Amanda Turek💎Writing Rushak

@acturek.bsky.social

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Writes character driven adult fantasy. WIP: Brother’s Keeper, epic fantasy sibling story Lives with bipolar - @siegeofthespirit Clinical Laboratory Scientist Mountain backcountry horsewoman 🚫politics Every trail’s the one true home.

Silenced by Drisal's low but imperative inflection, Rushak turned away. His brother did not use it on him often, but shutting his mouth with it seemed a low blow. Especially when he had so much absurdity to point out. He let Frasca carry him at a languid walk toward the Circle's edge. Drisal's voice lunged after him. "Wait, cinshamm, look, there's—“ A gale roared from the wood, plastering his hair against his face and scattering leaves in a festival of color. He whirled around. Lord Shelwon lifted the white Shammeth-stone. His sleeves billowed as flocks of birds swirled toward him from all directions. They converged overhead, circled in a fluttering CACOPHONY, and then spiraled away. ~ Brother's Keeper A.C. Turek
"So what the Acolytes have found is a knot of quarreling women!" Lara cried. "What ails you?" Standing outside the kitchen near the entrance to the gathering hall, she clenched her fist. “You've never walked the line, child, between light and dark, between black and white, between moral right and mortal wrong, have you, child," Glassa murmured between her teeth, her voice low, accusing. "You've never seen death in its unwelcome absoluteness. It has never taken from you or yours. You have never dashed yourself against tradition like a fly against a pane of glass. I love my brother! Do you understand this?" She nodded. "Of course I understand.” "How can you? You're an only child!" Lara stiffened. "They're here." ~ Brother's Keeper A.C. Turek
A photo of a black and white dog sitting looking straight at the viewer with her head cocked. She has one blue eye and one brown eye. Red text beside the dog reads: “Be the person your dog thinks you are.”
White muzzle of sorrel horse with blaze with lips parted showing upper teeth
Jedhrath looked up at the snow-covered peaks of the Kigal. They towered above all, their faces flat and imperious, their jeweled crowns puncturing the sky. GRANDer than the Lago and huge beyond his imagining, they had been there since before history. They would be there long after the ages turned and his people were dust. Those mountains had watched a thousand battles, a million migrations, their high slopes unmarked by the suffering or the dreams of those who walked beneath them. Primitive Firimar had made them gods. Today's struggle would be another insignificance at their feet. Jedhrath mouthed a prayer of thanks that the hope of his people rested on the loving guidance of Maledin-Iryla and not upon the inscrutable dispassion of those upthrust peaks, as indifferent to the Sheltri on the slope as they were to the snow-hares. Brother's Keeper A.C. Turek
"Why, why are you so angry? Why is it so important for you to debunk the foundations of our tradition? What are you searching for that cannot be found?" "Take the common prophecy as an example. Everyone claims to fear its fulfillment in this way or that, while no one really believes any of it will happen. Instead, they invent a comforting context. They debate semantics. They dismiss the frightening parts, the incomplete parts, as night tales. Why? Because no one understands it. There are too many holes." "And it's up to you to fill the holes, and in so doing prove our covenant with Maledin-Iryla a fraud?" "Not at all, though it could be one result. A.C. Turek
Holding still as a carving, he watched the wall advance. It slammed into his body, soaked him through, swept his warmth away. As a flickering shadow from among the trees, Frasca appeared, a smear in his eyes. She halted nearly on top of him, rump to the driving wind and rain, hind legs tucked under her. Her eyes glowed with the spirits of earth, sky and storm. He accepted her invitation. With mane and tail shaken loose she sprang ahead, chasing the wind over streams and fallen trees, her hoofbeats lost in the thunder and her chosen's spirit lost in the storm. A.C. Turek
Cerel looked up at Drisal. His friend was oblivious to him—indeed, to all that had happened—so he turned to help Virgil PRY snowballs from the Agents' horses' feet. Theris explained further, confirming his feeling that the dru'ach would have taken his life essence and made it theirs. The only known way to prevent that was a quick arrow through the heart... until now. "But I don't know what I did—“ Drisal hiccuped. He swiped at his running eyes and nose with his sleeve, smearing snow and mucus across his face. "What happened. I don't..." Another sob heaved through him. He looked so weak. Weak like Cerel had never seen him. Brother's Keeper A.C. Turek
