“Fate does not dictate one’s actions, though it sorely tests the ability to exercise free choice. One must dance into the deep well of discernment.”

~ Jarrod Entraimion, First of the Spiral, Age of Legends

The rising sun draped the desert in topaz light. Silence ruled.

The moments shifted and shifted into the constant present. A slight breeze arose as the warming sun fell upon sands awakening slowly. One lone yerba tree sung a threnody in low tones. Upon a smooth dune two riguas dozed, awaiting the full heat of the day.

At the foot of the dune a shiver of sand trickles disturbed the sleepy desert. Dancing in response to some unspoken violence, the sand began to twist, heave, fall away. Shadow ate away at the topaz light, sucking it into some unseen dark well. A sudden wrenching, spurts of sand now raining upon the dune. No sign of the riguas–instinct directing a retreat. And now the wind racing into a whirl of wildness, sand blasting outwards in agony. Beyond the dune the yerba tree snapped in two, victim of violence. None to hear its destruction. None to bear witness.

Arising from the core of wildness, there appeared jaggedly the semblance of a man. Dark, bleeding shadow, bearing death. Vicious death. An arm rose above his head, accusation to wind, sun, sky. A thunderclap of power rang out and instantly it all ceased–the dance of sand, the craze of wind, the oozing of shadow. Silence ruled. Topaz light dim, weak in astonishment, fear. Fear.

What he brought. What he was. What he was the emissary of, the agent of…

Nos, Lord of Shadows, had sent him here, here to this accursed land of golden light. He hated it. Hated all of life. But it was never a question within that he could or ever would disobey his Master. He must find her, the woman with the hair of flame, the one in the ancient prophecy calling for the destruction of his Dark Lord.

The Nil served. They served wholly and without question. Served the dark with blood in their eyes, flesh upon their claws. He would find her. Death would find her. It was her fate…

~from the fantasy series I’m currently writing

Daphne Cochran-Shapiro is an Author and Poet, Virtual Assistant, Crafter, and Entrepreneur who specializes in working with people needing virtual office support and web design assistance. My goal is to empower you to be the best you can be in ALL your endeavors. I invite you to browse my sites and share your comments on my works!

“Fate does not dictate one’s actions, though it sorely tests the ability to exercise free choice. One must dance into the deep well of discernment.”

~ Jarrod Entraimion, First of the Spiral, Age of Legends

The rising sun draped the desert in topaz light. Silence ruled.

The moments shifted and shifted into the constant present. A slight breeze arose as the warming sun fell upon sands awakening slowly. One lone yerba tree sung a threnody in low tones. Upon a smooth dune two riguas dozed, awaiting the full heat of the day.

At the foot of the dune a shiver of sand trickles disturbed the sleepy desert. Dancing in response to some unspoken violence, the sand began to twist, heave, fall away. Shadow ate away at the topaz light, sucking it into some unseen dark well. A sudden wrenching, spurts of sand now raining upon the dune. No sign of the riguas–instinct directing a retreat. And now the wind racing into a whirl of wildness, sand blasting outwards in agony. Beyond the dune the yerba tree snapped in two, victim of violence. None to hear its destruction. None to bear witness.

Arising from the core of wildness, there appeared jaggedly the semblance of a man. Dark, bleeding shadow, bearing death. Vicious death. An arm rose above his head, accusation to wind, sun, sky. A thunderclap of power rang out and instantly it all ceased–the dance of sand, the craze of wind, the oozing of shadow. Silence ruled. Topaz light dim, weak in astonishment, fear. Fear.

What he brought. What he was. What he was the emissary of, the agent of…

Nos, Lord of Shadows, had sent him here, here to this accursed land of golden light. He hated it. Hated all of life. But it was never a question within that he could or ever would disobey his Master. He must find her, the woman with the hair of flame, the one in the ancient prophecy calling for the destruction of his Dark Lord.

The Nil served. They served wholly and without question. Served the dark with blood in their eyes, flesh upon their claws. He would find her. Death would find her. It was her fate…

~from the fantasy series I’m currently writing

Daphne Cochran-Shapiro is an Author and Poet, Virtual Assistant, Crafter, and Entrepreneur who specializes in working with people needing virtual office support and web design assistance. My goal is to empower you to be the best you can be in ALL your endeavors. I invite you to browse my sites and share your comments on my works!

