golden crop

Descriptions of Gavriel

All of the descriptions of Gavriel in Heir of Fire and Empire of Storms:

Heir of Fire

“The mountain cat became a tall, broad-shouldered male”
“The golden-haired stranger”
“A warrior, like Rowan—though his surprisingly lovely face had none of the prince’s severity”
“Gavriel scrubbed at his face, his heavily muscled back expanding as he took a breath”
-pg 273
“The tracings of a tattoo snaking from the strangers left pectoral down his ribs and right to his hip bone”
“The bright candles showing tawny eyes glazed with pain”
-pg 274
“Gavriel’s tawny eyes”
-pg 444
“They passed by the golden-haired male lingering by the back gate”
“Gavriel’s tawny eyes flickered”
“The glimmer of sadness in his golden eyes”
-pg 485
“Gavriel, his tawny eyes carefully empty”
-pg 507
“There was no remorse on Gavriel’s lovely face”
-pg 507

Empire of Storms

“Two golden haired makes appeared in the doorway”
-pg 205
“The other male beside him—tan, tawny-eyed, with a steady sort of quiet to him—lifted his broad, tattooed hands”
-pg 206
“The solemn, golden-eyed one nodded, his pale clothes so like the ones Rowan favored: layered, efficient fabric, fit for battlefields. A band of black tattoos encircled the male’s muscled neck”
“The tattooed one”
“A flick of tawny eyes in his direction”
-pg 207
“Gavriel’s tawny eyes darkened”
-pg 214
“The tattoos on Gavriel’s throat— marks Rowan himself had inked—bobbed with each word”
-pg 216
“The warriors hands were clenched so tightly the scars over his knuckles were moon white”
-pg 221
“Aedion had been a boy the last time she’d seen him—but as a man… With Gavriel’s immortality, they even looked the same age”
-pg 247
“The warrior’s tan face was tight, his eyes full of sorrow and steel”
“Those tawny eyes flashed; the tattooed hands curled into fists”
-pg 250
“The face of a lion”
-pg 251
“Gavriel’s tattooed hands closed into loose fists”
-pg 278
“The golden-haired man”
“Honed, broad features; the harsh mouth”
“The cropped golden hair was different; more sunshine to Aedion’s shoulder-length honey gold. And Aedion’s skin was Ashryver golden—not the sun-kissed, deep tan”
“Unreadable, intent face”
“The lion incarnate”
-pg 288
“His father’s tan face had drained of all color”
“Those lion’s eyes full of such grief”
-pg 289
“The lion of doranelle gave a wary smile over his shoulder. The rare-sighted, restrained twin to Aedion’s own flashing grins”
-pg 450
“Gavriel’s tawny eyes gleamed animal-bright in the darkness”
-pg 503
“Those lion’s eyes darkened”
-pg 504
“Golden eyes flickered in the brush not thirty paces ahead”
“Enormous golden eyes”
-pg 534
“Reaching with broad hands for her arm”
-pg 538

Basically what I learned from this is that Gavriel clenches his fists a lot

Descriptions of the cadre part 3/5

5

He reminded me of the wooden nesting dolls I’d played with as a child.

Long Drives

Long drives and fill up stations
no route or destination
just a breeze blowing by

how far can I go

through these windows I see mountains
homes so big with water fountains
places I don’t know

how far can I go

detour blocking road signs
curving, rolling coastlines
rain and passing trains

fields tall and flowing
golden crops full and growing
I don’t care where I’m going

but how far can I go



Abandoned Cars

There’s a stretch of interstate outside the city that cuts through empty farm land, fields unfolding out for miles in either direction until their golden crops fade into the horizon. You’ve made this drive dozens of times since taking the new job in a neighboring town. 

It’s a long commute, and it’s always dark before you make it home, but the money makes it worth it. That’s what you tell yourself, anyway. 

At night, the road is mostly empty. You’ll see tail lights up ahead, sometimes, or a lonely truck that you pass, holding your breath as your car rattles up through its blind spot. But otherwise, the commute leaves you alone with your thoughts, and the darkness that exists outside the twin circles of your headlights. 

Except, of course, for the abandoned cars. 

At first, you don’t think much of it. You’d see a car pulled off onto the shoulder and slow down, thinking it might be a speed trap. But it never is: Just a car standing empty and abandoned at the side of the road. 

Maybe they broke down, you think, as you pass two more the next day. 

Maybe they blew a tire. Ran out of gas. Radiator leaked. 

You never see anyone with the cars, though. No raised hoods, no chassis held up on blocks. Only the cars lining the highway, pulled off into the soft earth of the fields. 

There are so many. A dozen. Two dozen. As many cars as there are mile markers on your bitterly long commute. 

They begin to make you uneasy. 

Stories about drug corridors and car theft statistics rise up, unbidden, in your thoughts. You wonder about the crimes committed in those cars. The fates of the people who drove them. What might be lurking inside their trunks. 

Superstitiously, you begin to speed up a little faster whenever you see one. 

You hold your breath, as if passing a graveyard. 

As you pass them, you see that some have doors that are open, as if their passengers left them in a hurry. Sometimes, their lights are still on. 

Tonight, it’s especially dark as you crawl home in your sputtering, rattling old sedan. The time change has turned twilight into nighttime, and there is no moon overhead to illuminate the road. 

And perhaps that’s why you see it so clearly, in the distance: Arcing over the field to your right, a brilliant blue-green light, flashing and twinkling as it makes a slow descent toward the earth. 

Curiosity tugs at you. There is no one behind you, and so you step off the gas, craning to look out the passenger window. The light falls steadily toward the ground. 

The steering wheel jerks in your hand, and you jump, startled, realizing that you had begun to drift between the lanes. Your fingertips tremble, a jolt of adrenaline coursing through you. 

You need to pay attention. You need to keep your eyes on the road. 

But the light has not disappeared from view out the passenger window. It has grown in size and intensity, like a great glowing moon hanging over the horizon. Without thinking, you ease your car off onto the shoulder, and put it into park. You’ll only be a minute. 

You leave the keys in. The engine running. The driver’s door gapes open as you unbuckle and rise out, crossing behind the car as you search for the source of the strange ethereal glow. 

Your feet cross over from gravel to warm, loamy soil. The wheat tickles at your ankles as you make your way into the field, eyes locked now upon the light that dances at the horizon. 

You walk. The light grows steadily larger as you approach, and your legs move as if on their own, like some cable has been disconnected from your brain and plugged into another source. You are aware, peripherally, that you are no longer in control of your body. But that problems feels distant, too far away to be of a concern. 

You are aware, too, as you come to a stop, that the crops around you have been flattened. They lay against the earth in unusual patterns, and you stand in the middle with a head craned upward, eyes set on the glowing ball before you, impossibly huge now that you are beneath it. 

All you can think is that it is the most beautiful thing you have ever seen. 

And then, swiftly, the light jerks upward, as if pulled away by a string. Something else comes into view, gray and huge. Its eyes are empty dark sockets, but its mouth is enormous, gaping, filled with row upon row of gleaming teeth. 

They are the last thing you see before the darkness envelops you. They are the last thing that you feel as you are crushed, severed, swallowed. 

On the interstate, a pickup truck passes, and wonders why there are so many cars abandoned on the highway.