Drawing of hand holding spraying spray bottle saying NO
Rushak wrenched himself away. "There you go again! Will you stop? Will you please stop discounting everything I say? Will you stop dragging me into your constant struggle against my reality?" He grabbed Drisal's upper arms in both hands and shook him. "You were not there! You did not hear the very stones of the tower screaming!" Letting go, he made as if to shove him, but only succeeded in shoving himself backward, nearly losing his balance. Unfazed, Drisal caught him. "No. And neither did you. You were overwrought then, and you've been overwrought since. It's been justified every step of the journey, but no less damaging for that! You let your pain inflate things, cinshamm. You inflate this scroll and yourself to mean—“ "Stop it, Drisal!" he cried, pummeling him, trying to wrestle away, though his brother was overwhelmingly stronger. “No i do not. I have never read anything truer.” Brother's Keeper A.C. Turek
Raccoon perched in the crotch of a tree trunk
As Lara watched in helpless horror, the smoke began to take on shape. It formed wings like a bat, but each wing was the length of four horses. It arose, beating those wings in the blood-tinged light, and an eldritch glow ignited in its crimson eyes. Its maw opened, revealing a black throat that could swallow the Forest and shrivel the defenders in its abrasive screech. All the Sheltri cowered, stricken dumb. The thing rose higher, wings outstretched, until almost out of sight of the bonfire. Then, gently, it sank. The rhythmic, slow whistle of its bulk captured time. Even the trees became silent, listening. Fire spewed from the maw of the thing, and it spoke. ~ Brother's Keeper by A.C. Turek
We understand Drisal departed ahead of the army?" Ah, here it came. Lyndina kept her expression neutral. "He went to Rhursa to join Lord Deran." "Why not ride with Lord Shelwon? What was his hurry?" "His duty, as he understood it. He took the ralm to Rhursa as soon as he finished them." "But without Lord Shelwon—“ "He does not require Lord Shelwon's DIVINE assistance. His talent was manifest long before Lord Shelwon came to us. The need is urgent, and can be met by Drisal alone." "Did the Council grant him permission?" "Are you part of the Council, that you question their gemworker's doings?" "He might have had some other reason. We notice another is absent as well." "Many have gone to war, and some but youths. If you can't speak plainly, be satisfied: there are no more Marinell sires." Brother's Keeper A.C. Turek
A shadow fell over them. Lyn stood scowling between two ash trees, hands on her hips. "Do Bey and Lena's parents know they're here with you?" "I do not know." He raised his eyebrows. “Do they, Bey?" "Um, we ...” "Rush, a word." He got to his feet and met her in the chill of the shade. "These fawns—“ "What are you doing? You know better than to take other families' children under your influence. You're under censure." He drew himself up. "I do them no harm. In fact, I do my duty as enshála by tutoring them and you should not interfere." "You're not Bey's or Lena's enshála. You've no right to insert your views into their learning." "Sticks, Lyn! These are not 'views.' They are facts. These children should be advanced to the NEXT circle." Brother's Keeper A.C. Turek
''’Drisal the Gemworker,' have you finished the rälm gems for the Council?" Drisal grimaced. "Just say rälm." He looked pained, and Lyndina smiled. She suspected he'd ACQUIRed a headache to last him the rest of the season. "And who wants to know?" "A lad came, from the Guard." He grunted. “‘Drisal the Gemworker.’” He pushed himself off the door jamb, where he'd been leaning. "You're to be at Rälla Etania by midday with whatever you have. Twas all he said." "Thank you," Drisal said, puzzled. "I regret he awakened you. He could have come straight to me." "Just as well he didn't, talamorë?" He smiled knowingly, backing out the door. When he had gone, Lyndina turned to her husband, letting the light blanket slip. "Good morning, lover!" Smiling, Drisal reached for her, Brother's Keeper A.C. Turek
View out my window of the back of our property which is a piñon-juniper forest
Pencil sketch of Drisal, a smiling man sitting with a crystal in his hand, leaning forward slightly. He is looking at the viewer and has long foamy hair.
