder to break into(not to mention the lava). If one dares enter this secret chamber, the rewards are immense; the blast furnaces themselves are a convenient prize, but what is better are the large amounts of gold ingots present in the furnaces, and even some ancient scrap/rarely a netherite ingot or two. The furnaces also can contain in their fuel slot 1 item called Foreverash, for a total of 1-5 per secret room. Yet, this bounty does not go unguarded.
Smelter Sentinel
Smelter Sentinels are a unique miniboss mob that only spawn in the secret room of Abandoned Super-smelters; one per room, which never despawns. The Sentinel resembles a large, bulky mech made of blackstone with a golden piglin head, blast furnace core and has a very specific roam range within the secret room, preventing it from leaving unless chasing a player; and even then, it will lose aggro quickly if the player leaves the room. It drops 25 exp orbs and 1 Foreverash upon being defeated. Smelter Sentinels have 2 natural armour points and 100 health(normal).
Smelter Sentinel will attack the player for 5 damage, as well as is capable of spewing flames from its core at the player, setting them on fire for 5 seconds. It can also fire one of its arms at the player, dealing 15 damage and 2 magical damage if it hits; this arm takes 5 seconds to return and can be damaged during this time. Smelter Sentinel can break blocks, but only those placed by players.
Everflame
8 Foreverash can be crafted with a Nether Star to produce an Everflame, a special fuel source that has the unique property of being unlimited; it will never be used up in a furnace and can be used to smelt things forever. However, Foreverash is rare and unrenewable, as well as requiring the wither’s death to make one, so it’d be quite rare. Everflames can also be used as a flint and steel with infinite durability.

Update:
The public defender was able to waive the $1919 court fine and the day in jail/ sheriff work program for me. Also received my letter from dmv, they will be resuspending my license again for another six months, so license suspended until November 2023. Also, a IID is not mandatory for me by the court or through DMV. DMV says I have two options in order to drive while my license is currently suspended, which I was already aware of:
Option 1: Drive with an IID on my car for six months with no restrictions.
Option 2: Drive with a restricted license for 12 months, allowing me to drive to and from work/ dui school specifically.
Of course: File SR-22 Show proof of DUI enrollment Financial Responsibility
Previous Post before Update down below:
Hi all! So I wanted to give a possible insight to what a plea bargain might look like if you choose to go the public defender route, and your DUI case is similar to mine. On 11/6/22 I got pulled over for running a stop sign in Alameda County at 2:30 am, officer said he smelled alcohol and asked me to step out. I did not damage my car, injure myself or anyone else, thank God. I admitted to having 2 1/2 mixed drinks, did the SFTS, and was arrested and taken to the station. I took a breathalyzer test at the station and both readings came out to 0.16, so exactly twice the legal limit. If you are wondering why I went the public defender route, its because it was my first offense and Id rather use the money I would have spent on a lawyer for other DUI related fees. I lost the DMV hearing as you can imagine and my drivers license suspension was effectively re-imposed on 2/15/23, and will remain in effect until 6/14/23 by DMV. Today my public defender informed me of the plea bargain that the DA offered me, which I accepted of course:

• 3 year informal probation (does not require a probation officer)
• Either 1 full day in jail or swap with credit time served under a Sherrif Work Program in Alameda County
• $1919 court fine
• 3 month DUI school
• 6 to 10 month license suspension, which runs concurrently with my current DMV license suspension. Note: This means DMV decides whether to keep the current suspension lift date as is or add on an additional four months to current suspension
• Mandatory IID, DMV determines length of IID

Long story short, don't drink and drive guys! Truly not worth it! Considering how high my BAC was, this outcome is more than okay for me, could been way worse, considering that Alameda County is really strict on DUI's, and rightfully so.
To those thinking their life is over, it is not! Sure its a burden, but its definitely not the end of life as you once knew it. Learn from it, move foward and continue progressing in life. I am a tech professional and informed them of my pending DUI case in January and they still let me keep my job. So keep your head up and do not let a DUI define you! You can still achieve all the goals you set forth in life!
God Bless!

I’m a pretty new player and this was my second time getting to Mithrix as MUL-T, (this was also my first time doing gilded coast) my previous attempts were 3 times with loader, none of those attempts got past the 3rd phase, (I’m having trouble with the rotating lines and figured I was staying to close to him so tried a non melee)
anyways, I had just finished four pillars and was on the final jump before I got to the launch pad… missed the jump went down to 2 go and died before I had a chance to try again.
Does anyone have any thoughts on if I could of beaten mithrix with these items? I was using double nail gun and his alternate special I was melting bosses but my movement speed was definitely lacking, is there a way to beat mithrix without move speed? Or is it basically required?
Also, I’ve noticed that no matter how strong I am against regular enemies, the chimera always seem way tougher than even elites, even in this run where I was melting bosses they seemed to take a while to defeat, do they have damage reduction or something? And would something like rebar be better suited for fighting them?

After I put my youngest children down for bed I opened a wine my new coworker gave me as a gift and had the smallest swirl, sniff, and sip. I threw it away and went back to Spotify and ignoring impending doom beating in my chest every time I stare at a screen. Maybe I’ll watch a ghost movie. Maybe I’ll stare at the ceiling. It seems ironic and applicable to my life right now. I don’t know what I’m searching for but you probably need my origin story:
I moved my little humans to an entirely new city and state with no other contact to our prior lives and just want to feel okay for a night or even a few nights if you can withstand me that long. We escaped trauma from many different facets of life and now are left to figure out how we can make this life a happy one on our own. Today I started a new job. The old me is far too qualified and would have gawked at the daily duties. But for right now, I am safe and figuring it out. It will provide enough for us. I’ll do my job with pride and happiness I haven’t felt in a long time. It allows me to stay home with my younger babies and I couldn’t be more happy about that. Today was a half day, I spent most of it writing and editing this post. I talked to few people and it made me feel…. Something. Not better, but some sense of normalcy. Friday is near and I am not sure why I hate the weekends these days but I do.
We are crammed in a small house on over 20 acres that I am convinced ghosts might also be inhabiting. Maybe a lonely mouse or two are wandering the window sills three times painted over with shitty eggshell paint. Maybe I’ll paint a room tonight, add some color and love to these empty walls. Paint a mural. I’ve always joked about having a living space as dark as my heart. I might throw up black paint on the walls. The doors creak, the floor is uneven, all the lights flicker. We didn’t come with anything of value, so this place will be our home and safe haven. I will fill it with love and honesty. I haven’t been able to feel that except in fleeting moments. Nobody will ever have to pretend and I will never raise my voice or hand out of anger.
My children are my world but just for a while I want to be myself, truly myself, without the fear of someone using it against me. I’ve tried to have relationships and friendships of various success and total disaster and they all end the same: I can’t be genuine. I was living in a burning house and I thought the whole world was on fire. I learned a few weeks ago it wasn’t. So I packed us up and drove until my eyes got wet. I had extinguished the flames and saw the wreckage that had started to occur. What was done was done and I could not go back. People have reached out and all I can say is I’m so sorry but I had to go
The only people I want to talk to are ghosts of past attempts to make things right. I’ll learn to be okay with that one day, but not today.
If you haven’t deduced by now, I am not a good person. But I am trying to be. I owe a lot of people a lot of things through this weird life, before, and after. I can’t reach out to them now. I can’t right all my wrongs. Maybe they’re reading this now and wondering if it’s really me. Putting my small puzzle pieces together in this post. After all, stranger things have occurred under happenstance and wanderlust. I crave a simple life with simple desires. I don’t need much. I don’t know who I am but I know what I am not.
Not just: the new single lady with three kids showing up to a town under suspicious circumstances, covered in ash and soot, an eternity of bruises and scars on her alabaster skin, a mother, a friend, a lover, a stranger, someone’s sweet escape, his or hers or theirs anymore
What I am lies entirely up to my next course of action. I’m not sure what it is. This is a rough start to a new Season 1. You may have decided this isn’t for you. Very well then, move along. Maybe you’ll stick around for season 2 where I get my redemption arc. Or your curiosity is piqued just enough to reach out to me. Season 3 and 4 are pending production costs and fan interest. We will see. Stay tuned.
Let me trauma dump on you on a voice or video chat like we've been friends for years, like it's a typical Tuesday night after one of you is going through it
Like we have known each other for a split second and a lifetime all at once. I might end up painting an entire bedroom tonight just to feel normal. I might end up laying on the ground listening to one of my 150+ Spotify playlists I can’t stop creating.
l might ghost you, but the odds are in your favor. Or not. You can have a drink of your own, or whatever vices you have these days. I don’t judge. We can watch something together, or just sit quietly with small talk. I’m a good listener and talker. Let me tell you a sad story with no ending because I’m still writing it. Maybe I’ll start writing again in a few months. Make sense of everything again. I had a lot of hobbies in my past life. I’m pretty good at everything, but only really good at a few things. I abandon most things I enjoy.
I have therapy three times a week and it’s the only human I’ve kept in contact with since I left in the middle of the night. It’s been lonely, to say the least meaningful words possible. I am not looking for a sound board to gaslight and abuse, honestly I just want some company while feeling alone. Silence but understanding. Suffering together can be enlightening. I am longing for something I am not sure exists. I’ve felt it in raw moments before it got ripped away. Just enough of a kiss, a hug, a tug of the hair, of truth… to want to crave more and more. How selfish and cruel life can be.
I can supply an endless amount of good music, TV shows, movies, jokes, and make you feel like your life doesn't suck compared to mine. I like to make people smile and laugh. I think I’m a natural caretaker and I care far too much far too easily, it’s probably my kryptonite. Someone once told me if I had just been honest maybe this wouldn’t have been this way, so I’ll pose the question: does death take drowning in a puddle or ocean differently? The end product is happily the same. Am I wrong?
I will respond to chats or messages as I can. I have 3 kids, I’m not looking for love or a baby daddy, or anything weird. Please do not ask me for pictures or sexual advances. I’ve already said what I was looking for but it gets misinterpreted every time. Being alone at night is what bothers me the most about this life. I know I can’t be alone in these thoughts. Are you out there? Do you care? Show me you care and I can be there.
I will leave you with a quote I've been repeating in my head for weeks, often the last thing I can remember before I drift to a nothingness of dark sleep:
"Those who escape hell, however, never talk about it. and nothing much bothers them after that.”

Me (30f) and my (42m) have been together for a year and six months. I am African American and he is Korean and the first born son. We were both raised very different, my mom died when I was young but I have a good relationship with my father and siblings. We were raised with respect being a two way street and if I am happy my father is happy. I wasn’t raised to obey, serve or cater to my father. He’s not the chief, he’s just my father, a brother, uncle, friend….that’s it. I love and have a tremendous amount of respect for him but he gives me just as much respect as I give him.
My partner has had a lot of racial issues in the past, being married for 8 years to another Black Woman. For about 5 years of that time he lived on the other side of the US from his folks and then moved back to the same state with his family when his dad had a heart attack to help out with the family business. He told me that time away felt like he was the truest version of himself and the time period when he was the happiest. I wonder why? He’s always been the black sheep in his family, the outcast, the person who chooses their own path and for some reason my partner seems stuck again, trapped in the same toxic cycle.
Unfortunately he’s shared a lot with me about his past and terrible things he’s experienced that give me a ton of anxiety and make me worry about our future. He would tell me stories about his family inviting him over to their house and asking him to leave her at home or come by himself. “Our friends can’t meet her”, his father told him he would no longer be apart of the family because he married her, he doesn’t want to see him around town with that black woman. During the entire 8 years his ex wife saw his father about 4 times.Now fast forward to today, my partner now lives on the same coast as his folks but a 2-3hr flight away. I have a great relationship with his sister, cousins and his dad’s sister even invited us over for thanksgiving and we stayed at her house, all of her sons are with white women and she has a biracial grand daughter. His mom has changed and show more acceptance of his choices, she has told him that she has always had his back but it is also her duty as a Korean wife to please her husband and not make him upset. (I believe they are 72 and 78?)
In September they came to visit his new house and my boyfriend and his parents cooked and invited all his friends over to watch Sunday football. My boyfriend said it would be a slow introduction and I would be his introduced as his “friend” and I was okay with that 9 months into our relationship. The day was fine but his father went and ate in my boyfriend’s bedroom without the rest of us. (3 couples and his mom). I am under the impression he sat on the floor or my boyfriends bed to eat because there is no other furniture.
In December I went up to his home state where he grew up and where they live, we stayed with his sister and his mom came to lunch with us one day which was nice. She told me next time she visits she wants to see me. I was never invited into their home.
Now, his parents just came to visit him for the 2nd time for 10 days and he told me before “I’m just going to tell them you’re coming over and coming to dinner”. That never happened because his mother begged him to allow his father to have a good trip and not put him in a frumpy mood. “Please just this trip, I don’t want him to be upset and angry.” I wasn’t welcomed over to my boyfriends house the entire time they visited. I never went to dinner with all of them except on Mother’s Day, the 3 of us went out and it was a secret, they had to plan when they could get away from his father and he couldn’t know or it would upset him. His friends will get invited to dinner but not me.The day they got there his mom saw my clothes in his closet and asked whose they were, and asked him to move them because it would “make appa frumpy”. She even hid my tooth brush and toiletries from the bathroom. His mom asked if his dad if he wanted to meet his girlfriend again to get to know her and his dad said he’s not interested. My boyfriend told me he told him a few months ago he doesn’t support our relationship. Why he would listen and move my stuff from his closet, he’s 42! I found this very disturbing, having to pretend I don’t exist and allowing his family to treat me like I am an option.
I asked my boyfriend who would be ideal for you in your fathers eyes and he says “idk maybe someone who’s fair skin”. Mind you, he has always preferred black woman. He gets really upset when I tell him his father is a racist and denies it and will say things like “my dad has cooked for my black friends” I tell him just because your dad is friendly to your black male friends doesn’t mean he isn’t racist, he doesn’t want you in a relationship with a black woman simply because her skin is too dark. He goes on to say you don’t know my Dad’s past…which is correct, I don’t. There’s a lot of things in his childhood and upbringing as an immigrant in the 70s that could have made him who he is today, my boyfriend said “idk maybe someone told him as a kid not to talk to black people”. “When he migrated to America and lived in the south he could have had some negative experiences with African Americans”. My partner told me their stores were once robbed by a black man. All of this just explains to me WHY he is racist….none of it justifies it or makes it okay. Why does he make excuses for this man?
I told him his parents likely want him to be with another individual they can control, another person to be a people pleaser like he is, another person to mold into their family dynamic. Another person who was conditioned the same way he was, someone who’s also Asian and grew up with the same upbringing. That’s the complete opposite of me.
His father will threaten to not eat for a week, or threaten to harm himself. I told my partner “this is how your father keeps you under his thumb and in his control” with these emotional threats, this is emotional abuse. The response "my parents don't abuse me".
I grew up in a white neighborhood and had a lot of negative racial interactions as a child. My mom always told me, “don’t change who are you to make people feel comfortable. If they are uncomfortable around you, that’s their problem and not yours to fix.” I still live my life this way. My boyfriends clothes would not have been moved tables turned LOL.
I told my partner that he enables his fathers behavior and emotional abuse which he disagrees with. He says he does it so his parents don’t argue , to make their life easier, to give them peace. My argument is, does this give US peace? Are WE at peace?I asked my partner why do you hold yourself responsible for your parent’s happiness and misery? You’re allowed to be happy and they aren’t.
My partner keeps telling me I don’t understand Korean culture, his role in being the first son, elders and I need to learn about Han and Confucius. I have read about things online, heard stories and explanations from him, and stupid Reddit lol and it doesn’t make me say “well this is okay because now I understand and learned about his culture” it just gives reason and explanation as to why things are the way they are. It doesn’t make any of it okay in my book. Just because i understand doesn’t make it acceptable because it is 2023.
My issue that I have is how my partner can allow his parents to treat me like I am an option. They can pick and choose if I am around and that isn’t my partner’s choice despite the fact he is 42.I can’t understand how he still bends over backwards for his father while receiving the emotional abuse that he does. He complains so much about his parents to me which doesn’t help, he says they are overbearing , they treat him like a child, they try and tell him what to do, they are controlling, they don’t respect his privacy, they worry too much, compare him to other family members, blame him for his mistakes, criticize him. He tells me that he’s going to have to take care of them one day, and I can’t understand living with and taking care of two individuals who impact your happiness and mental health in a negative way. In my world, parents don’t get an exception to be toxic and unhealthy people in your life.
My partner has said to me “I feel like I will never be able to live my life the way I want until my parents are gone” that to me is terribly sad.I feel like we will never be able to take the next step in our relationship because god forbid he lives with another black woman, marries another black woman, has a bi racial baby … that may kill his father and he obviously has to prevent that if it’s in his control.
He’s already made it clear he can’t abandon them and do no contact because they are old and need him because it’s the first born son’s responsibility to take care of mom and dad no matter what.
Our relationship is good and we are happy other than this, THIS is the only issue we have. I have asked him several times, why do you just sit back and take this? Why are you allowing your father and culture to spoil another relationship? why are you allowing them to control you as if you are a child?
I told him I think he’s a very sad man who lacks the courage and strength to live life on his terms. I think he’s a coward as well, none of this helps when I tell him this but this whole issue is mind boggling, he’s 42! I would expect this behavior from a boy in college, not a grown man.
I want to help my partner learn how he can still show up for his parents and support them without compromising and damaging himself , his mental health and our relationship.
Any advice would be helpful :)

