cave in the woods


George’s Wood Furniture Repair and Custom Woodworking Shop.


Little brother has this little 22 Ruger with awful grips, so after I ruined a set of the wrongs grips dad had laying around I just made some custom ones for it.
Cause duh.

After so many centuries, Aithusa is nearly as large as Kilgharrah was… Merlin’s developed magic had been able to heal the white dragon, relieving her of the crippled bones and stunted growth caused by her long captivity. He would always feel guilt for what Aithusa had suffered, though she felt nothing but love and gratitude for her kind, sad-eyed Dragonlord… Well, after many a tantrum about having to wait in dank caves and dense woods for Merlin’s too-brief visits, he’d begun (with varying degrees of success) to transform Aithusa into a much smaller form so that she may visit him as well. He’ll admit that it’s nice to have some company while waiting for Arthur…

Ah, so I drew (and wrote) this in response to freyambrosius’s request for “Merlin with cats”! Was gonna just draw him being smothered with random fat kitties, but then I got lost in deep head-canon territory, lol… Hope it’s enjoyed! ^^


I have gone out, a possessed witch,
haunting the black air, braver at night;
dreaming evil, I have done my hitch
over the plain houses, light by light:
lonely thing, twelve-fingered, out of mind.
A woman like that is not a woman, quite.
I have been her kind.

I have found the warm caves in the woods,
filled them with skillets, carvings, shelves,
closets, silks, innumerable goods;
fixed the suppers for the worms and the elves:
whining, rearranging the disaligned.
A woman like that is misunderstood.
I have been her kind.

I have ridden in your cart, driver,
waved my nude arms at villages going by,
learning the last bright routes, survivor
where your flames still bite my thigh
and my ribs crack where your wheels wind.
A woman like that is not ashamed to die.
I have been her kind.
—  Anne Sexton, “Her Kind”

ElfWeek - Day four: Elven realm(s) 

In a great cave some miles within the edge of Mirkwood on its eastern side there lived at this time their greatest king. Before his huge doors of stone a river ran out of the heights of the forest and flowed on and out into the marshes at the feet of the high wooded lands. This great cave, from which countless smaller ones opened out on every side, wound far underground and had many passages and wide halls; but it was lighter and more wholesome than any goblin-dwelling, and neither so deep nor so dangerous. In fact the subjects of the king mostly lived and hunted in the open woods, and had houses or huts on the ground and in the branches. The beeches were their favourite trees. The king’s cave was his palace, and the strong place of his treasure, and the fortress of his people against their enemies. 

[…] This was the bridge that led across the river to the king’s doors. The water flowed dark and swift and strong beneath; and at the far end were gates before the mouth of a huge cave that ran into the side of a steep slope covered with trees. There the great beeches came right down to the bank, till their feet were in the stream. 

Inside the passages were lit with red torch-light, and the elf-guards sang as they marched along the twisting, crossing, and echoing paths. These were not like those of the goblin-cities; they were smaller, less deep underground, and filled with a cleaner air. In a great hall with pillars hewn out of the living stone sat the Elvenking on a chair of carven wood. On his head was a crown of berries and red leaves, for the autumn was come again. In the spring he wore a crown of woodland flowers. In his hand he held a carven staff of oak.