Photo of Legend soundtrack album with a red devil on the jacket.
"It's Drisal." She wiped her eyes, hooked a finger on a clinging strand of hair and pulled it from her face. "I haven't seen him in days. He comes, he goes, without so much as a word to me or Teryl. He never came home last night! He was in his workshop all night with Rush. He wouldn't open the door. He wouldn't so much as answer me." Jer patted her on the back, making consoling noises. Cerel shook his head. All three were familiar with how secretive the brothers could get, but this did seem beyond even their extremes. And Lyn hadn't finished her story. "Suddenly he burst out of there and demanded I bring him food. Venison and blood pudding and he didn't care if it was hot or cold, he wanted it immediately." "How boorish," Jer said. "As if you were a servant!" Cerel exclaimed indignantly. "For shame!" Jer agreed. Brother's Keeper A.C. Turek
"Come in," Rush said. He was still abed, Tëryl beside him, and he looked like winter in Hellback. He smiled a greeting. "Hello, Lyn." "You look terrible." "He is TEACHing me 'The Dancing Bear,"" Tëryl said. "Show her." Rush handed over the letra. "Remember to place your fingers ahead of time." Tëryl placed the letra between his knees and played almost twelve measures before stalling, his fingers tangled in the strings. He frowned, then a laugh burst out. He looked at Rushak with wide eyes. “That is as far as I have ever—" "That's quite enough, little fawn," Lyndina said. "I'm glad you're learning to play, but you should not be acting silly, today of all days! Rush, why won't you TEACH him something appropriate, like ‘Maledin's Benediction?'" Brother's Keeper A.C. Turek
Head-and-shoulders Picrew of Drisal, a blue-eyed, fair-skinned man with rosy cheeks and sumptuous white hair standing in a forest. He would have pointed ears but they don’t show, I selected the wrong ones). He has a bow and arrows behind his left shoulder. Wearing a white cloak with a red tunic underneath. He’s grinning and giving a flirtatious look toward the next picture. I don’t know how to link to the Picrew but it’s by deerinspotlight.
With a shake of his head Virgil flicked a silver piece at Cerel. He pocketed it with a grin and turned to rummage in his pack. "Wine!" he announced. “Beyerfind Rose, for the twenty-sixth of Loëtharon, for Rushak, born this day in the season of the hunter's moon." Rush's face lit like the fires of Duinralm. "You carried that all this way?" Cerel beamed back, hugely gratified. Suddenly the cheer didn't seem so forced. “To your health!" he said, and passed around the wineskin.
