Fingers strum against the brass metal strings of my fathers guitar, plucking and grazing as I look down at the the small pin prick collected in a bunch in my left elbow crook. It had hurt, but that’s the point of being human. Perhaps the soul’s purpose for living is to feel. I still remember the sting as metal collided with tender skin, tender muscle. I focus on the pain, the only thing that is real to me anymore. An old familiar sting, tearing a hole in myself as i try to kill it all away…But. . .
Fingers strum against the brass metal strings of my fathers guitar, plucking and grazing as I look down at the the small pin prick collected in a bunch in my left elbow crook. It had hurt, but that’s the point of being human. Perhaps the soul’s purpose for living is to feel. I still remember the sting as metal collided with tender skin, tender muscle. I focus on the pain, the only thing that is real to me anymore. An old familiar sting, tearing a hole in myself as i try to kill it all away…But. . .
FIORIE AND KROORRIJK
PROLOGUE
The silence as the wagon wheels ceased to creek pulled Fiorie to consciousness. She willed her mind to drift into a pleasant state of dream, her body growing soft. Long years of practice had made this response to awaking in the midst of unknown dangers automatic.
Her handler was talking to someone. The new voice was in a sharp sounding Vexra, the tongue shared by all feral races. She presumed the owner of the voice to be one of the Kalutai, the t. . .
FIORIE AND KROORRIJK
PROLOGUE
The silence as the wagon wheels ceased to creek pulled Fiorie to consciousness. She willed her mind to drift into a pleasant state of dream, her body growing soft. Long years of practice had made this response to awaking in the midst of unknown dangers automatic.
Her handler was talking to someone. The new voice was in a sharp sounding Vexra, the tongue shared by all feral races. She presumed the owner of the voice to be one of the Kalutai, the t. . .
