Avery Line

@averyline.bsky.social

93 Followers 46 Following

Fantasy author who is fascinated with editing other people's blurbs. Intuition and emotion FTW Sick of the patriarchy ❤️ 1980s fantasy ❤️ cooking 🚫 AI

If Lys had known she'd be the one to create the world’s first goddess, she probably would have used something more dignified than a turnip. Furthermore, if she'd foreseen what would come of it–what havoc their daughter would wreak, and how many people would die over the millennia as a result–Lys would probably have told Clora exactly where to to stuff that turnip seed.

Lys lay curled together with Clora in the teeming forest of Heiforst and tried to be as inconspicuous as possible. Her pack had begun the migration down from the plateau. Some on four legs, padding silently over mossy rocks and fallen trees. Some on two legs, boisterous and chatty, discussing where the elk might lead them this winter.

It meant nothing to Lys, because she and Clora weren’t going to join the migration. She lay back in the ferns, which had started to brown at the tips, and looked into the trees. The forest teemed with life and greenery. Nightwings chirped in the canopy, preparing to hunt. Rasp berries sang in the bushes, entirely too loud, and off-key to boot. The gossamer wings of dragonflies glinted in the golden evening sunlight as they chased down shriek beetles, who announced their demise with disconcerting cries.

“Last chance to go with them,” Clora murmured onto her ear.

Handwritten page about the last human, a soldier who becomes an arena fighter.