"You know I must go." He pointed. "T'll be riding that way and I'll wave. You'd better be there waving back." When the lad was gone, Drisal's eyes shifted back to her. It was back, that look. How had he masked it from Tëryl, made it all right, almost trivial? Once, it would have made her smile. Now it made her even more miserable. These last turns since Rush had gone had been so good, so different: She, Drisal and Tëryl together as a family. He slipped into her embrace once more and glanced up at the slip of moon. In three days it would be Loëth moon-dark. Rush's moon. Brother's Keeper A.C. Turek
Photo of vinyl record album Eagles - Hotel California
Screenshot of a social media post Kate @DoughtyK2 In order to capture and defeat a writer you must first discover their true weakness: that one normal word that they absolutely cannot spell correctly. Only then will you be able to bind them and take their literary power as your own 8:40 PM - Oct 12, 2022
Shelves lined one wall, Drisal's tools and supplies stacked and arranged neatly upon them. Mounted on the worktable beside them, his cutting wheels looked immaculate. A jewel-encrusted chest scattered light in all directions, and a length of purple velvet covered part of the table's surface. Less tidy, boxes and small baskets on trestle tables and on the floor spilled over with rocks, gems and crystals of all descriptions. Some, dirty and in the rough, waited for his attention. Others he had ground and cut, unleashing their beauty in a multitude of facets. Brushing her fingertips over them, she marveled at the hours of work, the meticulous care, the precision with which he evoked their brilliance. The work fit him, that she could see. It gave shape to the patience, strength and perseverance that were his hallmarks. She could ALMOST feel his presence. Brother's Keeper A.C. Turek
Donald Trump tweet that flags must be lowered to half mast
Snippet of Brother’s Keeper in which Rush has lost it. White text on black background. He gritted his teeth, appalled at his own display, but even in that extremity kept his silence as he curled into a ball because it wasn't enough. He hugged himself, holding the rest inside, the agony spiraling and darting and hammering and swelling, burning every part of him, and the pressure would have killed him if not for the blood and bruises he'd served himself (there would be no screaming); he'd saved himself and destroyed himself at once, and if Brother's Keeper by A.C. Turek
Drisal did not even glance at Rushak. His face was calm, his voice controlled, and Rushak had never been prouder of him. "We heard you. Now get out, or by the Sacred Water, I will kill you." "He'll be here just after moonrise, if circumstances allow." With a sly smile, Trethis added, “You've that long to prepare your little brother to meet the Shining One, that long to figure how you're going to hide the truth from *him.”* "He's too ill to be questioned," Drisal declared. Rushak groaned inwardly. Trethis regarded his fingers, which were smeared with his kinsman's blood. "No. I don't think he is." He looked up, smiled a smile of bald innocence. "Have you an EXTRA bandage?" Rushak pulled one from the sack of medical supplies beside him. Drisal tossed it at Trethis with a huff. Smiling, Trethis mock-bowed and backed out of the tent. Brother's Keeper A.C. Turek
Rushak's shoulders heaved. He found his feet and lurched to the basin, where his arm dropped with a heavy splash. He sighed audibly, then slumped to the floor. "Rethen!" Drisal shot to his feet. But Rushak was already pushing himself to his knees. "Bucket," he gasped, overcome by nausea so acute that Drisal's own stomach began to heave. He had the bucket to hand and thrust it at Rushak just in time. ~ Brother's Keeper by A.C. Turek
We are all in his shadow Picrew of Shelwon, a smiling blue-eyed, golden-haired, pointed-eared man with red and gold armor and a bronze colored sword hilt peeking over his shoulder. He has a golden design across his brow and a golden halo hovering over him.
Calico cat sits in a dark room on the viewer’s lap facing away from them, ears pointed toward a computer monitor with an open document. All suffused in orange light.