For the first time since 1994, El Salvador is having a general election, with the President, Vice President, all deputies of the Legislative Assembly, our deputies to the Central American Parliament, and all mayors being elected. This is an exciting moment in our country’s history, and certainly an important election to say the least. Should President Bukele win re-election, he would be the first person over 70 years to serve more than 5 years as President, and the first person in nearly 90 years to serve multiple terms as President. Even so, President Bukele made clear his intentions, he wants 5 more years, now it is in the hands of the people of El Salvador to decide.

Political Background

Nuevas Ideas
The man of the hour, the elephant in the room, the “coolest dictator in the world”, President Nayib Bukele. In reality, any political analyst can tell you that there is not particularly any competition towards his re-election campaign. Anyone with a brain can tell you that he is going to win, the question is just simply by how much, and how will the opposition do? Nuevas Ideas (NI) has stated their intention to try and win 70 of the 84 seats of the Legislative Assembly, along with all 24 seats in the department of San Salvador. An ambitious goal to be sure, but when looking at the poll numbers, it seems much more doable. NI also stated their intention to not form a coalition with any other parties, and to simply win outright, something that seems very likely to happen.
Their Presidential candidate? Who else other than Nayib Bukele.
The Vice Presidential candidate came as a surprise to everyone, many assumed that he would keep the same Vice President, Félix Ulloa. However, internally, Ulloa expressed his disagreement to being the face of such a controversial choice by Bukele to run again. This led Bukele to announce his Vice Presidential as the current President of the Legislative Assembly, Ernesto Castro, a long-time ally and friend.
With a new Vice President, an energized base, and everything going his way, all that was left was to wait for the election itself.
The Other Parties
To be entirely honest, what the other parties are doing does not particularly matter, they were well aware they were not going to win a Presidential Election. That, of course, would not stop them from running candidates. The main focus was to try and win more deputy seats in the Legislative Assembly, and stop a further collapse of what few seats remain in opposition.
The main parties involved are the National Republican Alliance (ARENA), the Farabundo Martí National Liberation Front (FMLN), the Grand Alliance for National Unity (GANA), the National Coalition Party, the Christian Democratic Party, Nuestro Tiempo, Vamos, and the Salvadoran Independent Party.
Briefly, the idea was floated between ARENA and the FMLN of forming a grand opposition coalition in an effort to attempt to oppose Bukele, however this never materialized. Party leaders were unable to put aside their differences at this time to form a grand ticket. All party machinery was focused on winning deputy seats, rather than the Presidential election, which was recognized as a lost cause.

The Election

Presidential Election

Party	Votes	Percentage
Nuevas Ideas	2,761,299	78.6%
National Republican Alliance (ARENA)	366,065	10.42%
Farabundo Martí National Liberation Front (FMLN)	280,697	7.99%
Salvadoran Independent Party	7,729	0.22%
Nuestro Tiempo	22,484	0.64%
Other	74,829	2.13%
Total	3,513,104	100%
Registered Voters/Turnout	5,792,194	60.7%

Legislative Assembly Election

Party	Votes	Percentage	Seats
Nuevas Ideas	2,787,648	79.35%	67
National Republican Alliance (ARENA)	282,454	8.04%	7
Farabundo Martí National Liberation Front (FMLN)	125,418	3.57%	3
Grand Alliance for National Unity (GANA)	83,612	2.38%	2
National Coalition Party	41,806	1.19%	1
Christian Democratic Party	33,023	0.94%	1
Vamos	27,402	0.78%	1
Democratic Change	15,809	0.45%	0
Salvadoran Independent Party	34,780	0.99%	1
Nuestro Tiempo	50,237	1.43%	1
Other	30,915	0.88%	0
Total	3,513,104	100%	84
Registered Voters/Turnout	5,792,194	60.7%	N/A

The Aftermath

The people have given a clear mandate to President Bukele and Nuevas Ideas, in a landslide election that saw him winning almost 80% of the vote. Election verification institutions within the country, along with monitoring organizations confirmed that the results were legitimate. Opposition parties were shattered at the polls, demonstrating that their strategy of remaining independent from each other only served to damage them more. Clearly some changes will have to be made to prepare for 2027 and 2029.
In the meantime, President Bukele is free to continue to bring El Salvador into prosperity.

