My head snaps up.
“Yes, asimi, your Mother is of Miacandros. Listen, I will tell all I know. Saw your Mother isn’t so accurate, actually. What I did was trip over your Mother, who was sitting just inside what was a huge storeroom of food and goods. She was sitting on one of those huge, cold gray stones, with bags of dates piled behind her, strings of garlic and… Continue reading
I wake the next morning before dawn and dress silently, but when I step out into the main room Asa is already there stirring up the fire. He nods his head toward a mug of steaming tea on the table, then brings his own over and sits down beside me. We are silent for a few moments, smelling the sweet herbs of the tea and the smoke of the fire… Continue reading
Now as I approach Malcedon, striding across the last mile of desert sand, I feel the same pressure in the back of my throat. Fear sings in my head and pulses through my blood. I have cursed and prayed and survived these last eight years just for the chance to get back here and make the journey I never made that winter. The same instinct that made me flee the… Continue reading
All the ships and people seemed to blur around me as I walked down the docks. It was the first time I had felt hopeless in my life. Always I could see a way out, could picture something coming tomorrow that would save us, could really believe my most childish fantasies of deliverance. That day I could only see gray, a blank wall, an empty desert, a cold wooden stall… Continue reading
The city was huge, its market alone the size of the small city we had come from. Its trade did not diminish in winter as that of most cities did. We pushed our way through the crowds crowing over the freshest produce and newest merchandise. There were many kinds of food I had never seen or smelled before. The ships brought in the finest goods of all the surrounding countries… Continue reading
This Jofthar who intended to marry my sister employed at least two dozen men and boys in the fields, from what I could see. Most of them were working in the orchard, plucking the ripe olives into baskets. They were probably seasonal help, most of them unknown to the household servants. I removed my sash and tied it around my head for a turban, letting the sides hang down to… Continue reading
Hi, I'm Annie Mueller. I'm a freelance writer, a blogger, and a general, all-around over-achiever. I love producing great pieces for editors and great content for small business owners.