Cerel turned, alert to a commotion behind his ranks. Horses danced aside, parting for a pair of desperate-looking, weary riders. Woolen cloaks wrapped them against the bitter wind, and from one of the ragged corners peeked the circled starburst symbol of Del Irnyn. He looked into two faces he recognized, and his heart sank. "They're ATTACKing the Sacred Tor," Brother Alewife gasped. "You must come now!" "How many?" "Hundreds, I don't know. More than we can defend against. Please, there's no time!" Cerel surveyed the shambles around him. "What about the fifty Cirdaathan knights we sent you?" - Brother's Keeper A.C. Turek
And when the others stopped at the close of the hymn, Rushak's little finger caught a string, a note to spark a new melody, and a broad and complex theme ignited in his soul. He shifted key and time signature, setting it loose with a whoop of abandon. Others joined, hesitant at first, then fierce as the stars. Dancers circled in smears of color and gilt. And then—when the music crested the treetops in tongues of bright fire; when immolation brought ecstasy and drumbeats ruled his pulse; when his letra writhed, a wanton sorceress under his fingers—he recognized it as bliss too heightened to be real. And it ceased then to be bliss. Brother's Keeper by A.C. Turek
Snippet of Brother’s Keeper by A.C. Turek white text on black: He stared into the clear water. Yes, clear it was, so, so clear. Too clear, even, to be used as a standard by which to measure the clarity of a pristine mountain creek and yet he could not see the bottom. Its depth was incalculable. He had contemplated both its clarity and depth many times before. He had prayed there, drunk of it and received Iryla's blessing. But this was far different. How far could one sink? It would be like falling off the mountain through empty air. *Four thousand spans, sixteen thousand spans, sixty-four thousand spans, infinity …*
A new kitchen was assembled, and any who would cook were recruited for that duty. No one cooked their own food anymore. Gone was the gathering hall. Gone was the unstructured atmosphere that had prevailed for cycles. Now, Lyndina supervised the production of three scheduled meals during which all work stopped save the singing of the treeshapers, which never ceased. Those who ran the kitchens before, cooks by chosen vocation, adjusted quickly to her takeover. She gave them no choice. As she could not rule Drisal, Cerel realized, it seemed the kitchen made a useful SUBSTITUTE. Brother's Keeper A.C. Turek
Woman (me) in brown hat and black T-shirt on a beautiful bay Arabian mare at a high point on a mountain trail with an expanse of forested hills spreading into the distance with snow covered peaks in the far background.
Picrew of a smiling man with long red hair and pointed ears wearing a green tunic and blue over garment
White text snippet on black background: Bráthal and Trethis stood over their table with a covered silver platter. "Good evening, master harper," Trethis said. He was dressed as formally as if he attended the joining ceremony of King Etaniel himself, in a long gold tunic and sapphire cloak. His waist-length silver hair was bound and braided with gold and yellow ribbons. "And family," Bráthal added, swathed in green silk with all hems and cuffs bordered in blue and his thick red hair tumbling over his shoulders.
armor. He brought his sword around in both nerveless hands, unable to make the moves Virgil had tried to teach him. With each pass the black blade swung closer. He heard the air sliced as he ducked, just managing to KEEP his head. He would never survive it; he could not KEEP up. He was helpless in a thundering river; cries of Sheltri, Kudrum, and horses lost shape and melted into a single roar. A lunge, a flash and Rushak's eyes flew wide. In that instant he knew he had not moved fast enough. Brother's Keeper A.C. Turek
work, it might have. Though the Water could heal wounds, it could not replace the blood he had lost; he was still reeling and weak despite the extra meal Lyn brought him. He felt filthy and hot in the oppressive HUMIDity under the trees, and all he could smell was blood. He splashed in the cold Water, cleansing away his fears, scrubbing himself with golden sand, scrubbing away at the blood he still seemed to see until his skin turned red and hid his pallor. The bit of sleep had done him good; he would meet the ceremony clean and invigorated. He regretted he had not been able to help set up for it. ~ Brother's Keeper A.C. Turek
Between his brother's QUARTERs and his own he made a side trip, not to visit Lyn and Teryl (his conscience pricked him), but to his workshop. That place he kept stocked with food and healing Water, and plenty of both. He tapped a glowing ruby set into the door, unsealing the room, and slipped inside. The air tasted of dust and slurry, sweat and sanctuary. There the bench with his treadle-powered cutting wheels, and there the pallet for nights spent too late at work. Boxes and baskets of gems and crystals lined the edges of the floor and crowded shelves and tables, their contents glistening and melodic with color. Because of the weight and the need for level support, the shop's floor was made of solid planks, swept clean daily. ~ Brother's Keeper A.C. Turek
A book made by a child bound with cardboard covered in wallpaper with a picture of a horse and the handwritten title Teffy
Cartoon of a little girl running joyfully through a store holding a toy horse in a box labeled Briar. Dad is saying to Mom, “You do realize that’s a gateway drug, right?”