It was late in the morning when Adam woke from his dreamless sleep. Warm sunlight poured through the cracks between the window blinds, casting bars of shadow along his naked body.
Sleeping naked was a habit he had picked up from Jen. She had insisted upon it, to his great bemusement. Because why would a man wear clothes to keep warm in bed when a woman could do the job much better? Being a young man, Adam couldn’t find fault in that particular orcish custom.
But some orcish customs… Adam had learned how disruptive they could be.
Adam threw his legs over the side of the bed so that he sat upright. He stared off into space, frowning.
Disqualified.
Somewhere in his mind, in a hazy construct of the great hall back home, that word hung over his portrait on a gilded plaque. Right next to the words Disappointment and Failure.
Adam shook his head, groaning. Was it frustration? Disgust? Adam couldn’t tell. He knew the thought was absurd. His family wouldn’t disown him for losing a tourney much less getting disqualified from one - especially since getting kicked out wasn’t even his fault.
The Castermans were a proud, ancient house, this was true. But they didn’t put so much value on trophies and medals and honors the way other Stakari houses did. They would never consider tossing their youngest aside… But that didn’t stop Adam from feeling fear and doubt.
Every young man who ever lived feared being a disappointment to his family. And as the fourth son of his father’s line, Adam had the unenviable position of being measured against his older brothers. Royce, Dane, and Garen, loving and supportive as they were, weren’t simply his older brothers. They were titans, looming tall and casting their shadows over their baby brother.
His brothers had all been exceptional at the paths they chose. Military man, beast wrangler, and a bonafide wizard. All impressive and noble occupations. Of course Adam was happy for them. But his brothers had set some incredibly high standards. All through his youth, the youngest Casterman feared he would never measure up.
But then, in his teens, Adam discovered his passion for history. Stories of kings, warriors, tyrants, and heroes. Of great bloody battles and fallen cities. Of ferocious beasts and mighty slayers. Adam drank it all in like a man finding an oasis after wandering lost through the desert sands. Especially so for the history of his home, the Kingdom of Stakaria, as well as his family and his own noble blood.
The Castermans had earned their greatness, Adam proudly reminded himself. Jorr Casterman won his knighthood defending the Lord of the Bluewater several centuries back. During a skirmish against a wild raiding party, the lord had been unhorsed and at the mercy of a monstrous ogre. He would have died on that battlefield had Jorr not slain the towering beast.
Adam had no towering beast to slay. The days where men could make their names with sword and shield were long past. So the youngest Casterman chose to sharpen his mind. His battles would be fought and won with pen and ink. Not at all the kind of man a she-orc would fall for, one might have thought.
The young noble pondered on that for a moment as he stood up and stretched. He groaned, his body still quite sore from the tourney matches he had managed to win. Then he went to the dresser at the foot of his bed and dug out a pair of boxers.
As he tugged them on, his mind drifted to Jen… and her sister, Sayla.
His girlfriend’s sister had interfered during one of his matches and got him disqualified from the tourney. Attacked him with real daggers, too. It was a wonder she hadn’t been arrested - though the security staff might have simply thought she was part of some viral stunt.
The whole situation was absurd. So absurd that Adam was more bewildered than upset - though he wasn’t without anger. He had worked hard to get into the lists. And to have it all taken away because of his girlfriend’s secret plan…
Adam tightened his jaw as Jen and Sayla’s “clan chief” business came to the forefront of his mind. He still needed to talk to them about that. He might as well, right? There was nothing that was going to un-disqualify him as far as he could tell. So why not learn more about the absurdity that screwed with his life?
He inhaled deeply through his nose, then frowned. The scent of sweat stung his nostrils. He would need to shower soon. But first, he would check his phone. He hadn’t answered anything from anybody after he left Jen and Sayla at the diner last night. No doubt his voicemail and email had some build up that needed some looking over.
Adam found his cellphone right where he left it, sitting on his desk. Sure enough, he found a long list of missed calls and unread messages. All of them from Jen.
The corner of his mouth twitched some at the sight. It wasn’t quite a smile, but there was a wryness about it.
In a way, the attention felt nice. It showed that Jen cared. Adam already knew that, of course. Jen was the kind of girl who was very open - and physical - with her affections. But the dozens of messages of apology proved that Jen at least felt appropriately guilty over the whole mess. The disqualification and the secret plan to make him her clan’s chieftain.
Chieftain Adam Casterman, leader of the G’Kalis Clan. Reader of books, slayer of essays, husband to she-orcs. Adam grinned at the sheer absurdity of it.
On the one hand, becoming a clan chief would have been a rather unique way of making a name for himself. And Adam had read up on orcish clan customs. He couldn’t deny that taking multiple wives had a certain appeal.
But Adam was nothing if not a realist.
Surely being a chieftain came with a whole mountain of responsibility. Even if Adam agreed to Jen’s proposition, where would he find the time to fulfill all of the duties that came with his new role? By the Allfather, he was a college student barely out of his teen years. He already had responsibilities here on campus. And what would he even tell his parents? That his girlfriend asked him to essentially marry her and her sisters and he said yes on a whim?
Adam rubbed his temple. It was way too early for such heavy thoughts. He put down his phone and switched over to his laptop to check his email.
His inbox was mostly as expected. Some newsletter stuff, spam that hadn’t been filtered out… And one message from Trevelyan Institute Administration.
That last one gave Adam a moment of pause. He stared at it, the email sitting unread on his computer screen. Dread slowly crept into him, slithering up his back, under his skin, making his hair stand on end.
It was a disciplinary response to the nonsense at the tourney. Adam knew it. Was he being put on probation? Was he expelled?
His mouth had gone dry. Surely, his face had gone ghostly white as well.
Adam collected himself, gathering his wits and nerves.
He ran the cursor over the email and clicked on it.
- - -
“Stop calling him.”
“Quiet.” Jenakka snapped, glaring at her clan-sister. The green she-orc turned her eyes back to her phone, staring at the message of apology she had just finished writing. She’d already written several others, but there was always something that Jenakka felt like she forgot to say. So she ended up writing another.
The G’Kalis clan scholar had been pacing around her dorm room ever since she woke up. She’d hardly gotten any sleep last night. Sayla, of course, had slept like a rock.
She’s as thick as one too…
The gray-skinned champion sat on Jenakka’s bed, her back pressed against the wall with her long legs stretched out. Sayla watched her sister walk back and forth across her dorm room, boredom clear in her red eyes.
Boredom and not an ounce of guilt. Typical.
Jenakka huffed through her nose and hit send.
“You’ve already left several messages. You’re making yourself look desperate.” Sayla droned in a flat voice. There was another look about her now, Jenakka noted. Distaste. The clan champion continued, muttering. “More than you already have…”
Jenakka whirled around on her heels, fuming. She pointed accusingly at her clan-sister, a scowl twisting across her face.
“You’re the last person who should be giving advice!” Jenakka was near-shrieking. The other students who lived on her floor might have heard her, but Jenakka did not care. Her relationship with Adam might have been irreparably damaged because of the brainless fool sitting on her bed. The clan scholar collected herself just a bit, breathing in. “After that debacle at the arena it was a miracle you weren’t detained. The clan can’t afford to have its champion behind bars, as you well know.”
Sayla was on her feet then, but Jenakka feared her little. Tall and strong her older clan-sister was, but Jenakka knew Sayla took her clan oaths as seriously as Mystic Akari. She would never hurt anyone of the clan. Still, Jenakka glared as the taller she-orc stepped up to her.
“Don’t lecture me, sister. Don’t you dare.” Sayla growled, her red eyes hard and cold. “I took action. You’re the one who spent a year playing Lord and Lady with her darling human. And such a wonderful choice, too.”
Jenakka’s anger flared hotter, now blazing in her heart.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You promised the clan you’d find us a chieftain.” Sayla raised her voice, her words hard with anger. “Instead, you spent all this time on some pretty boy lordling. Beyond ideal? Don’t make me laugh!”
Sayla turned away then, scoffing. Jenakka glowered, her hands tightening into fists.
“He beat you didn’t he?”
“He did not beat me.” Sayla snarled as she whirled back around. Her red eyes were now sharp like her daggers. Her lips tightened into what was almost a pout. “Our fight was interrupted.”
There was a knock at the door then. Both orc women turned their eyes towards it. Sayla merely looked annoyed at the disturbance, but Jenakka deflated some, her shoulders falling slack. It was probably one of the other dorm residents coming to check because of the shouting.
The knocking came again. Jenakka sighed and went to answer it, collecting herself just enough to put on a fake smile.
No problem here, ma’am. Just two orc sisters having a shouting match over the future of their clan!
She opened the door… and found her dear Adam standing in the hall!
“Hi.” He said, wearing a small smile.
Jenakka felt a rush of emotions then. Relief that Adam bothered to come see her. Happiness at seeing her love in the flesh. Embarrassment because she didn’t know what to say. All those text messages were nothing compared to seeing him again face-to-face.
Leaping forward, she wrapped her arms around him in perhaps the tightest hug she had ever given. With her face buried into his neck, she took in his scent. He smelled of paper and wood and steel. And a hint of soap as well. He showered recently, she noted. As she pulled back, she also noticed his clothing. He had dressed nicely. A brown coat over a white shirt and fitted jeans. Adam always made some effort to look presentable. But the fact that he bothered at all today was a good sign. Jenakka’s heart fluttered.
“I’m glad you came.” She said warmly, pulling the fresh-faced human into her dorm room. She closed the door shut behind them. Then she reached out and took Adam’s hands with hers. She stared into his eyes, hoping he would see the sincerity of her words. “And again, I’m so, so sorry about the tourney.”
Jenakka then shot an expecting look towards Sayla, who was standing by her desk with her arms crossed.
The clan champion gave Jenakka’s boyfriend a once-over. Then she wrinkled her nose.
“I’m not.” Sayla answered bluntly. She gave Adam a curt nod. “You still need to prove your worth as a fighter, pup.”
“He’s two years older than you.” Jenakka simmered. To her irritation, her clan-sister merely shrugged.
“Still younger than me. Still a pup.”
Jenakka frowned, fighting the fire inside her that Sayla was unapologetically stoking. She wasn’t going to break into another argument in front of Adam. He had dealt with enough problems because of her.
She turned her eyes back onto her boyfriend, giving him a regretful look.
“Sorry about her, too.” She told him.
“It’s no problem.” Adam said. A moment of silence passed, with Adam’s eyes roaming around Jenakka’s dorm room. Jenakka wanted to try and imagine what he was thinking, but the prospect made her anxious. So she simply waited. Finally, he spoke again. “So… I’m here.”
Jenakka stepped closer, hesitant but hopeful. She allowed herself a tiny smile.
“Does… does that mean you have an answer for us?”
Adam nodded.
“I spent a long time thinking last night.” Her boyfriend started. Jenakka tried to parse the tone of his voice, but the words came from his lips level and even. “Thinking about you. About us. I’d be lying if I said these last few months weren’t some of the best of my life.”
Another moment of silence. Jenakka drank in the lines of Adam’s face, watching him clench and unclench his jaw. She bit her lip, waiting.
“Growing up, I was always afraid that I’d never be as strong or as handsome or as skilled as my older brothers.” Adam spoke again, his brow furrowing as a sliver of discomfort weaved into his words. “I always questioned my worth as a man. Until I met you.”
Jenakka’s heart ached for him. She moved even closer, close enough that she could enjoy his scent again. On instinct, she darted forward and kissed him softly. The taste of his lips was quite welcome after the doubt and worry that plagued her last night. And surely Adam found the affection pleasing. He did not push her away.
The clan scholar pulled back after a time, sighing.
“I never cared if you were a fourth son. I wouldn’t have cared if you were the fortieth. I love you, Adam.” Jenakka spoke those words with her entire heart and spirit. She could only pray that her human would truly listen.
“But you still kept the truth from me.” He answered in a cool tone.
Jenakka winced. She averted her eyes from his for a moment. Was it shame? Regret? Embarrassment? Or all of them at once?
“I was waiting for the right time to tell you. But no moment ever felt right.” It was the truth. But Jenakka feared - no, she knew it wasn’t enough. She hadn’t told Adam about her intentions for him. For her clan. The fault for the resulting mess belonged to her and her alone.
Jenakka knew Adam was the understanding type. But was he the forgiving type? She could only hope.
“Do you have an answer or did you come here to waste more of our time?” Sayla’s sharp voice cleaved through their intimate moment.
Jenakka whipped her head around to shoot her sister a withering glare. A venomous retort bubbled up in her throat, ready to spew. But then Adam broke into a flat chuckle.
"Wow.” He said to Sayla, deep laughs rumbling in his chest. “You are a real piece of work.”
Sayla only gave a rude gesture in response. Jenakka felt a flash of anger, but it was tempered by the fact that Adam almost certainly had no idea what it meant.
“She’s always been like that.” Jenakka murmured into her boyfriend’s neck.
Adam chuckled again. Jenakka took it as a good sign. Next, he pulled away some so that he could look her in the eyes.
“I can… understand how your situation might have been awkward. I don’t like it, but I get it. If you told me about the clan stuff from the start, I might have just blown you off as a loony.” Adam pressed his lips into a line, appearing to consider his next words. “Being your clan’s chieftain… I take it that this is a big responsibility…”
Jenakka’s heart soared. He wasn’t refusing her outright. And that was enough for her. She jumped on the opening, seizing the opportunity as her clan-mother taught her.
“You wouldn’t need to carry that whole weight by yourself.” She insisted, clutching his hands tightly in hers. Her thumbs brushed over his knuckles, gentle and loving. “G’Kalis is a small clan, but you’d still have five of us to help you understand and perform your duties.”
Adam quirked his lips, weighing her answer in his head. He gave a short nod.
“That’s… good to hear, I suppose. And the extra free time will probably help, too.”
Jenakka blinked. She held her breath.
“What do you mean?” She asked cautiously. She needed to hear him say it.
Adam gave her a faint grin. He breathed in deeply through his nose.
“I got an email this morning.” Her tall, strapping human started, his grin widening some. “From the university administration. After that whole deal with Miss Daggers last night, I was afraid I was going to face some disciplinary action.”
“They didn’t blame you for that, did they?” Jenakka winced as the chaos from the arena flashed in her head.
“No. Turns out the email wasn’t about that tourney stuff at all. I’ve been exempt.” Adam gave her an incredulous look. “From all of my classes until spring. Special clan privileges, apparently. Clan members get excused from course work if they have spiritual rites that require their attention.”
Jenakka reeled back, bewildered. Why would Adam have special clan privileges…
Oh.
Realization struck her like a mace to the back of her head. The clan scholar turned and gave Sayla an accusing look. But the eldest daughter of G’Kalis appeared as baffled as any of them.
“Don’t look at me.” Sayla said, shrugging. “I only came here to initiate my chieftain trial.”
Jenakka narrowed her eyes, looking from Sayla to Adam. She only had to think for a moment before an answer presented itself to her. The only answer that made any sense, at least.
“Matriarch Hera.” Jenakka whispered. She looked into Adam’s eyes, hoping he was following along. He nodded back to her and she took it as a good sign. “Our clan-mother. She must have registered you as our chieftain already. Either her or Akari.”
“How?” Adam didn’t seem shocked or offended, only confused. Jenakka couldn’t blame him. These last several hours or so had completely turned his life into some absurdist comedy.
“I might have sent my clan your personal information.” Jenakka winced as she said it. A sour look crossed Adam’s face. She gave her boyfriend an apologetic look. “I just thought they wanted to know more about you! I’ll fix it. We’ll fix it! Sayla and I, we’ll head back to our clan and we’ll clear all this up! I promise!”
“We’re all going.” Adam told her. Jenakka was taken aback for a moment. She felt the urge to ask him to elaborate on what that meant. But the look in his blue eyes told her everything. And deep in her heart, Jenakka G’Kalis felt jubilation. Her boyfriend… her chieftain turned his eyes to Sayla, his words hammering out like black iron.
“If I’m going to be your clan’s chieftain, then it’s time I met the rest of you.”
- - -
First Previous
- - -
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[Flying Sparks

