"Only through art can we emerge from ourselves, to know what another sees of this universe which is not the same as ours and whose landscapes would remain as unknown to us as those that may exist on the moon. Thanks to art, instead of seeing a single world, our own, we see it multiply, and how many original artists existiem many more different we have at our disposal, worlds other than those that roll at infinity and, many centuries after having extinguished the focus from which emanated, he called Rembrandt or View Meer, still send us your special radius. "-Proust-
A Tiger Walks the Dragon's Path
How many fierce wars rise from petty strife!
—Tasius Quintius Trasias
Anapo River Valley
East of Mount Eras
Island of Naxos
The olive grove spread luxuriously over the two long, low hillsides. A cart path wound through the vale, well-worn by boots and ruts. In the distance, a caravan approached out of the east. The wagons rolled down from the hills to the central flatlands, escorted by a half-dozen mercenaries in leather armor with Kassae helms and twin javelins and swords.
I watched their passage from behind a stubborn outcropping the farmers tending the grove had failed to remove. Beside me, wearing black scale armor with the symbol of a Lion-on-Water over our hearts, crouched a singularly swarthy Leucian whose hand was curled beneath a furled standard to keep it clear of the ground. His voice sounded like he had
A Winning Hand: The Dead LiveChapter 11 (Part 2)
The Wastes held memories for Phoebe, none of them pleasant. She had hoped they had hidden an airship or any means to hasten their passage to Fel Nest. But when one has taken three men presumed dead from their coffins, the Spokes cease to remain a safe means for travel. At least not until the recently-declared-deceased ceased to be her companions.
“I’m sorry for your brother,” she said as they stood over the shallow cairns of the barrel-chested man Quique’s rifle had done for. A lonely Joshua Tree provided no shade from a morning threatening to turn into a scorching day of travel.
“He’d found out he was a lunger a month ago,” Hoxie sighed. “Better this way. He didn’t see the bullet. It was a clean death. Ne’er thought I’d thank a Hunter for killing kin.”
She nodded with
A Winning Hand? Three's A CrowdChapter 19
The night evaporated into an intoxicating indulgence of carnal pleasures. But with morning, Stiles brought her to his two-story stucco villa on the eastern outskirts of town. Columns lined the long porch welcoming her into an entrance hall of rich copper and chocolate hues. Lattice screens on either side lent an air of forbidden promises, through which Phoebe stole glances at the staff cleaning or hands taking a break to play cards.
Biting back a smile, she nudged Stiles with an elbow. “You’ve done well for yourself, Jimmy.”
“Not too bad.” He offered a satisfied smile. “I appropriated the house when the previous owner blew town just before a Crux posse rode through. The last one we saw.”
“You always were lucky,” Phoebe teased.
His hand patted her bustle, the thrum sending quivers through her core