Palomino Western Prancing Horse (I named Hasufel as a child) with original saddle.
A small selection of my Breyers in a display case. Black Beauty, Family Arabian Mare (Palomino,) Proud Arabian Stallion (Alabaster), Misty of Chincoteague, and a black Appaloosa Scratching Foal. The area is littered with fencing, toy saddles blankets and other things.
Frowning woman with long white hair is holding a human skull. Caption: Just a little advice, never fuck with a crone.
Ra'am Chalmalch paced across the dark AMPHITHEATER. Shaped countless greatcycles ago into the rock below the split top of Linduen's sacred peak, its substance was of brooding power. Mere stone might not vibrate so, or pulse vitality like sap into the body, sending life itself through his very boots as he descended the stairs to the plaza. Starlight glimmered on the path to the Spring of the River-source, its smooth stones worn to a sheen by the careful tread of thousands of reverent pilgrims' feet. The night was frigid at this great height, winter much nearer here than in the Forest. The Spring itself was clear as the sky, and full of stars. He did not approach it now, though often in the depth of the night he did. He glided past, his soft boots padding along rows of pale, withered flowers. Brother's Keeper A.C. Turek
waved. "Glassa, Lyn... Mistle has brought the most beautiful napkins. Come and see her embroidery!" "Deer heads," Lyn grumbled. "It's probably deer heads." She set down her knife. "Stay here," she told Tëryl, who was craning his neck around, speculatively watching an unruly mob of other children chasing a ball and each other with sticks. In a moment Lara reappeared, towing the bemused Rushak to the seat Cerel saved him. "Sit! Here's roasted Forest grouse with Beyerfind rose!" "And mushrooms!" Cerel added. Rushak shook his head but sat, appearing happy to be helpless and confused while Lara heaped a trencher for him. Drisal felt weak in the knees and finally sat, too.
Drisal drew a deep breath. "You know," he said, grasping his own certainty, "what the Work entails. You know we both must be clear-headed. You know you mustn't be reckless." Rushak remained still, tears smearing his face. Drisal secured the emeralds in their pouch. "Not these, not tonight." "What, then?" his brother asked, just above a whisper. What, then? Obviously, there had to be something. Rushak's tears clamored behind his eyes. He sat once more and patted the BENCH. "Sit down." Rushak hesitated, then sat hunched, hair obscuring his face. Drisal put a hand on his back and kept it there as if it were a poultice drawing the storm out until it receded. "I have a piece of quartz. It spoke to me yesterday." Yesterday. It seemed so very long ago now. "I think it might help you. We could make it a gift for Bráthal, in gratitude for saving your life." Rushak quirked up the corner of his mouth. Brother's Keeper A.C. Turek
glare. The gasps of horror and outrage threatened to become noticeable—if any Kudrum were keeping close watch for intruders. Not one with Cerel had ever seen anything like this. The torch bearers glided forward. Cerel dropped his arm, scything his bow. "Loose!" he cried. White arrows flew. Confusion ensued. "Draw! Loose!" he cried again. “Get the leader. Get the torches. Let fly at will. Fast as you can!" The four torch bearers fell at once, but more threw themselves forward as Cerel raised his bow. He ordered a group of warriors to run for Pangelinan. Damp tinder smoked the Father, while Kudrum swarmed toward the Sheltri. Arrows plunged into Cerel's small tine.