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“Hazardous? I’ll show that manipulative, misanthropic, anti-establishment cretin just what hazardous means if he thinks I’m going to fold on this!” The sound of vigorous guitar riffs made a fitting accompaniment to the angry tirade despite originating on opposite sides of the communal area. Ama was glaring at a laptop that sat on a stained oak desk shoved against the large table near the kitchen. She tapped a fingernail on the wood as she read through the alert. “And what violation of basic human dignity has her royal prudishness’s undies in a bunch?” Em demanded with an affected sneer without looking up from his guitar scales. “Oh you’ll agree with this one tree-hugger,” Drake muttered from where he sat oiling his work boots. “Yeah,” Donny piped up, “Finney is trying to kill a perfectly healthy fir.” “What!” Em demanded, carefully placing his battered old acoustic guitar down in its case and darting over to look at the computer screen. “You mean apark tree?” Despite her simmering frustration Ama allowed a small smile to flicker across her face as she continued to type. “Get out of your pajamas and I’ll tell you,” Drake ordered pointing towards the bathroom door with a stained rag. “School starts in forty-five minutes and you still have breakfast and chores. That goes for you too Pip-squirt.” “I hope you washed your hands before you touched our food,” Em said with a frown. “Boot grease makes a great source of fatty acids.” Drake retorted. “Now go!” The two smaller boys muttered in annoyance but stumbled off to follow orders. “So what is up?” the youth asked as he bent his head back over the smooth leather of his boots. “Mrs. Finney wants that tree down that’s blocking her perfect view of Crescent Lake.” Ama replied in a dry tone. “One that’s clearly on park property?” Drake asked. “Indeedy-do.” Ama replied giving the paper in front of her a glare. “So how’s she justifying it?” Drake asked. “As a safety hazard to her house.” Ama replied. “And?” The biologist groaned and rubbed her face. “As far as I can tell the trunk is perfectly healthy. There is an old trash can lid grown into the trunk and a little discolored sap is leaking out there.” “Frass?” “Watch your language!” Donny interjected as he darted up to the table. “Frass is not a bad word,” Drake stated. “Have you let the chickens out?” “Yes, what does frass mean?” Donny asked as he started piling stir-fry onto his plate. “Look it up.” Drake ordered him. “Emerald! Breakfast ends in ten minutes! Get your tukus down here!” “It’s bad health to rush meals,” Em snapped out as he came down a narrow stairway with deliberate slowness. “It’s even worse for your health to skip meals altogether,” Drake growled threateningly. “Shut it and give me some eggs.” Em snapped back. “Emerald Waters Undersun,” Drake hissed out through gritted teeth. “You are going to get your own eggs.” The boy threw himself into a chair and glared at Drake with challenge in every line of his body. “Emerald,” Ama said in a calm tone. “I think you should apologize to your cousin now.” “Sorry I disturbed you Ama,” he offered without breaking eye contact with Drake. “Not me, him,” Ama said. “Sorry you had to hear that Donny.” Em said. Ama heaved a sigh and closed her computer. “Emerald,” Ama said. “Do you want to eat or go hungry?” Drake demanded. Ama glanced at him with a familiar uneasy look in her eyes and Drake fought down a wince. “Now, Em.” she said in a patient tone. “I’ll go hungry,” Em snapped, jumping up and stalking over to the couch. Donny kept his eyes fixed on his plate. Ama heaved a sigh before turning back to her computer. Em wriggled on the couch for several minutes before skulking back to the table. Drake moved to intercept him but Ama stopped him with a look and he let Em serve himself. Drake cast irritated glances at the wall clock as the time crept more and more into school time. Ama closed her computer and stood, then sighed, sat and opened it again. “I need to pick out their report topics,” Ama muttered. “I could do it,” Drake offered. “You do quite enough,” Ama replied briskly, as she scanned the news. “Here you go. For Donny, malfunctions at the Lewis- McChord Air Force Base air show.” A frown creased her face. “Wow, this is pretty serious. It looks like the F-16 demonstration team nearly got killed.” Drake whistled and leaned over her shoulder. “Multiple system failures,” he read out loud. “I am pretty sure that isn’t supposed to happen.” “Nope,” Ama agreed. “Here is a topic on big game management for Em.” “Reports due by next week?” Drake asked as the old printer on the desk began to squeal and grumble as it powered up. “Same as usual,” Ama confirmed. Drake put the printouts on top of the homework pile and moved to wash up the breakfast dishes. “I need to get to work early today so you two be good for Drake,” she called out placing a quick kiss on top of the smaller boys’ heads and giving Drake’s shoulder a friendly squeeze. “Good luck with Mrs. Finney, and stay safe.” Drake called out as she went into her room. The table was cleaned off and wiped down and the clink of forks gave way to the steady scratch of pencils on paper. They broke for a recess after religion and then lunch after history and math, and by the time the Grandfather clock in the corner struck two the younger boys twitching with energy. Drake made certain the internet was disconnected at the router, and chased Donny and Em out into the garden. “And don’t come in until dark,” he ordered tossing two snack bags out after them. Donny as usual snatched his food and disappeared into the small orachard. Low grumbles about troglodytes and the Amish wandered out into the high corn following Em and Drake shook his head in exasperation wondering, not for the first time how the dark haired princeling came from the same gene pool as his little brother. The kitchen being mostly ordered Drake was turning to put the last random dirty sock in the hamper when a gnarled hand clutching a cane head appeared in the corner of his eye, causing his heart to make a valiant attempt to bolt out of his throat. “Abuelita!” he gasped forcing his hands down from the guard position. “Where did you come from?” Smoldering black eyes ran searchingly over the tall youth. An impossibly long mane of streaked silver and black hair was barely contained in a thick braid. A sharply pointed nose perched over a small wrinkled mouth. A vibrant red horse-hair serape hung over her shoulders concealing everything except her brown and gnarled hands which currently clutched the old tree branch she used as a cane. Drake had been more than a little comforted by the fact that both Em and Donny had admitted to having the thought ‘witch’ every time time they saw her as well. “From the hand of God by the bodies of my sainted mother and father,” she replied after a long, uncomfortable silence. She always spoke in a low husky voice that suggested years of smoking, though Drake had never smelled even stale smoke on her. “Right,” Drake blinked and grinned at the response; the one she always gave. “So you are here for their Spanish lesson? I have their grammar books ready and-” The narrow end of the tree branch rapped against the concrete of the floor causing Drake to jump. Abuelita glared at him, locking his gaze and holding him in place with it for a moment. “I am here for their lessons,” she finally stated, “and you are there for my payment.” Drake thought longingly of the repair and maintenance manuals in the cab of the truck and the new tool he was itching to try, but he forced a grin on his face. “Yes ma’am,” he said. “What can I get you today?” Abuelita pulled out a bag of woven grass from under her serape causing the indistinct patterns on the cloth to shift and change. “Take this,” she ordered him, “and collect me the cobalt blue berries that grow on a single stalk close to the ground. They must come from the mountain to the south east of here by the crystal brook.” Drake nodded, and took the little bag, he didn’t quite manage to infused his gestures with enthusiasm he supposed. The old woman, probably wouldn’t have noted it anyway. She turned and moved towards the garden door without waiting for any other reply. However she called out over her shoulder as he turned to find his own way out of the rambling structure. “Don’t dawdle little one. A storm brews in the distance.” He tried not to roll his eyes at that, the weather forecast was clear and eighties for the next week according to the morning fire report Ama had printed. The youth only nodded and slipped around the corner. He circled the barn and pulled a set of loose tan pants and tunic out of the cubby. The soft worn leather almost perfectly matched the forest floor for color as did the moccasins he pulled on after them. His morning running clothes were modern stuff that wicked the sweat away from him and let him speed through the forest. These were his free day clothes. The ones that let him disappear into the forest and wander. Abuelita, for all of her demands, would tend Em and Donny until he returned no matter how late that was, and with the Park’s yearly budget talks still under way it was highly unlikely Ama would be home until long after the sun had set. Despite still hearing the call of the half restored truck he felt something lossening in him already. The soft cotton and smooth leather rested easily against his skin and Drake slipped into the forest. Freedom; for the moment at least, blissful freedom. Pushing aside the guilt that accompanied the thought as well as any lingering worries about his charges the youth let his legs carry him through the trees. He shunned the man made paths, following the faint animal trails. This close to the barn they were as clear to him as if they were named city streets. Being animal trails, they invariably led him to water. Today he stopped at a trickling stream, took off his moccasins, and rolled up his pants legs. The youth turned and followed the thin flow of icy water upstream, letting it steal the heat from his body through his feet. Some distance upstream, the stream widened and pooled under a boulder. There Drake paused and pulled an old black compass out of his pocket. Behind him he knew every trail and tree. Ahead was a broad swath of National Wilderness he would have to cross, or possibly Bureau of Land Management or even state managed forests where he more rarely wandered. It was hard to tell where the boundaries were from the ground. The clearing he wanted for the berries was solidly in BLM land and he still had quite a ways to go to get there. The stand of timber that stood between him and his goal was dense with young tree and branches that frequently formed impenetrable hedges he had to track around and he checked his compass regularly as he climbed in elevation. Even so the youth found he had wandered too far off his route and had to correct when he spotted the boundary fence. However he was in no hurry and he reached the clearing long before the sun told him it was time to turn around. Sometime in the past some unknown force had carved a shallow trench across the side of one of the small mountains that that dotted the wilderness. It had puzzled Drake at first. The scour was at the wrong angle to be an old rock slide, and terminated in a near perfectly circular clearing at the lower end. Centuries old Douglas Firs abruptly gave way to a second ring only a few decades old. Those were in turn beginning to produce cones and a smattering of knee high saplings. The rest of the space was completely given over to wildflowers. No matter what season Drake visited it he found a riot of life. There had been an early spring and many herbs that normally would have waited a month or more were already in full bloom in the mountain meadow. A white wave of foamflower washed in from the deep forest surrounding the clearing, sending up knee high stalks covered in the delicate white blooms. Late trillium hid close to the roots of the great firs, many having shed their white corollas and begun to put forth their bulbous seed heads. Fuzzy white baneberry blossoms nodded gently in the breeze. A riot of yellow and purple spread across the ground as vetch and buttercups and a host of clovers competed for space in the open sun. Great stalks of lupine as high as his head thrust up their purple and blue proudly from thick clusters of palm shaped leaves. Pink shooting stars and violet harebells crouched under the protection of the larger plants. Indian paintbrush lit the scene with flames of red and orange. Where a spring seeped into the meadow elephant’s head flared neon pink and corydalis bushes put forth blushing blooms. Pale green wild orchids stood along the wet spot and the swarms of bees danced from them to the glacier lilies. Sometimes, as he bent over a tiny blossom and traced the intricate network of veins in the petals, drank in the scent, and felt the smooth surface of the leaves an otherworldly feeling would come over him. It was as if there was another world just out of range of his senses. If he could only really look, the thin illusion that was blocking him would slip away and reveal the real world underneath it. “Look Awiegwa,” his father would whisper, pointing at a deer mouse perched on a fallen log. “What does it see?” Awiegwa would screw up his face and squint. Trying to find the answer to the question. Awiegwa had often wondered how so many flowers had come to be in the relatively small area. He had identified dozens of species and there were more he had yet to determine. The clearing was always the first place to bloom and the last to go dormant. Many of the flowers seemed to utterly defy their usual blooming patterns. However, as time passed he had simply come to accept it. It was one of the small good things that brought back the memories of his father. If it didn’t quite follow the rules Ama had taught him, well an impossible clearing in the mountains wasn’t a place for rules. The particular bloom that Abuelita had requested had taken full advantage of the early sun and had already put forth a few cobalt blue berries; easily spotted at the edge of the clearing in the delicate sea of white flowers. However before he left the shade of the forest for the meadow the youth paused and closed his eyes. Bole wasn’t always here, but he was often enough that Awiegwa always checked for him. Carefully he reconstructed the clearing in his mind; marking every tree and boulder on the edge. Three years he had been coming here and each time it was easier to recreate the clearing. Breathing evenly he opened his eyes, letting the mental image merge with the actual. There was a brief moment of confusion as details like the play of light through branches and the trembling of small clusters of flowers fixed themselves but there was only one truly jarring note. Awiegwa didn’t let his eyes focus on the disparity; he never did anymore, but a warm smile spread across his features as he slipped silently into the meadow. He was here. As the youth moved in a low crouch, gathering the first fruits of the Queen’s Cup, he let his peripheral vision linger on a particular snag. There was nothing obviously interesting about it, other than the fact that it had not been there the last time Awiegwa was here. He had named the wanderer Bole, because it most often appeared as a thick tree trunk; sometimes living, sometimes dead. Occasionally it would be a boulder or simply a mound in the dirt. Often it wasn’t in the clearing at all. If the youth moved forward and tried to closely examine it he could never find anything to suggest it was something other than a tree or rock. He had thought about taking a sample occasionally, had taken his knife out to do just that more than once, but something always held him back. Bole was a part of this place. Dissecting him would be too much like attempting to dissect his sense of his father’s presence here. The youth had never told anyone about this place, not even Ama with who could get most things out of him easily enough. Down at the house, in town, when he was Drake; solid, reliable, first up in the morning, two grades ahead in school with a penchant for science Drake, a productive member of modern society with a promising future and his mother smiling at him. Here he could be Awiegwa. Here he could believe in the ancient medicines his father had dug out of dusty old tomes and brought to life from the forest litter. Every time Awiegwa left the clearing and headed back towards home reality would reassert itself. Bole would resolve back into a figment of his imagination, created from pride in a somewhat better than average memory and what the social workers had called an “intriguing imagination”. When he reached the house and become solidly Drake again flickers of embarrassment would begin eating at him for letting his senses trick him like that, but as long as the blooms nodded around him in this garden Bole could exist even on a Thursday. The little woven grass bag filled up with the berries fairly quickly and Awiegwa soon stretched out of his crouch and let his gaze wander contentedly over the clearing. As it always did, the warm space was working its special magic. Worries about Em getting out of his schoolwork, of not paying enough attention to the quiet Donny, of letting Ama see his petty resentments: it had all melted away from his muscles, thoughts of college costs and abandoning his duties dissolved into an acute sense of the now. The leaves rustled softly in a barely-there breeze, the heavy scent of some unidentified blossom filled his lungs, a dozen shades of green framed the rainbow of flowers, and over and above it all the creaking of the firs as the wind played over them. It was at times like these that he felth he could almost see into heaven; that something wonderful that existed just beyond his senses, and all he had to do was reach out and claim it. The youth took a deep breath and let himself fall backwards onto a handy rise in the forest floor. His path had taken him to the foot of the snag and he shifted slightly to align himself with the gnarled roots. One hand gripped a time smoothed root. “Ama trusted me enough to go out of state,” he murmured. “That’s the first time she’s done that. Usually she has Abulita stay with us to fend off the Harsh, but she said it’s long past legal now.” It was his imagination of course that made him think the root vibrated in his hand in response. Many a long hour he had spent in this clearing with the wanderer. He had poured out his frustrations and anguishes over life’s injustices, had shared his secrets as he grew, and had shouted his triumphs. Sometimes he felt closer to Bole than to any of his human friends. However, something that sounded like his mother’s voice warned him that there was something odd about this and that awareness was the main reason he had kept this place secret from Ama. Their mother hadn’t exactly liked stuff like that. She had never objected to his father’s digging up the old stories of her people. Making cross generational connections between elders, who more often than not lived isolated lives, and the next generation, was an admirable goal in of itself in her eyes; objectively a social good. Storytelling was only the natural course for these relationships to take, but subtle looks had warned even a very young Drake that it was best to cautious what he shared with his mother. At least of those things that couldn’t be placed on a microscope slide. So this was Awigewa’s place, and while his father’s spirit wanders the flowers with he had never felt his mother here. He let his focus drift up, and up. Dark blue Lupine nodded over his head framing the faint crisscross of jet contrails that threw a light haze over an otherwise cloudless sky. His clothed grew deliciously hot from the spring sun. The ground too had eagerly accepted the energy and now it conducted the heat into the muscles of his back. Bole’s wood beneath him was warmer even than the surrounding ground and an idle thought traced across Awiegwa’s awareness; something about it being odd for the light colored wood and relatively dry wood to retain more heat than the darker soil surrounding it. His mind was filled with the impression of a goal. He had been meaning to do, something. Something fun, yes, exploring, he’d meant to see if whatever had dug that den by the second boulder was cubing this year. He would just get up and do that in a minute. His back was so warm and comfortable. “Flying Sparks” Another foray into the lives of Drake McCarty, Ama Love, and the rest of their siblings as they discover that something alien is out in the forest around their home. https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/flying-sparks-a-novel-of-dragon-bear-and-boy/coming_soon #FlyingSparks #ScienceFiction #Scifi #Story #novel #book #DrakeMcCarty #AmaLove #Donny #Em #Bard #Bole #Aliens #Spaceships #Crystals #fireflies #NPS #NationalPark #Doctor #Sever #family #storm #writing #reading #drama #literature #author #BettyAdams #DyingEmbers #Dragons #ThingsThatGoBoomp #Indiegogo #CrowdFunding

Will ship all games within US using Pirate Ship. Local pickup also available for anyone in or around the Austin area. Willing to bundle games if interested. I only accept PayPal Goods & Services. Buyer pays for shipping.
Please leave comment on post before messaging, as I will not respond to messages otherwise. Thank you!
Smoke and pet free home. Happy to provide photos if interested!
Arena The Contest + Tanares Adventures Painted Bundle [4.5] - $425 OBO - Includes the following:
- Arena The Contest Core Box
- PAINTED Dragon Collection
- PAINTED Green Dragon
- Tanares Adventures
- PAINTED Madness Box
- Medusa Hero
- Legendary Box Reworked Heroes
- Plastic Token Bundle
- Four Board Game Scenarios 2
- 1000+ Sleeves
Tanares, Madness Box, Plastic Tokens and Medusa are all sealed. Arena was played once. Dragons were opened to ensure they were intact but never used. Please note that this does not have the original Legendary Box, but I will include wall pieces I purchased on Etsy to stand in for the walls that are in the Legendary Box. Price is less than what I paid for all of this.
Please Note: This may require two shipping boxes. I will do my best to get it into one.
Endless Winter Shaman Pledge [4.5] - $95 - Core played once. All expansion boxes still sealed.
Frostpunk Gamer All-In w/ Shaded Minis, Upgraded Resources, Dreadnaught & Playmat [4] - $190
Middara 1.1 [4.5] - $140 - Never played. Punched, organized, sleeved, partially painted (amateur painter).
**If purchasing anything from above, I will throw in one of the two below for free. Buyer still pays shipping.*\*
Posthuman Saga [5] - $20
Land & Sea [4.5] - $15 - Opened. Never played.

