Ruth Hanson

@ruthiewrites91.bsky.social

304 Followers 103 Following

She/They 💙💜💖🎬: published author, optioned screenwriter, hopeless romantic https://linktr.ee/ruthiewrites for all my goodies

Samba

On land birthed by rising sun
Where good earth drinks the sea
Wild mothers rear wild daughters on
Both magic touched and free

Once for every swath of girls
a single Sage is chose
To guide her sisters forward bound
Till final sleep she goes

With death does come a baby born
To take the Sage's place
But if the choice is wrongly made
The bonds of blood shall break

And so it goes that fragile things
Are carved from wood and bones
With wit to cull the worst of kings
Who sit on feathered thrones

"But... but that's not fair."

"So little in life is, princess." Lysander leaned forward on his knees. "So many people depend on you. I can just imagine the chaos of your marshes with you missing for the past month. Your sisters need you. Where as I..." The laugh on his lips was poisonous. "I am a lowly mercenary. One of countless. No face, no name, no real place to call home. What am I in comparison to someone like you?" His smile remained, sad and defeated though it was. "If there is a chance, even in the slightest, that my freedom will cost you your life, it is not one you should take."

Bryory was speechless. Sitting on the bed, she could not pull her eyes away from Lysander even if she wanted to. Was this the same man who openly mocked her? Hoped to irritate her nerves enough to justify his cruelty to her? The same man who lied to her, threatened her, dragged her barefoot for miles? Surely not. Except... yes. It was.

But all things have the ability to change.

Before her stood a structure so massive and daunting, it instilled in her the same fear she would have felt if she'd come upon a sleeping bear. A gargantuan hall with endless windows stood perched on a rocky island, surrounded by wetlands. Iron fences encircled the property for miles. They had clearly been there for years, perhaps even decades, as decrepit trees had wrapped their roots around many of the fence prongs to help them grow. The fog was thicker here, and Millie was hards pressed to see where the structure ended. On the front gate was a brass crest, turned green from age. On it was a corvid, its wings stretched wide in both an act of welcome, and a warning for all.

This was Blackmoore College.

The twin ridges stood as peaceful as sleeping giants. She couldn't even see the tops, as many were blocked by tufts of cloud. She laughed, almost in spite of herself. She wondered why she didn't feel intimidated by such massive mountains. But there was something about them, be it the impressive width of the canyon or the fact that they were purely a product of nature, that overwhelmed Bryory with a sense of awe.

"By the Blessed," she breathed. She turned and called out. "Lysander! Come out and see!" Her voice echoed between the mountain ridges and she laughed. Cupping her hands to her mouth, she shouted: "Hello!"

Hello! Hello! Hello!

"Oh what fun. Helloooo!"

Looo! Looo! Looo!

Bryory giggled and turned back around to the cave. "Lysander, can you hear me in there?" She stepped inward, temporarily blinded by the darkness. "Are you still resting?"

That's when she heard the crackling of snowy rock.

Bryory clicked her tongue and sat back on the bed. "I suppose it is wise to adhere to foreign customs while I am a guest." Still, that didn't mean Bryory had to like it. She shivered, and Richter, noticing that the furnace was cold, approached it to start a fire for her comfort. Bryory's smile was small, and she put her hands in her lap. "Captain Richter?" He turned to her. "Would you perhaps teach me what I must know? There is clearly more importance on my presence in the king's court than I had previous thought."

With his embarrassment gone, Richter agreed with a smile. "As you wish, my lad. I have lived in Vallake my whole life. You are free to ask me anything and everything."

"I suppose I should like to ask first why sex is so reviled among your people."

Richter's smile fell, and he ran his hand down his face. "I did say you could ask me everything."

“So I am the villain in this? Is that it?” Bryory snorted, feeling any sense of decorum leaving her body. “How kind of you to drag this out into the air to fester.”
“Drag what out, princess? The fact that you will not listen or the fact that you have painted me a jealous clown rather than see my points?”
“I suppose I should have expected you to remain just as insufferable as you were back in Vallake. Do you enjoy upsetting me? Is that it?”
“Do I enjoy...? Here ye, here ye! Let it be known that I, Lysander Silverheart, am a sadist of the highest order!”
“Now you're just being cruel!”
“Turnabout is fair play.”
“Nothing about your words are fair!”
“Neither are yours.”

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An email inviting me (an author) to use AI to voice audiobooks. This harms both the voice over community and the creative community as a whole

I wish I had the confidence
Of someone mediocre

The man who says “Oh I can do it!”
No hint of what to broker

The swagger, unearned certainty
Like stray cats in a clowder

Yowling, meowling, rife with fleas
Un-doubting in their power

I wish I had the confidence
Of someone thick as lead

Whose bullish, garish tendencies
Are seen as earned instead

Someone loud and boisterous
Think hard, you know the type

The man who trades in empty vows
The man who lives on hype

I wish I had the confidence
Of the talentless and cruel

Whose great idea of learning
Has naught to do with school

In fact they sneer at any hint
That they should learn the trade

Their throne is made from floral foam
But they insist it’s jade

I wish I had the confidence
Of some unruly lout

But alas, for I have talent
So all I get is doubt