Several paces onward he ROUNDed a Silverbark. Trethis stepped out in front of him. Keeping watch over Bráthal, he was, with his rage too near the surface. He raised his fist, showing his teeth. But instead of startling, blocking or bracing himself, Rushak watched his own hand go up palm outward for silence as if he were some grand principal Druid presiding over a ceremony, and tilted his head toward Bráthal. The punch froze in-between them; the fist dropped like a stricken bird. Invectives died unuttered. Trethis stood aside, his flint eyes softened and sad. Rushak wandered and stumbled, hugging his middle, until the Forest atmosphere gradually settled into tranquility and Frasca rejoined him. He threw his arms around her neck and simply held on. ~ Brother's Keeper A.C. Turek
Lyn met them on the Marinell landing two trees over, stepping OUT from among several of Tëryl's friends and their parents. They were all sons and daughters born of Terbélec, clustered in a huddle of hushed voices, emanating worry and strain all out of synchrony with the festive atmosphere that should have prevailed. Their aspect reminded Drisal of himself a little while ago, that tugging on his mind, that feeling of displacement, and he felt that disquiet again. It was as if a pall had dropped, and if the radiant gemlight still bathed the trees, if the colors caught the celebrants' eyes, it stopped before reaching their souls. They'd heard the laughter, though, and witnessed Tëryl's hair's-breadth victory. They sent the lad a game wave and a cheer. - Brother's Keeper A.C. Turek
"Thank you for playing tonight! I did not expect it." Rush smiled and sighed. "I didn't either." He laughed shortly and shut his eyes, still dogged by his strange melancholy, after all. "I missed your Investiture. I'm sorry." Cerel's stomach dropped. He blinked in disbelief. "You weren't there?" "I had him beaten," he explained, his speech slurred, "but he cheated. Knocked me black. And Trethis stole my clothes." That explained it. "Those two!" He chuckled gamely. "That was a nice touch, using Bráthal in your song. Here, you did not get my present." He handed Rush the little Unicorn. - Brother's Keeper A.C. Turek
That glance behind had cost him. He had no time for those baying idiots or breath to answer their threats. The whitewater was his true adversary. This near the falls the River roused to wreak mayhem upon all the waiden and their riders. Haphazard swirls among boulders of granite, waves and holes and strong, shifting currents: These were enough. Rushak steadied his small craft by reflex and sorted among them, searching urgently for his goal.
"But at what cost?" Virgil looked over at the brothers. Drisal's face wore a mask of pain and hard resolve. He now kept Theris's harp with him, for he had found its nearness calmed Rushak. Weatherlin sighed, turning the sheathed dagger over in his hands, its hilt wrapped in a SCARF. “You know, the tooling on this sheath is not the work of Kudrum, yet the designs suggest it. A Hellback dagger violates it. I wonder what else the creatures carry that is not of them." Brother's Keeper A.C. Turek White text on black background
Head and shoulders Picrew of Rushak, a pale young man with long white hair, bright green eyes and pointed ears. Doing his best to appear happy. Wearing a white tunic and light blue coat. A forest background.
He woke to a fall that knocked his breath out. He had been carried? Where? Frasca? Cerel? After a few panicked moments he managed a lungful of air and twisted, tried to lift his head while squinting through a stream of blood. No sign of his friend. But a nearby puddle of WATER caught his eye, and he tried to push himself that way with his feet. Surely they would not begrudge him a drink of it. Pain, a crack of lightning sharper than the rest. His leg, he couldn't... His head dropped. He stifled a moan and put his ear to the shuddering ground, sorting through the drumming and thudding for a faint, familiar tapping, hoping not to sense it. The ath'kura had to be avoiding the area. They had to be! Brother's Keeper A.C. Turek
Donnan thrust the lantern into the cell as Farrowlin drew his sword, blocking the way out. The prisoner sagged, limp and motionless, his feet spilling out the doorway. Blood had soaked through the toes of his boots. The reek of blood and sick in the stale air was such an assault that Ransom gagged and averted his face. Farrowlin sheathed his sword. "See?" Donnan chortled. Ashamed of his reaction, Ransom peered into the tiny cell. The prisoner squinted in the sudden RIOT of lantern light. The irregular, grating wheeze of his breath was the only sound.