Hiya, this is going to be a really long post I'm sorry but TLDR landlord refuses to spend any money or do any maintenance, multiple horrible issues and now the house smells like a dead mans feet :-( Going insane and don't know what to do. Suspect broken pipe but given the runaround and now am just told 'there's nothing more I can do'. Glasgow southside
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So I moved into the flat in 2021, it's visibly not been repaired in a long time but wasn't a huge problem. Classic damp, cracks in walls and ceilings, bizarre and eye-melting amount of different artex textures in each room that were clearly in fashion in the 70s. etc, but couldn't see any major issues and rent is cheap (I was wrong lol). Everything was sort of 'covered' or painted over, so we couldn't see any problems at the time. He was always slow to respond, but didn't think much of it as I've had bad landlords before.
First major red flag was a baby slug infestation in winter 2021 after we asked him to remove a rotten bathroom mirror contraption he'd built, and his 'fix' was to cover the entire floor with slug pellets. We had a cat at the time, so I just snapped and spent 4 days sealing every part of the bathroom just because I couldn't deal with the hassle, and alas no more slugs. He is aware of this and doesn't care. I'm comfortable with basic DIY and did this as properly as I could, and it looks great, clean and sealed and no slugs, cost about £200. (He's told me he intends to gut the flat when we leave and re-do it and whack the rent up, more on this later). Any time we ask for anything, he turns up with a young cousin and a screwdriver and says 'not much I can do' and just leaves, and essentially said do what you need to do to get by as long as you don't break anything. He sent me the inventory pictures and said as long as you don't do structural damage I don't mind. No major major problems I can see so I think whatever, easy life.
Just before christmas 22, my housemate moved out and took her cat with her. We had a mouse, so I called the council who put poison down and I left to go and visit family for christmas. I came back to a smell so bad it SLAPPED me in the face as soon as I opened the door, and I was horrified. The classic sweet sickly rancid smell of death I think, so I called the pest control people back who suggested it was a mouse that had died in the wall. Makes sense, so on their advice I used a dehumidifer and waited a month. I washed the walls and floors I could touch with vinegar and bicarb etc. Tried everything and did make it liveable. I cleaned the entire kitchen and scraped back all the dirty sealant, and discovered that he'd painted over not only damp but so many mouse droppings, which had formed a kind of sludge around all the sealed parts of the kitchen. Absolutely rancid, made me sick to my stomach.
A month goes by, stench continues, I do what I can to get by and I saw a rat. Called the pest control people again, who came and did the same. He advised me that the smell should have long gone by now, and he suspected a burst pipe as the smell was also worse when it was warmer. He puts poison down, and I took it upon myself to try and seal up wherever it came from. I followed the trail behind the counters by the windowsill, and found that the open vent to the outside had been sealed up by a breadboard leaned up against it, and covered in foil... The whole bit behind the counters and underneath the windowsill was just haphazard bits of wood leaned up against eachother, and I found an old letter under there from 2019 recommending resealing the house to prevent pests which obviously was never done.
It's the cold snap at this point, so the smell isn't so bad. I hadn't been as on it as I'd like to be as my mum is terminally ill and I'm spending 2 weeks here, 2 weeks down south with her, and obviously massively stressed. I'm also disabled and going through intensive psych and physical treatments for preexisting issues, so haven't much capacity to deal with all this at the moment. My new housemate gets settled around march and refurnishing the flat after the old housemate left took a lot of time, and the smell is STILL there, and getting worse as it warms up. I've spent maybe 300£ on air fresheners, ozone sprays, dehumidifiers, all sorts just trying anything.
A few weeks ago, we had a sudden infestation of HUGE black flies, hundreds, literally hundreds, crawling out from under the skirting board. I came back and cleaned every single inch I could touch with bleach, just to feel comfortable, but I refused to eat in the house as I felt sick. During the clean, I discovered that the raised foundation in the kitchen is basically rotten along with most of the walls and internal structures adjoining the external walls. There is also a layer of bicarbonate of soda underneath the lino flooring suggesting he was well aware of issues. The smell was getting worse and worse, and by this point it had been months so clearly not a body decaying. I called the landlord round, who said he 'couldn't smell anything' whilst looking back and forth at his cousin, and I told him I'm sorry but you can't be serious. He said we can take up the floor maybe, see what's happening, I'll give you a can of air freshener and we'll see. He said the 'flies will take their course and get rid of the smell' (????) and tried to set me and the housemate against eachother, telling each of us the other had agreed to let it go when this was absolute bollocks.. as if we wouldn't talk to eachother? He got really angry when I suggested pipes, and emphatically denied any presence of any kind of plumbing under the property.
I called the pest control man for advice this time, and he came to chat. He has been to this property many times over the years, and confirmed presence of a cast iron pipe underneath the property and again suggested a burst sewage pipe. He advised environmental health, who would provide FOI evidence etc. and escalate. By this point, I'm at my absolute wits end, my mum's getting worse and I've applied for a housing association place but this is going to take months and months. My housemate messaged him today (his last contact was saying that she agreed to let it go (untrue) and someone will be in contact with me soon to 'chat about energy efficiency upgrades to reduce the bills' which I was suspicious of..) and he responded saying 'There's nothing more I can do about this.'. He has promised to deal with this, but the pest control man made me aware that the inspection needed for this costs a lot of money, money he refuses to spend.
He has multiple properties across the city, and I know he just refuses to invest any money in the property until we leave, so he can totally renovate and charge double. Due to the damp, woodworm, rotten foundations, crumbling ceilings etc. it's going to be a major job, and he just doesn't want to do anything. I've contacted Scottish Water to check outside drains, which should be happening soon. But fuck knows what to do now... I haven't the emotional capacity or the funds to move into a random room somewhere short notice as my mental health is in crisis and I need a base to travel back and forth to care for my mum (please no comments on this set up as it's complicated). I'm holding out on a housing association place, but honestly it's really upsetting being here and I have nowhere in the world I feel comfortable and safe right now, especially as I need somewhere safe to work through my recovery.
What can I do? I'm scared to report him to environmental health or authorities as I don't think I'll make it through if he kicks us out for this. When I'm set up somewhere new, I'd feel comfortable reporting him, but I can't risk my stability right now. I can't live like this anymore, the smell makes me gag and is making me so depressed. Thanks so much for reading, any advice?

Flying Sparks

Pre Order Now

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Chapter 2

“Hazardous? I’ll show that manipulative, misanthropic, anti-establishment cretin just what hazardous means if he thinks I’m going to fold on this!”
The sound of vigorous guitar riffs made a fitting accompaniment to the angry tirade despite originating on opposite sides of the communal area. Ama was glaring at a laptop that sat on a stained oak desk shoved against the large table near the kitchen. She tapped a fingernail on the wood as she read through the alert.
“And what violation of basic human dignity has her royal prudishness’s undies in a bunch?” Em demanded with an affected sneer without looking up from his guitar scales.
“Oh you’ll agree with this one tree-hugger,” Drake muttered from where he sat oiling his work boots.
“Yeah,” Donny piped up, “Finney is trying to kill a perfectly healthy fir.”
“What!” Em demanded, carefully placing his battered old acoustic guitar down in its case and darting over to look at the computer screen. “You mean apark tree?”
Despite her simmering frustration Ama allowed a small smile to flicker across her face as she continued to type.
“Get out of your pajamas and I’ll tell you,” Drake ordered pointing towards the bathroom door with a stained rag. “School starts in forty-five minutes and you still have breakfast and chores. That goes for you too Pip-squirt.”
“I hope you washed your hands before you touched our food,” Em said with a frown.
“Boot grease makes a great source of fatty acids.” Drake retorted. “Now go!”
The two smaller boys muttered in annoyance but stumbled off to follow orders.
“So what is up?” the youth asked as he bent his head back over the smooth leather of his boots.
“Mrs. Finney wants that tree down that’s blocking her perfect view of Crescent Lake.” Ama replied in a dry tone.
“One that’s clearly on park property?” Drake asked.
“Indeedy-do.” Ama replied giving the paper in front of her a glare.
“So how’s she justifying it?” Drake asked.
“As a safety hazard to her house.” Ama replied.
“And?”
The biologist groaned and rubbed her face.
“As far as I can tell the trunk is perfectly healthy. There is an old trash can lid grown into the trunk and a little discolored sap is leaking out there.”
“Frass?”
“Watch your language!” Donny interjected as he darted up to the table.
“Frass is not a bad word,” Drake stated. “Have you let the chickens out?”
“Yes, what does frass mean?” Donny asked as he started piling stir-fry onto his plate.
“Look it up.” Drake ordered him. “Emerald! Breakfast ends in ten minutes! Get your tukus down here!”
“It’s bad health to rush meals,” Em snapped out as he came down a narrow stairway with deliberate slowness.
“It’s even worse for your health to skip meals altogether,” Drake growled threateningly.
“Shut it and give me some eggs.” Em snapped back.
“Emerald Waters Undersun,” Drake hissed out through gritted teeth. “You are going to get your own eggs.”
The boy threw himself into a chair and glared at Drake with challenge in every line of his body.
“Emerald,” Ama said in a calm tone. “I think you should apologize to your cousin now.”
“Sorry I disturbed you Ama,” he offered without breaking eye contact with Drake.
“Not me, him,” Ama said.
“Sorry you had to hear that Donny.” Em said.
Ama heaved a sigh and closed her computer.
“Emerald,” Ama said.
“Do you want to eat or go hungry?” Drake demanded.
Ama glanced at him with a familiar uneasy look in her eyes and Drake fought down a wince.
“Now, Em.” she said in a patient tone.
“I’ll go hungry,” Em snapped, jumping up and stalking over to the couch.
Donny kept his eyes fixed on his plate. Ama heaved a sigh before turning back to her computer. Em wriggled on the couch for several minutes before skulking back to the table. Drake moved to intercept him but Ama stopped him with a look and he let Em serve himself. Drake cast irritated glances at the wall clock as the time crept more and more into school time.
Ama closed her computer and stood, then sighed, sat and opened it again.
“I need to pick out their report topics,” Ama muttered.
“I could do it,” Drake offered.
“You do quite enough,” Ama replied briskly, as she scanned the news. “Here you go. For Donny, malfunctions at the Lewis- McChord Air Force Base air show.” A frown creased her face. “Wow, this is pretty serious. It looks like the F-16 demonstration team nearly got killed.”
Drake whistled and leaned over her shoulder.
“Multiple system failures,” he read out loud. “I am pretty sure that isn’t supposed to happen.”
“Nope,” Ama agreed. “Here is a topic on big game management for Em.”
“Reports due by next week?” Drake asked as the old printer on the desk began to squeal and grumble as it powered up.
“Same as usual,” Ama confirmed.
Drake put the printouts on top of the homework pile and moved to wash up the breakfast dishes.
“I need to get to work early today so you two be good for Drake,” she called out placing a quick kiss on top of the smaller boys’ heads and giving Drake’s shoulder a friendly squeeze.
“Good luck with Mrs. Finney, and stay safe.” Drake called out as she went into her room.
The table was cleaned off and wiped down and the clink of forks gave way to the steady scratch of pencils on paper. They broke for a recess after religion and then lunch after history and math, and by the time the Grandfather clock in the corner struck two the younger boys twitching with energy. Drake made certain the internet was disconnected at the router, and chased Donny and Em out into the garden.
“And don’t come in until dark,” he ordered tossing two snack bags out after them.
Donny as usual snatched his food and disappeared into the small orachard. Low grumbles about troglodytes and the Amish wandered out into the high corn following Em and Drake shook his head in exasperation wondering, not for the first time how the dark haired princeling came from the same gene pool as his little brother. The kitchen being mostly ordered Drake was turning to put the last random dirty sock in the hamper when a gnarled hand clutching a cane head appeared in the corner of his eye, causing his heart to make a valiant attempt to bolt out of his throat.
“Abuelita!” he gasped forcing his hands down from the guard position. “Where did you come from?”
Smoldering black eyes ran searchingly over the tall youth. An impossibly long mane of streaked silver and black hair was barely contained in a thick braid. A sharply pointed nose perched over a small wrinkled mouth. A vibrant red horse-hair serape hung over her shoulders concealing everything except her brown and gnarled hands which currently clutched the old tree branch she used as a cane. Drake had been more than a little comforted by the fact that both Em and Donny had admitted to having the thought ‘witch’ every time time they saw her as well.