“Fate does not dictate one’s actions, though it sorely tests the ability to exercise free choice. One must dance into the deep well of discernment.”

~ Jarrod Entraimion, First of the Spiral, Age of Legends

The rising sun draped the desert in topaz light. Silence ruled.

The moments shifted and shifted into the constant present. A slight breeze arose as the warming sun fell upon sands awakening slowly. One lone yerba tree sung a threnody in low tones. Upon a smooth dune two riguas dozed, awaiting the full heat of the day.

At the foot of the dune a shiver of sand trickles disturbed the sleepy desert. Dancing in response to some unspoken violence, the sand began to twist, heave, fall away. Shadow ate away at the topaz light, sucking it into some unseen dark well. A sudden wrenching, spurts of sand now raining upon the dune. No sign of the riguas–instinct directing a retreat. And now the wind racing into a whirl of wildness, sand blasting outwards in agony. Beyond the dune the yerba tree snapped in two, victim of violence. None to hear its destruction. None to bear witness.

Arising from the core of wildness, there appeared jaggedly the semblance of a man. Dark, bleeding shadow, bearing death. Vicious death. An arm rose above his head, accusation to wind, sun, sky. A thunderclap of power rang out and instantly it all ceased–the dance of sand, the craze of wind, the oozing of shadow. Silence ruled. Topaz light dim, weak in astonishment, fear. Fear.

What he brought. What he was. What he was the emissary of, the agent of…

Nos, Lord of Shadows, had sent him here, here to this accursed land of golden light. He hated it. Hated all of life. But it was never a question within that he could or ever would disobey his Master. He must find her, the woman with the hair of flame, the one in the ancient prophecy calling for the destruction of his Dark Lord.

The Nil served. They served wholly and without question. Served the dark with blood in their eyes, flesh upon their claws. He would find her. Death would find her. It was her fate…

~from the fantasy series I’m currently writing

Daphne Cochran-Shapiro is an Author and Poet, Virtual Assistant, Crafter, and Entrepreneur who specializes in working with people needing virtual office support and web design assistance. My goal is to empower you to be the best you can be in ALL your endeavors. I invite you to browse my sites and share your comments on my works!

“Fate does not dictate one’s actions, though it sorely tests the ability to exercise free choice. One must dance into the deep well of discernment.”

~ Jarrod Entraimion, First of the Spiral, Age of Legends

The rising sun draped the desert in topaz light. Silence ruled.

The moments shifted and shifted into the constant present. A slight breeze arose as the warming sun fell upon sands awakening slowly. One lone yerba tree sung a threnody in low tones. Upon a smooth dune two riguas dozed, awaiting the full heat of the day.

At the foot of the dune a shiver of sand trickles disturbed the sleepy desert. Dancing in response to some unspoken violence, the sand began to twist, heave, fall away. Shadow ate away at the topaz light, sucking it into some unseen dark well. A sudden wrenching, spurts of sand now raining upon the dune. No sign of the riguas–instinct directing a retreat. And now the wind racing into a whirl of wildness, sand blasting outwards in agony. Beyond the dune the yerba tree snapped in two, victim of violence. None to hear its destruction. None to bear witness.

Arising from the core of wildness, there appeared jaggedly the semblance of a man. Dark, bleeding shadow, bearing death. Vicious death. An arm rose above his head, accusation to wind, sun, sky. A thunderclap of power rang out and instantly it all ceased–the dance of sand, the craze of wind, the oozing of shadow. Silence ruled. Topaz light dim, weak in astonishment, fear. Fear.

What he brought. What he was. What he was the emissary of, the agent of…

Nos, Lord of Shadows, had sent him here, here to this accursed land of golden light. He hated it. Hated all of life. But it was never a question within that he could or ever would disobey his Master. He must find her, the woman with the hair of flame, the one in the ancient prophecy calling for the destruction of his Dark Lord.

The Nil served. They served wholly and without question. Served the dark with blood in their eyes, flesh upon their claws. He would find her. Death would find her. It was her fate…

~from the fantasy series I’m currently writing

Daphne Cochran-Shapiro is an Author and Poet, Virtual Assistant, Crafter, and Entrepreneur who specializes in working with people needing virtual office support and web design assistance. My goal is to empower you to be the best you can be in ALL your endeavors. I invite you to browse my sites and share your comments on my works!