Claws grabbed his head from behind, curving round his face, serrated talons gouging into his eyes
For the first time, they were seeing the dream beneath the flesh.Karla stared at the pointed ears that had come from the Dea al Mon, the hands with sheathed claws that had come from the Tigre, the hooves peeking out from beneath the black gown that could have come from the centaurs or the horses or the unicorns. Most of all, she stared at the tiny spiral horn.The living myth. Dreams made flesh. But, oh, had any of them really thought about who the dreamers had
Queen of the Darkness
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For the first time, they were seeing the dream beneath the flesh.Karla stared at the pointed ears that had come from the Dea al Mon, the hands with sheathed claws that had come from the Tigre, the hooves peeking out from beneath the black gown that could have come from the centaurs or the horses or the unicorns. Most of all, she stared at the tiny spiral horn.The living myth. Dreams made flesh. But, oh, had any of them really thought about who the dreamers had
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There, conspicuous in the light of the conflagration, lay the dead body of a woman__he white face turned upward, the hands thrown out and clutched full of grass, the clothing deranged, the long dark hair in tangles and full of clotted blood. The greater part of the forehead was torn away, and from the jagged hole the brain protruded, overflowing the temple, a frothy mass of gray, crowned with clusters of crimson bubbles__he work of a shell.The child moved his little hands, making wild, uncertain gestures. He uttered a series of inarticulate and indescribable cries__omething between the chattering of an ape and the gobbling of a turkey__ startling, soulless, unholy sound, the language of a devil. The child was a deaf mute.Then he stood motionless, with quivering lips, looking down upon the wreck.
The Professor gripped his axe, having pulled it, with some difficulty, from the boy's head.
I never said you had to like it. You have to accept it. No regret." - Clare Harding From the current book in writing BUMPKIN by Lani Brown.
Where got she her sullen mouthAnd where her swaying form?Would she live on eggs and applesWhen the blood of men is warm?(__he Young Witch_)
The war consciousness is purposely cultivated to guide the male away from the natural, healthy balances between masculine and feminine energies, and toward more unbalanced and detached psychologies.