“From the hand of God by the bodies of my sainted mother and father,” she replied after a long, uncomfortable silence.
She always spoke in a low husky voice that suggested years of smoking, though Drake had never smelled even stale smoke on her.
“Right,” Drake blinked and grinned at the response; the one she always gave. “So you are here for their Spanish lesson? I have their grammar books ready and-”
The narrow end of the tree branch rapped against the concrete of the floor causing Drake to jump. Abuelita glared at him, locking his gaze and holding him in place with it for a moment.
“I am here for their lessons,” she finally stated, “and you are there for my payment.”
Drake thought longingly of the repair and maintenance manuals in the cab of the truck and the new tool he was itching to try, but he forced a grin on his face.
“Yes ma’am,” he said. “What can I get you today?”
Abuelita pulled out a bag of woven grass from under her serape causing the indistinct patterns on the cloth to shift and change.
“Take this,” she ordered him, “and collect me the cobalt blue berries that grow on a single stalk close to the ground. They must come from the mountain to the south east of here by the crystal brook.”
Drake nodded, and took the little bag, he didn’t quite manage to infused his gestures with enthusiasm he supposed. The old woman, probably wouldn’t have noted it anyway. She turned and moved towards the garden door without waiting for any other reply. However she called out over her shoulder as he turned to find his own way out of the rambling structure.
“Don’t dawdle little one. A storm brews in the distance.”
He tried not to roll his eyes at that, the weather forecast was clear and eighties for the next week according to the morning fire report Ama had printed. The youth only nodded and slipped around the corner. He circled the barn and pulled a set of loose tan pants and tunic out of the cubby. The soft worn leather almost perfectly matched the forest floor for color as did the moccasins he pulled on after them. His morning running clothes were modern stuff that wicked the sweat away from him and let him speed through the forest. These were his free day clothes. The ones that let him disappear into the forest and wander. Abuelita, for all of her demands, would tend Em and Donny until he returned no matter how late that was, and with the Park’s yearly budget talks still under way it was highly unlikely Ama would be home until long after the sun had set. Despite still hearing the call of the half restored truck he felt something lossening in him already. The soft cotton and smooth leather rested easily against his skin and Drake slipped into the forest.
Freedom; for the moment at least, blissful freedom. Pushing aside the guilt that accompanied the thought as well as any lingering worries about his charges the youth let his legs carry him through the trees. He shunned the man made paths, following the faint animal trails. This close to the barn they were as clear to him as if they were named city streets. Being animal trails, they invariably led him to water. Today he stopped at a trickling stream, took off his moccasins, and rolled up his pants legs. The youth turned and followed the thin flow of icy water upstream, letting it steal the heat from his body through his feet.
Some distance upstream, the stream widened and pooled under a boulder. There Drake paused and pulled an old black compass out of his pocket. Behind him he knew every trail and tree. Ahead was a broad swath of National Wilderness he would have to cross, or possibly Bureau of Land Management or even state managed forests where he more rarely wandered. It was hard to tell where the boundaries were from the ground. The clearing he wanted for the berries was solidly in BLM land and he still had quite a ways to go to get there. The stand of timber that stood between him and his goal was dense with young tree and branches that frequently formed impenetrable hedges he had to track around and he checked his compass regularly as he climbed in elevation. Even so the youth found he had wandered too far off his route and had to correct when he spotted the boundary fence. However he was in no hurry and he reached the clearing long before the sun told him it was time to turn around.
Sometime in the past some unknown force had carved a shallow trench across the side of one of the small mountains that that dotted the wilderness. It had puzzled Drake at first. The scour was at the wrong angle to be an old rock slide, and terminated in a near perfectly circular clearing at the lower end. Centuries old Douglas Firs abruptly gave way to a second ring only a few decades old. Those were in turn beginning to produce cones and a smattering of knee high saplings. The rest of the space was completely given over to wildflowers. No matter what season Drake visited it he found a riot of life.
There had been an early spring and many herbs that normally would have waited a month or more were already in full bloom in the mountain meadow. A white wave of foamflower washed in from the deep forest surrounding the clearing, sending up knee high stalks covered in the delicate white blooms. Late trillium hid close to the roots of the great firs, many having shed their white corollas and begun to put forth their bulbous seed heads. Fuzzy white baneberry blossoms nodded gently in the breeze. A riot of yellow and purple spread across the ground as vetch and buttercups and a host of clovers competed for space in the open sun. Great stalks of lupine as high as his head thrust up their purple and blue proudly from thick clusters of palm shaped leaves. Pink shooting stars and violet harebells crouched under the protection of the larger plants. Indian paintbrush lit the scene with flames of red and orange. Where a spring seeped into the meadow elephant’s head flared neon pink and corydalis bushes put forth blushing blooms. Pale green wild orchids stood along the wet spot and the swarms of bees danced from them to the glacier lilies.
Sometimes, as he bent over a tiny blossom and traced the intricate network of veins in the petals, drank in the scent, and felt the smooth surface of the leaves an otherworldly feeling would come over him. It was as if there was another world just out of range of his senses. If he could only really look, the thin illusion that was blocking him would slip away and reveal the real world underneath it.
“Look Awiegwa,” his father would whisper, pointing at a deer mouse perched on a fallen log. “What does it see?”
Awiegwa would screw up his face and squint. Trying to find the answer to the question.
Awiegwa had often wondered how so many flowers had come to be in the relatively small area. He had identified dozens of species and there were more he had yet to determine. The clearing was always the first place to bloom and the last to go dormant. Many of the flowers seemed to utterly defy their usual blooming patterns. However, as time passed he had simply come to accept it. It was one of the small good things that brought back the memories of his father. If it didn’t quite follow the rules Ama had taught him, well an impossible clearing in the mountains wasn’t a place for rules.
The particular bloom that Abuelita had requested had taken full advantage of the early sun and had already put forth a few cobalt blue berries; easily spotted at the edge of the clearing in the delicate sea of white flowers.
However before he left the shade of the forest for the meadow the youth paused and closed his eyes. Bole wasn’t always here, but he was often enough that Awiegwa always checked for him. Carefully he reconstructed the clearing in his mind; marking every tree and boulder on the edge. Three years he had been coming here and each time it was easier to recreate the clearing. Breathing evenly he opened his eyes, letting the mental image merge with the actual. There was a brief moment of confusion as details like the play of light through branches and the trembling of small clusters of flowers fixed themselves but there was only one truly jarring note. Awiegwa didn’t let his eyes focus on the disparity; he never did anymore, but a warm smile spread across his features as he slipped silently into the meadow.
He was here. As the youth moved in a low crouch, gathering the first fruits of the Queen’s Cup, he let his peripheral vision linger on a particular snag. There was nothing obviously interesting about it, other than the fact that it had not been there the last time Awiegwa was here. He had named the wanderer Bole, because it most often appeared as a thick tree trunk; sometimes living, sometimes dead. Occasionally it would be a boulder or simply a mound in the dirt. Often it wasn’t in the clearing at all. If the youth moved forward and tried to closely examine it he could never find anything to suggest it was something other than a tree or rock.
He had thought about taking a sample occasionally, had taken his knife out to do just that more than once, but something always held him back. Bole was a part of this place. Dissecting him would be too much like attempting to dissect his sense of his father’s presence here. The youth had never told anyone about this place, not even Ama with who could get most things out of him easily enough. Down at the house, in town, when he was Drake; solid, reliable, first up in the morning, two grades ahead in school with a penchant for science Drake, a productive member of modern society with a promising future and his mother smiling at him. Here he could be Awiegwa. Here he could believe in the ancient medicines his father had dug out of dusty old tomes and brought to life from the forest litter. Every time Awiegwa left the clearing and headed back towards home reality would reassert itself. Bole would resolve back into a figment of his imagination, created from pride in a somewhat better than average memory and what the social workers had called an “intriguing imagination”. When he reached the house and become solidly Drake again flickers of embarrassment would begin eating at him for letting his senses trick him like that, but as long as the blooms nodded around him in this garden Bole could exist even on a Thursday.
The little woven grass bag filled up with the berries fairly quickly and Awiegwa soon stretched out of his crouch and let his gaze wander contentedly over the clearing. As it always did, the warm space was working its special magic. Worries about Em getting out of his schoolwork, of not paying enough attention to the quiet Donny, of letting Ama see his petty resentments: it had all melted away from his muscles, thoughts of college costs and abandoning his duties dissolved into an acute sense of the now. The leaves rustled softly in a barely-there breeze, the heavy scent of some unidentified blossom filled his lungs, a dozen shades of green framed the rainbow of flowers, and over and above it all the creaking of the firs as the wind played over them. It was at times like these that he felth he could almost see into heaven; that something wonderful that existed just beyond his senses, and all he had to do was reach out and claim it.
The youth took a deep breath and let himself fall backwards onto a handy rise in the forest floor. His path had taken him to the foot of the snag and he shifted slightly to align himself with the gnarled roots. One hand gripped a time smoothed root.
“Ama trusted me enough to go out of state,” he murmured. “That’s the first time she’s done that. Usually she has Abulita stay with us to fend off the Harsh, but she said it’s long past legal now.”
It was his imagination of course that made him think the root vibrated in his hand in response. Many a long hour he had spent in this clearing with the wanderer. He had poured out his frustrations and anguishes over life’s injustices, had shared his secrets as he grew, and had shouted his triumphs. Sometimes he felt closer to Bole than to any of his human friends. However, something that sounded like his mother’s voice warned him that there was something odd about this and that awareness was the main reason he had kept this place secret from Ama. Their mother hadn’t exactly liked stuff like that. She had never objected to his father’s digging up the old stories of her people. Making cross generational connections between elders, who more often than not lived isolated lives, and the next generation, was an admirable goal in of itself in her eyes; objectively a social good. Storytelling was only the natural course for these relationships to take, but subtle looks had warned even a very young Drake that it was best to cautious what he shared with his mother. At least of those things that couldn’t be placed on a microscope slide. So this was Awigewa’s place, and while his father’s spirit wanders the flowers with he had never felt his mother here.
He let his focus drift up, and up. Dark blue Lupine nodded over his head framing the faint crisscross of jet contrails that threw a light haze over an otherwise cloudless sky. His clothed grew deliciously hot from the spring sun. The ground too had eagerly accepted the energy and now it conducted the heat into the muscles of his back. Bole’s wood beneath him was warmer even than the surrounding ground and an idle thought traced across Awiegwa’s awareness; something about it being odd for the light colored wood and relatively dry wood to retain more heat than the darker soil surrounding it. His mind was filled with the impression of a goal. He had been meaning to do, something. Something fun, yes, exploring, he’d meant to see if whatever had dug that den by the second boulder was cubing this year. He would just get up and do that in a minute. His back was so warm and comfortable.
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“Flying Sparks”
Another foray into the lives of Drake McCarty, Ama Love, and the rest of their siblings as they discover that something alien is out in the forest around their home.
https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/flying-sparks-a-novel-of-dragon-bear-and-boy/coming_soon
#FlyingSparks #ScienceFiction #Scifi #Story #novel #book #DrakeMcCarty #AmaLove #Donny #Em #Bard #Bole #Aliens #Spaceships #Crystals #fireflies #NPS #NationalPark #Doctor #Sever #family #storm #writing #reading #drama #literature #author #BettyAdams #DyingEmbers #Dragons #ThingsThatGoBoomp #Indiegogo #CrowdFunding

Flying Sparks

Pre Order Now

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Chapter 2

“Hazardous? I’ll show that manipulative, misanthropic, anti-establishment cretin just what hazardous means if he thinks I’m going to fold on this!”
The sound of vigorous guitar riffs made a fitting accompaniment to the angry tirade despite originating on opposite sides of the communal area. Ama was glaring at a laptop that sat on a stained oak desk shoved against the large table near the kitchen. She tapped a fingernail on the wood as she read through the alert.
“And what violation of basic human dignity has her royal prudishness’s undies in a bunch?” Em demanded with an affected sneer without looking up from his guitar scales.
“Oh you’ll agree with this one tree-hugger,” Drake muttered from where he sat oiling his work boots.
“Yeah,” Donny piped up, “Finney is trying to kill a perfectly healthy fir.”
“What!” Em demanded, carefully placing his battered old acoustic guitar down in its case and darting over to look at the computer screen. “You mean apark tree?”
Despite her simmering frustration Ama allowed a small smile to flicker across her face as she continued to type.
“Get out of your pajamas and I’ll tell you,” Drake ordered pointing towards the bathroom door with a stained rag. “School starts in forty-five minutes and you still have breakfast and chores. That goes for you too Pip-squirt.”
“I hope you washed your hands before you touched our food,” Em said with a frown.
“Boot grease makes a great source of fatty acids.” Drake retorted. “Now go!”
The two smaller boys muttered in annoyance but stumbled off to follow orders.
“So what is up?” the youth asked as he bent his head back over the smooth leather of his boots.
“Mrs. Finney wants that tree down that’s blocking her perfect view of Crescent Lake.” Ama replied in a dry tone.
“One that’s clearly on park property?” Drake asked.
“Indeedy-do.” Ama replied giving the paper in front of her a glare.
“So how’s she justifying it?” Drake asked.
“As a safety hazard to her house.” Ama replied.
“And?”
The biologist groaned and rubbed her face.
“As far as I can tell the trunk is perfectly healthy. There is an old trash can lid grown into the trunk and a little discolored sap is leaking out there.”
“Frass?”
“Watch your language!” Donny interjected as he darted up to the table.
“Frass is not a bad word,” Drake stated. “Have you let the chickens out?”
“Yes, what does frass mean?” Donny asked as he started piling stir-fry onto his plate.
“Look it up.” Drake ordered him. “Emerald! Breakfast ends in ten minutes! Get your tukus down here!”
“It’s bad health to rush meals,” Em snapped out as he came down a narrow stairway with deliberate slowness.
“It’s even worse for your health to skip meals altogether,” Drake growled threateningly.
“Shut it and give me some eggs.” Em snapped back.
“Emerald Waters Undersun,” Drake hissed out through gritted teeth. “You are going to get your own eggs.”
The boy threw himself into a chair and glared at Drake with challenge in every line of his body.
“Emerald,” Ama said in a calm tone. “I think you should apologize to your cousin now.”
“Sorry I disturbed you Ama,” he offered without breaking eye contact with Drake.
“Not me, him,” Ama said.
“Sorry you had to hear that Donny.” Em said.
Ama heaved a sigh and closed her computer.
“Emerald,” Ama said.
“Do you want to eat or go hungry?” Drake demanded.
Ama glanced at him with a familiar uneasy look in her eyes and Drake fought down a wince.
“Now, Em.” she said in a patient tone.
“I’ll go hungry,” Em snapped, jumping up and stalking over to the couch.
Donny kept his eyes fixed on his plate. Ama heaved a sigh before turning back to her computer. Em wriggled on the couch for several minutes before skulking back to the table. Drake moved to intercept him but Ama stopped him with a look and he let Em serve himself. Drake cast irritated glances at the wall clock as the time crept more and more into school time.
Ama closed her computer and stood, then sighed, sat and opened it again.
“I need to pick out their report topics,” Ama muttered.
“I could do it,” Drake offered.
“You do quite enough,” Ama replied briskly, as she scanned the news. “Here you go. For Donny, malfunctions at the Lewis- McChord Air Force Base air show.” A frown creased her face. “Wow, this is pretty serious. It looks like the F-16 demonstration team nearly got killed.”
Drake whistled and leaned over her shoulder.
“Multiple system failures,” he read out loud. “I am pretty sure that isn’t supposed to happen.”
“Nope,” Ama agreed. “Here is a topic on big game management for Em.”
“Reports due by next week?” Drake asked as the old printer on the desk began to squeal and grumble as it powered up.
“Same as usual,” Ama confirmed.
Drake put the printouts on top of the homework pile and moved to wash up the breakfast dishes.
“I need to get to work early today so you two be good for Drake,” she called out placing a quick kiss on top of the smaller boys’ heads and giving Drake’s shoulder a friendly squeeze.
“Good luck with Mrs. Finney, and stay safe.” Drake called out as she went into her room.
The table was cleaned off and wiped down and the clink of forks gave way to the steady scratch of pencils on paper. They broke for a recess after religion and then lunch after history and math, and by the time the Grandfather clock in the corner struck two the younger boys twitching with energy. Drake made certain the internet was disconnected at the router, and chased Donny and Em out into the garden.
“And don’t come in until dark,” he ordered tossing two snack bags out after them.
Donny as usual snatched his food and disappeared into the small orachard. Low grumbles about troglodytes and the Amish wandered out into the high corn following Em and Drake shook his head in exasperation wondering, not for the first time how the dark haired princeling came from the same gene pool as his little brother. The kitchen being mostly ordered Drake was turning to put the last random dirty sock in the hamper when a gnarled hand clutching a cane head appeared in the corner of his eye, causing his heart to make a valiant attempt to bolt out of his throat.
“Abuelita!” he gasped forcing his hands down from the guard position. “Where did you come from?”
Smoldering black eyes ran searchingly over the tall youth. An impossibly long mane of streaked silver and black hair was barely contained in a thick braid. A sharply pointed nose perched over a small wrinkled mouth. A vibrant red horse-hair serape hung over her shoulders concealing everything except her brown and gnarled hands which currently clutched the old tree branch she used as a cane. Drake had been more than a little comforted by the fact that both Em and Donny had admitted to having the thought ‘witch’ every time time they saw her as well.
“From the hand of God by the bodies of my sainted mother and father,” she replied after a long, uncomfortable silence.
She always spoke in a low husky voice that suggested years of smoking, though Drake had never smelled even stale smoke on her.
“Right,” Drake blinked and grinned at the response; the one she always gave. “So you are here for their Spanish lesson? I have their grammar books ready and-”
The narrow end of the tree branch rapped against the concrete of the floor causing Drake to jump. Abuelita glared at him, locking his gaze and holding him in place with it for a moment.
“I am here for their lessons,” she finally stated, “and you are there for my payment.”
Drake thought longingly of the repair and maintenance manuals in the cab of the truck and the new tool he was itching to try, but he forced a grin on his face.
“Yes ma’am,” he said. “What can I get you today?”
Abuelita pulled out a bag of woven grass from under her serape causing the indistinct patterns on the cloth to shift and change.
“Take this,” she ordered him, “and collect me the cobalt blue berries that grow on a single stalk close to the ground. They must come from the mountain to the south east of here by the crystal brook.”
Drake nodded, and took the little bag, he didn’t quite manage to infused his gestures with enthusiasm he supposed. The old woman, probably wouldn’t have noted it anyway. She turned and moved towards the garden door without waiting for any other reply. However she called out over her shoulder as he turned to find his own way out of the rambling structure.
“Don’t dawdle little one. A storm brews in the distance.”
He tried not to roll his eyes at that, the weather forecast was clear and eighties for the next week according to the morning fire report Ama had printed. The youth only nodded and slipped around the corner. He circled the barn and pulled a set of loose tan pants and tunic out of the cubby. The soft worn leather almost perfectly matched the forest floor for color as did the moccasins he pulled on after them. His morning running clothes were modern stuff that wicked the sweat away from him and let him speed through the forest. These were his free day clothes. The ones that let him disappear into the forest and wander. Abuelita, for all of her demands, would tend Em and Donny until he returned no matter how late that was, and with the Park’s yearly budget talks still under way it was highly unlikely Ama would be home until long after the sun had set. Despite still hearing the call of the half restored truck he felt something lossening in him already. The soft cotton and smooth leather rested easily against his skin and Drake slipped into the forest.
Freedom; for the moment at least, blissful freedom. Pushing aside the guilt that accompanied the thought as well as any lingering worries about his charges the youth let his legs carry him through the trees. He shunned the man made paths, following the faint animal trails. This close to the barn they were as clear to him as if they were named city streets. Being animal trails, they invariably led him to water. Today he stopped at a trickling stream, took off his moccasins, and rolled up his pants legs. The youth turned and followed the thin flow of icy water upstream, letting it steal the heat from his body through his feet.
Some distance upstream, the stream widened and pooled under a boulder. There Drake paused and pulled an old black compass out of his pocket. Behind him he knew every trail and tree. Ahead was a broad swath of National Wilderness he would have to cross, or possibly Bureau of Land Management or even state managed forests where he more rarely wandered. It was hard to tell where the boundaries were from the ground. The clearing he wanted for the berries was solidly in BLM land and he still had quite a ways to go to get there. The stand of timber that stood between him and his goal was dense with young tree and branches that frequently formed impenetrable hedges he had to track around and he checked his compass regularly as he climbed in elevation. Even so the youth found he had wandered too far off his route and had to correct when he spotted the boundary fence. However he was in no hurry and he reached the clearing long before the sun told him it was time to turn around.
Sometime in the past some unknown force had carved a shallow trench across the side of one of the small mountains that that dotted the wilderness. It had puzzled Drake at first. The scour was at the wrong angle to be an old rock slide, and terminated in a near perfectly circular clearing at the lower end. Centuries old Douglas Firs abruptly gave way to a second ring only a few decades old. Those were in turn beginning to produce cones and a smattering of knee high saplings. The rest of the space was completely given over to wildflowers. No matter what season Drake visited it he found a riot of life.
There had been an early spring and many herbs that normally would have waited a month or more were already in full bloom in the mountain meadow. A white wave of foamflower washed in from the deep forest surrounding the clearing, sending up knee high stalks covered in the delicate white blooms. Late trillium hid close to the roots of the great firs, many having shed their white corollas and begun to put forth their bulbous seed heads. Fuzzy white baneberry blossoms nodded gently in the breeze. A riot of yellow and purple spread across the ground as vetch and buttercups and a host of clovers competed for space in the open sun. Great stalks of lupine as high as his head thrust up their purple and blue proudly from thick clusters of palm shaped leaves. Pink shooting stars and violet harebells crouched under the protection of the larger plants. Indian paintbrush lit the scene with flames of red and orange. Where a spring seeped into the meadow elephant’s head flared neon pink and corydalis bushes put forth blushing blooms. Pale green wild orchids stood along the wet spot and the swarms of bees danced from them to the glacier lilies.
Sometimes, as he bent over a tiny blossom and traced the intricate network of veins in the petals, drank in the scent, and felt the smooth surface of the leaves an otherworldly feeling would come over him. It was as if there was another world just out of range of his senses. If he could only really look, the thin illusion that was blocking him would slip away and reveal the real world underneath it.
“Look Awiegwa,” his father would whisper, pointing at a deer mouse perched on a fallen log. “What does it see?”
Awiegwa would screw up his face and squint. Trying to find the answer to the question.
Awiegwa had often wondered how so many flowers had come to be in the relatively small area. He had identified dozens of species and there were more he had yet to determine. The clearing was always the first place to bloom and the last to go dormant. Many of the flowers seemed to utterly defy their usual blooming patterns. However, as time passed he had simply come to accept it. It was one of the small good things that brought back the memories of his father. If it didn’t quite follow the rules Ama had taught him, well an impossible clearing in the mountains wasn’t a place for rules.
The particular bloom that Abuelita had requested had taken full advantage of the early sun and had already put forth a few cobalt blue berries; easily spotted at the edge of the clearing in the delicate sea of white flowers.
However before he left the shade of the forest for the meadow the youth paused and closed his eyes. Bole wasn’t always here, but he was often enough that Awiegwa always checked for him. Carefully he reconstructed the clearing in his mind; marking every tree and boulder on the edge. Three years he had been coming here and each time it was easier to recreate the clearing. Breathing evenly he opened his eyes, letting the mental image merge with the actual. There was a brief moment of confusion as details like the play of light through branches and the trembling of small clusters of flowers fixed themselves but there was only one truly jarring note. Awiegwa didn’t let his eyes focus on the disparity; he never did anymore, but a warm smile spread across his features as he slipped silently into the meadow.
He was here. As the youth moved in a low crouch, gathering the first fruits of the Queen’s Cup, he let his peripheral vision linger on a particular snag. There was nothing obviously interesting about it, other than the fact that it had not been there the last time Awiegwa was here. He had named the wanderer Bole, because it most often appeared as a thick tree trunk; sometimes living, sometimes dead. Occasionally it would be a boulder or simply a mound in the dirt. Often it wasn’t in the clearing at all. If the youth moved forward and tried to closely examine it he could never find anything to suggest it was something other than a tree or rock.
He had thought about taking a sample occasionally, had taken his knife out to do just that more than once, but something always held him back. Bole was a part of this place. Dissecting him would be too much like attempting to dissect his sense of his father’s presence here. The youth had never told anyone about this place, not even Ama with who could get most things out of him easily enough. Down at the house, in town, when he was Drake; solid, reliable, first up in the morning, two grades ahead in school with a penchant for science Drake, a productive member of modern society with a promising future and his mother smiling at him. Here he could be Awiegwa. Here he could believe in the ancient medicines his father had dug out of dusty old tomes and brought to life from the forest litter. Every time Awiegwa left the clearing and headed back towards home reality would reassert itself. Bole would resolve back into a figment of his imagination, created from pride in a somewhat better than average memory and what the social workers had called an “intriguing imagination”. When he reached the house and become solidly Drake again flickers of embarrassment would begin eating at him for letting his senses trick him like that, but as long as the blooms nodded around him in this garden Bole could exist even on a Thursday.
The little woven grass bag filled up with the berries fairly quickly and Awiegwa soon stretched out of his crouch and let his gaze wander contentedly over the clearing. As it always did, the warm space was working its special magic. Worries about Em getting out of his schoolwork, of not paying enough attention to the quiet Donny, of letting Ama see his petty resentments: it had all melted away from his muscles, thoughts of college costs and abandoning his duties dissolved into an acute sense of the now. The leaves rustled softly in a barely-there breeze, the heavy scent of some unidentified blossom filled his lungs, a dozen shades of green framed the rainbow of flowers, and over and above it all the creaking of the firs as the wind played over them. It was at times like these that he felth he could almost see into heaven; that something wonderful that existed just beyond his senses, and all he had to do was reach out and claim it.
The youth took a deep breath and let himself fall backwards onto a handy rise in the forest floor. His path had taken him to the foot of the snag and he shifted slightly to align himself with the gnarled roots. One hand gripped a time smoothed root.
“Ama trusted me enough to go out of state,” he murmured. “That’s the first time she’s done that. Usually she has Abulita stay with us to fend off the Harsh, but she said it’s long past legal now.”
It was his imagination of course that made him think the root vibrated in his hand in response. Many a long hour he had spent in this clearing with the wanderer. He had poured out his frustrations and anguishes over life’s injustices, had shared his secrets as he grew, and had shouted his triumphs. Sometimes he felt closer to Bole than to any of his human friends. However, something that sounded like his mother’s voice warned him that there was something odd about this and that awareness was the main reason he had kept this place secret from Ama. Their mother hadn’t exactly liked stuff like that. She had never objected to his father’s digging up the old stories of her people. Making cross generational connections between elders, who more often than not lived isolated lives, and the next generation, was an admirable goal in of itself in her eyes; objectively a social good. Storytelling was only the natural course for these relationships to take, but subtle looks had warned even a very young Drake that it was best to cautious what he shared with his mother. At least of those things that couldn’t be placed on a microscope slide. So this was Awigewa’s place, and while his father’s spirit wanders the flowers with he had never felt his mother here.
He let his focus drift up, and up. Dark blue Lupine nodded over his head framing the faint crisscross of jet contrails that threw a light haze over an otherwise cloudless sky. His clothed grew deliciously hot from the spring sun. The ground too had eagerly accepted the energy and now it conducted the heat into the muscles of his back. Bole’s wood beneath him was warmer even than the surrounding ground and an idle thought traced across Awiegwa’s awareness; something about it being odd for the light colored wood and relatively dry wood to retain more heat than the darker soil surrounding it. His mind was filled with the impression of a goal. He had been meaning to do, something. Something fun, yes, exploring, he’d meant to see if whatever had dug that den by the second boulder was cubing this year. He would just get up and do that in a minute. His back was so warm and comfortable.
​
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“Flying Sparks”
Another foray into the lives of Drake McCarty, Ama Love, and the rest of their siblings as they discover that something alien is out in the forest around their home.
https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/flying-sparks-a-novel-of-dragon-bear-and-boy/coming_soon
#FlyingSparks #ScienceFiction #Scifi #Story #novel #book #DrakeMcCarty #AmaLove #Donny #Em #Bard #Bole #Aliens #Spaceships #Crystals #fireflies #NPS #NationalPark #Doctor #Sever #family #storm #writing #reading #drama #literature #author #BettyAdams #DyingEmbers #Dragons #ThingsThatGoBoomp #Indiegogo #CrowdFunding

I got a scavenger Heimdall from the black market, but I'm confused about several things. Any answers to any of these questions is appreciated.

• Does the golden horn ability in repair mode create a healing burst, or does it increase healing power for 5 seconds?
  • If it is a healing burst, how much hp is healed with the burst?
  • If it is a boost to healing power, how much does it boost the healing by?
• The upgrade screen doesn't show physical shield hp or built-in gun damage (The laser gun that fires automatically). Do these parts just remain at base level stats no matter how much Heimdall is upgraded?
  • If they can be upgraded, how?
• What are the base level stats for the shield and the built-in laser gun?
• When Heimdall dies, I know it restores some grey damage for nearby allies. But does it also repair them? If so, by how much?

[Flying Sparks

Pre Order Now](https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/flying-sparks-a-novel-of-dragon-bear-and-boy/coming_soon)
Chapter 2 “Hazardous? I’ll show that manipulative, misanthropic, anti-establishment cretin just what hazardous means if he thinks I’m going to fold on this!” The sound of vigorous guitar riffs made a fitting accompaniment to the angry tirade despite originating on opposite sides of the communal area. Ama was glaring at a laptop that sat on a stained oak desk shoved against the large table near the kitchen. She tapped a fingernail on the wood as she read through the alert. “And what violation of basic human dignity has her royal prudishness’s undies in a bunch?” Em demanded with an affected sneer without looking up from his guitar scales. “Oh you’ll agree with this one tree-hugger,” Drake muttered from where he sat oiling his work boots. “Yeah,” Donny piped up, “Finney is trying to kill a perfectly healthy fir.” “What!” Em demanded, carefully placing his battered old acoustic guitar down in its case and darting over to look at the computer screen. “You mean apark tree?” Despite her simmering frustration Ama allowed a small smile to flicker across her face as she continued to type. “Get out of your pajamas and I’ll tell you,” Drake ordered pointing towards the bathroom door with a stained rag. “School starts in forty-five minutes and you still have breakfast and chores. That goes for you too Pip-squirt.” “I hope you washed your hands before you touched our food,” Em said with a frown. “Boot grease makes a great source of fatty acids.” Drake retorted. “Now go!” The two smaller boys muttered in annoyance but stumbled off to follow orders. “So what is up?” the youth asked as he bent his head back over the smooth leather of his boots. “Mrs. Finney wants that tree down that’s blocking her perfect view of Crescent Lake.” Ama replied in a dry tone. “One that’s clearly on park property?” Drake asked. “Indeedy-do.” Ama replied giving the paper in front of her a glare. “So how’s she justifying it?” Drake asked. “As a safety hazard to her house.” Ama replied. “And?” The biologist groaned and rubbed her face. “As far as I can tell the trunk is perfectly healthy. There is an old trash can lid grown into the trunk and a little discolored sap is leaking out there.” “Frass?” “Watch your language!” Donny interjected as he darted up to the table. “Frass is not a bad word,” Drake stated. “Have you let the chickens out?” “Yes, what does frass mean?” Donny asked as he started piling stir-fry onto his plate. “Look it up.” Drake ordered him. “Emerald! Breakfast ends in ten minutes! Get your tukus down here!” “It’s bad health to rush meals,” Em snapped out as he came down a narrow stairway with deliberate slowness. “It’s even worse for your health to skip meals altogether,” Drake growled threateningly. “Shut it and give me some eggs.” Em snapped back. “Emerald Waters Undersun,” Drake hissed out through gritted teeth. “You are going to get your own eggs.” The boy threw himself into a chair and glared at Drake with challenge in every line of his body. “Emerald,” Ama said in a calm tone. “I think you should apologize to your cousin now.” “Sorry I disturbed you Ama,” he offered without breaking eye contact with Drake. “Not me, him,” Ama said. “Sorry you had to hear that Donny.” Em said. Ama heaved a sigh and closed her computer. “Emerald,” Ama said. “Do you want to eat or go hungry?” Drake demanded. Ama glanced at him with a familiar uneasy look in her eyes and Drake fought down a wince. “Now, Em.” she said in a patient tone. “I’ll go hungry,” Em snapped, jumping up and stalking over to the couch. Donny kept his eyes fixed on his plate. Ama heaved a sigh before turning back to her computer. Em wriggled on the couch for several minutes before skulking back to the table. Drake moved to intercept him but Ama stopped him with a look and he let Em serve himself. Drake cast irritated glances at the wall clock as the time crept more and more into school time. Ama closed her computer and stood, then sighed, sat and opened it again. “I need to pick out their report topics,” Ama muttered. “I could do it,” Drake offered. “You do quite enough,” Ama replied briskly, as she scanned the news. “Here you go. For Donny, malfunctions at the Lewis- McChord Air Force Base air show.” A frown creased her face. “Wow, this is pretty serious. It looks like the F-16 demonstration team nearly got killed.” Drake whistled and leaned over her shoulder. “Multiple system failures,” he read out loud. “I am pretty sure that isn’t supposed to happen.” “Nope,” Ama agreed. “Here is a topic on big game management for Em.” “Reports due by next week?” Drake asked as the old printer on the desk began to squeal and grumble as it powered up. “Same as usual,” Ama confirmed. Drake put the printouts on top of the homework pile and moved to wash up the breakfast dishes. “I need to get to work early today so you two be good for Drake,” she called out placing a quick kiss on top of the smaller boys’ heads and giving Drake’s shoulder a friendly squeeze. “Good luck with Mrs. Finney, and stay safe.” Drake called out as she went into her room. The table was cleaned off and wiped down and the clink of forks gave way to the steady scratch of pencils on paper. They broke for a recess after religion and then lunch after history and math, and by the time the Grandfather clock in the corner struck two the younger boys twitching with energy. Drake made certain the internet was disconnected at the router, and chased Donny and Em out into the garden. “And don’t come in until dark,” he ordered tossing two snack bags out after them. Donny as usual snatched his food and disappeared into the small orachard. Low grumbles about troglodytes and the Amish wandered out into the high corn following Em and Drake shook his head in exasperation wondering, not for the first time how the dark haired princeling came from the same gene pool as his little brother. The kitchen being mostly ordered Drake was turning to put the last random dirty sock in the hamper when a gnarled hand clutching a cane head appeared in the corner of his eye, causing his heart to make a valiant attempt to bolt out of his throat. “Abuelita!” he gasped forcing his hands down from the guard position. “Where did you come from?” Smoldering black eyes ran searchingly over the tall youth. An impossibly long mane of streaked silver and black hair was barely contained in a thick braid. A sharply pointed nose perched over a small wrinkled mouth. A vibrant red horse-hair serape hung over her shoulders concealing everything except her brown and gnarled hands which currently clutched the old tree branch she used as a cane. Drake had been more than a little comforted by the fact that both Em and Donny had admitted to having the thought ‘witch’ every time time they saw her as well. “From the hand of God by the bodies of my sainted mother and father,” she replied after a long, uncomfortable silence. She always spoke in a low husky voice that suggested years of smoking, though Drake had never smelled even stale smoke on her. “Right,” Drake blinked and grinned at the response; the one she always gave. “So you are here for their Spanish lesson? I have their grammar books ready and-” The narrow end of the tree branch rapped against the concrete of the floor causing Drake to jump. Abuelita glared at him, locking his gaze and holding him in place with it for a moment. “I am here for their lessons,” she finally stated, “and you are there for my payment.” Drake thought longingly of the repair and maintenance manuals in the cab of the truck and the new tool he was itching to try, but he forced a grin on his face. “Yes ma’am,” he said. “What can I get you today?” Abuelita pulled out a bag of woven grass from under her serape causing the indistinct patterns on the cloth to shift and change. “Take this,” she ordered him, “and collect me the cobalt blue berries that grow on a single stalk close to the ground. They must come from the mountain to the south east of here by the crystal brook.” Drake nodded, and took the little bag, he didn’t quite manage to infused his gestures with enthusiasm he supposed. The old woman, probably wouldn’t have noted it anyway. She turned and moved towards the garden door without waiting for any other reply. However she called out over her shoulder as he turned to find his own way out of the rambling structure. “Don’t dawdle little one. A storm brews in the distance.” He tried not to roll his eyes at that, the weather forecast was clear and eighties for the next week according to the morning fire report Ama had printed. The youth only nodded and slipped around the corner. He circled the barn and pulled a set of loose tan pants and tunic out of the cubby. The soft worn leather almost perfectly matched the forest floor for color as did the moccasins he pulled on after them. His morning running clothes were modern stuff that wicked the sweat away from him and let him speed through the forest. These were his free day clothes. The ones that let him disappear into the forest and wander. Abuelita, for all of her demands, would tend Em and Donny until he returned no matter how late that was, and with the Park’s yearly budget talks still under way it was highly unlikely Ama would be home until long after the sun had set. Despite still hearing the call of the half restored truck he felt something lossening in him already. The soft cotton and smooth leather rested easily against his skin and Drake slipped into the forest. Freedom; for the moment at least, blissful freedom. Pushing aside the guilt that accompanied the thought as well as any lingering worries about his charges the youth let his legs carry him through the trees. He shunned the man made paths, following the faint animal trails. This close to the barn they were as clear to him as if they were named city streets. Being animal trails, they invariably led him to water. Today he stopped at a trickling stream, took off his moccasins, and rolled up his pants legs. The youth turned and followed the thin flow of icy water upstream, letting it steal the heat from his body through his feet. Some distance upstream, the stream widened and pooled under a boulder. There Drake paused and pulled an old black compass out of his pocket. Behind him he knew every trail and tree. Ahead was a broad swath of National Wilderness he would have to cross, or possibly Bureau of Land Management or even state managed forests where he more rarely wandered. It was hard to tell where the boundaries were from the ground. The clearing he wanted for the berries was solidly in BLM land and he still had quite a ways to go to get there. The stand of timber that stood between him and his goal was dense with young tree and branches that frequently formed impenetrable hedges he had to track around and he checked his compass regularly as he climbed in elevation. Even so the youth found he had wandered too far off his route and had to correct when he spotted the boundary fence. However he was in no hurry and he reached the clearing long before the sun told him it was time to turn around. Sometime in the past some unknown force had carved a shallow trench across the side of one of the small mountains that that dotted the wilderness. It had puzzled Drake at first. The scour was at the wrong angle to be an old rock slide, and terminated in a near perfectly circular clearing at the lower end. Centuries old Douglas Firs abruptly gave way to a second ring only a few decades old. Those were in turn beginning to produce cones and a smattering of knee high saplings. The rest of the space was completely given over to wildflowers. No matter what season Drake visited it he found a riot of life. There had been an early spring and many herbs that normally would have waited a month or more were already in full bloom in the mountain meadow. A white wave of foamflower washed in from the deep forest surrounding the clearing, sending up knee high stalks covered in the delicate white blooms. Late trillium hid close to the roots of the great firs, many having shed their white corollas and begun to put forth their bulbous seed heads. Fuzzy white baneberry blossoms nodded gently in the breeze. A riot of yellow and purple spread across the ground as vetch and buttercups and a host of clovers competed for space in the open sun. Great stalks of lupine as high as his head thrust up their purple and blue proudly from thick clusters of palm shaped leaves. Pink shooting stars and violet harebells crouched under the protection of the larger plants. Indian paintbrush lit the scene with flames of red and orange. Where a spring seeped into the meadow elephant’s head flared neon pink and corydalis bushes put forth blushing blooms. Pale green wild orchids stood along the wet spot and the swarms of bees danced from them to the glacier lilies. Sometimes, as he bent over a tiny blossom and traced the intricate network of veins in the petals, drank in the scent, and felt the smooth surface of the leaves an otherworldly feeling would come over him. It was as if there was another world just out of range of his senses. If he could only really look, the thin illusion that was blocking him would slip away and reveal the real world underneath it. “Look Awiegwa,” his father would whisper, pointing at a deer mouse perched on a fallen log. “What does it see?” Awiegwa would screw up his face and squint. Trying to find the answer to the question. Awiegwa had often wondered how so many flowers had come to be in the relatively small area. He had identified dozens of species and there were more he had yet to determine. The clearing was always the first place to bloom and the last to go dormant. Many of the flowers seemed to utterly defy their usual blooming patterns. However, as time passed he had simply come to accept it. It was one of the small good things that brought back the memories of his father. If it didn’t quite follow the rules Ama had taught him, well an impossible clearing in the mountains wasn’t a place for rules. The particular bloom that Abuelita had requested had taken full advantage of the early sun and had already put forth a few cobalt blue berries; easily spotted at the edge of the clearing in the delicate sea of white flowers. However before he left the shade of the forest for the meadow the youth paused and closed his eyes. Bole wasn’t always here, but he was often enough that Awiegwa always checked for him. Carefully he reconstructed the clearing in his mind; marking every tree and boulder on the edge. Three years he had been coming here and each time it was easier to recreate the clearing. Breathing evenly he opened his eyes, letting the mental image merge with the actual. There was a brief moment of confusion as details like the play of light through branches and the trembling of small clusters of flowers fixed themselves but there was only one truly jarring note. Awiegwa didn’t let his eyes focus on the disparity; he never did anymore, but a warm smile spread across his features as he slipped silently into the meadow. He was here. As the youth moved in a low crouch, gathering the first fruits of the Queen’s Cup, he let his peripheral vision linger on a particular snag. There was nothing obviously interesting about it, other than the fact that it had not been there the last time Awiegwa was here. He had named the wanderer Bole, because it most often appeared as a thick tree trunk; sometimes living, sometimes dead. Occasionally it would be a boulder or simply a mound in the dirt. Often it wasn’t in the clearing at all. If the youth moved forward and tried to closely examine it he could never find anything to suggest it was something other than a tree or rock. He had thought about taking a sample occasionally, had taken his knife out to do just that more than once, but something always held him back. Bole was a part of this place. Dissecting him would be too much like attempting to dissect his sense of his father’s presence here. The youth had never told anyone about this place, not even Ama with who could get most things out of him easily enough. Down at the house, in town, when he was Drake; solid, reliable, first up in the morning, two grades ahead in school with a penchant for science Drake, a productive member of modern society with a promising future and his mother smiling at him. Here he could be Awiegwa. Here he could believe in the ancient medicines his father had dug out of dusty old tomes and brought to life from the forest litter. Every time Awiegwa left the clearing and headed back towards home reality would reassert itself. Bole would resolve back into a figment of his imagination, created from pride in a somewhat better than average memory and what the social workers had called an “intriguing imagination”. When he reached the house and become solidly Drake again flickers of embarrassment would begin eating at him for letting his senses trick him like that, but as long as the blooms nodded around him in this garden Bole could exist even on a Thursday. The little woven grass bag filled up with the berries fairly quickly and Awiegwa soon stretched out of his crouch and let his gaze wander contentedly over the clearing. As it always did, the warm space was working its special magic. Worries about Em getting out of his schoolwork, of not paying enough attention to the quiet Donny, of letting Ama see his petty resentments: it had all melted away from his muscles, thoughts of college costs and abandoning his duties dissolved into an acute sense of the now. The leaves rustled softly in a barely-there breeze, the heavy scent of some unidentified blossom filled his lungs, a dozen shades of green framed the rainbow of flowers, and over and above it all the creaking of the firs as the wind played over them. It was at times like these that he felth he could almost see into heaven; that something wonderful that existed just beyond his senses, and all he had to do was reach out and claim it. The youth took a deep breath and let himself fall backwards onto a handy rise in the forest floor. His path had taken him to the foot of the snag and he shifted slightly to align himself with the gnarled roots. One hand gripped a time smoothed root. “Ama trusted me enough to go out of state,” he murmured. “That’s the first time she’s done that. Usually she has Abulita stay with us to fend off the Harsh, but she said it’s long past legal now.” It was his imagination of course that made him think the root vibrated in his hand in response. Many a long hour he had spent in this clearing with the wanderer. He had poured out his frustrations and anguishes over life’s injustices, had shared his secrets as he grew, and had shouted his triumphs. Sometimes he felt closer to Bole than to any of his human friends. However, something that sounded like his mother’s voice warned him that there was something odd about this and that awareness was the main reason he had kept this place secret from Ama. Their mother hadn’t exactly liked stuff like that. She had never objected to his father’s digging up the old stories of her people. Making cross generational connections between elders, who more often than not lived isolated lives, and the next generation, was an admirable goal in of itself in her eyes; objectively a social good. Storytelling was only the natural course for these relationships to take, but subtle looks had warned even a very young Drake that it was best to cautious what he shared with his mother. At least of those things that couldn’t be placed on a microscope slide. So this was Awigewa’s place, and while his father’s spirit wanders the flowers with he had never felt his mother here. He let his focus drift up, and up. Dark blue Lupine nodded over his head framing the faint crisscross of jet contrails that threw a light haze over an otherwise cloudless sky. His clothed grew deliciously hot from the spring sun. The ground too had eagerly accepted the energy and now it conducted the heat into the muscles of his back. Bole’s wood beneath him was warmer even than the surrounding ground and an idle thought traced across Awiegwa’s awareness; something about it being odd for the light colored wood and relatively dry wood to retain more heat than the darker soil surrounding it. His mind was filled with the impression of a goal. He had been meaning to do, something. Something fun, yes, exploring, he’d meant to see if whatever had dug that den by the second boulder was cubing this year. He would just get up and do that in a minute. His back was so warm and comfortable. “Flying Sparks” Another foray into the lives of Drake McCarty, Ama Love, and the rest of their siblings as they discover that something alien is out in the forest around their home. https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/flying-sparks-a-novel-of-dragon-bear-and-boy/coming_soon #FlyingSparks #ScienceFiction #Scifi #Story #novel #book #DrakeMcCarty #AmaLove #Donny #Em #Bard #Bole #Aliens #Spaceships #Crystals #fireflies #NPS #NationalPark #Doctor #Sever #family #storm #writing #reading #drama #literature #author #BettyAdams #DyingEmbers #Dragons #ThingsThatGoBoomp #Indiegogo #CrowdFunding

My homie Adobe and I just got some new weed and we rolled up a fat joint and we stopped at a wall to light it up and smoke it. There was a row of houses in front of us but no neighbors were out so we were just going to smoke for 3-5 minutes and leave.
We lighted it up and a couple minutes into smoking the guy (in his 20s) of the house we’re in front of across the street pulls into the driveway in a big truck. He opens the door and starts discretely recording us through the window of this truck door. I quickly notice this so I get spooked tell my friend so we start walking in the other direction. He starts walking in our direction on the phone with someone (obviously 911) so Adobe and I continue to walk faster as he starts quickly following us. We decide to book it and run away as fast as we could from the dude and the guy starts chasing after us in a full sprint but he couldn’t keep up with us.
When I got a good distance away from him I dashed behind some bushes and hid in someone’s front yard behind a tree in their front garden. Adobe does the same. He tells me he saw the guy eventually give up turn around and walk back to his house while on the phone with the cops. Adobe filled with anxiety is puking and wheezing because he was so out of breath from all the running. I was worried he would cause too much of a scene and catch attention to the cops so after the guy was out of sight Adobe and I moved spots and went to go hide in a secret bush that kept us hidden as we figured the cops would be coming to find us any minute now. Sure enough we see the cop car stroll by us very slowly and he doesn’t see us and we stay put for a little while after until we get up and start walking back to Adobe’s house.
Keep in my mind we were both super high as this all unfolded because we were just smoking a fat joint right before this. Don’t you think this guy took it a little far and reacted out of proportion? He could’ve just told us to leave but instead he called the cops and chased us when we tried to leave. AITA cuz I was pretty surprised about his reaction to what happened.
TLDR: My friend and I smoke a joint on a wall across from someone’s house and he pulls into the driveway starts recording us, calls the cops, follows us and chases us as we eventually get away from him.