Sheep, darkroom print by Mark Dries Via Flickr: All Adox:
- shot on CHS 100 II film 120 format
- printed on Variotone FB paper
- print developed in Warm tone developer
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summer stretches herself thin over the winter-marked tree branches and dried out grass patches, just enough for comfort. just enough to let them know she’s back.
summer pushes her fingers into the dirt and pulls up the smallest flowers she can find, cringes at the heat that crushes them moments later. she can’t help it. just who she is.
summer yawns across the earth and, briefly, calls herself spring.
on springtime in texas, aka the shortest season of the year (by bela s.)
Twitch scurried in one of Mundo’s labs, hoping to steal some rare ingredients for his potions, only to find everything completely destroyed. The rodent carefully walked past the multiple corpses on the floor. “What the-” Twitch muttered out of breath. He knew humans were stupid, but this was something else. As he walked, he caught notice of something orange, something unusual. When he walked towards it, he saw a little orange rodent, unconscious and full of scars. Around him were multiple claw marks and dried blood.
“So.. THIS was the thing that killed them huh,” Twitch chuckled, looking at the small innocent harmless yordle. “Hmph! Typical humans.” Twitch looked around for an ingredient, but he can’t find anything. “Well, I’m not coming to this surface-world castle for nothing! Guess I have a new subject.” Twitch chuckled. Twitch strapped his crossbow and hoisted the little orange rodent on his back.
When he was finally in his lair, he took the yordle off of his back, laid him on a soft pillow he found in the sewers, and took a look at him. He looks so innocent. “How did something like you.. destroy so many humans?” Twitch thought. As he was thinking, he saw it open his eyes. The rat took out his crossbow in response.
It was a somewhat normal day for Mark and Lyn out on the plains. Old Rutger was out trying to find a house for him and Jeanne, Young Rutger was at Lilina’s birthday party with Roy, and the two had just finished putting their washed clothes out to dry.
“So, we have a perfect sunny day to spend with each other.” Mark said as he dried his hands off. “How do you want to spend it?”
“Well, I don’t know about you, but the lake was looking like a good option. Clothes on the other hand, not so much.” Lyn answered as she placed a sensual kiss on Mark’s cheek. He was about to make a response when he saw something off into the distance.
“Is that a horse?” He asked squinting some since the sun was in his eyes. “Because if it is then it’s coming in fast.” Lyn could see better than him and she knew who it was from the familiar flash of red armor.
“It’s Kent, I wonder why he’s riding so fast, I don’t see anyone behind him giving chase.” She wondered as he got closer and closer.
Prince produces the book from the deep shadows beneath the rolls of his scarf. He steps closer towards the other man, standing by his side so they could both look at the same time.
He opens a section marked by a dried lavender sprig. In it Vizier could see his mother’s messy sigils and handwriting, using an ancient text possibly to deter others from taking from her grimoire. Beside it was Malzahar’s own notes, in small, almost minuscule text. Exceptionally neat and legible.
He hadn’t translated even half of the book. “Most of the first spells are spells for battle.” He was close, sometimes brushing shoulders with him.
Malzahar had experience with older texts, quite a few of the djinni that he spoke to were unfamiliar with the more modern ones. He could only, however, recognize a few of the words out of the pages that he saw, and none of which even hinted at usefulness. Frustrating, it would take hours to even decipher a few sentences with the dialect. Beyond that he was becoming increasingly aware of the Prince’s proximity.
His traitorous body reacted according to the chemicals the magic had flushed him with, becoming almost feverish at the brush of shoulders. After the second accidental contact, Vizier jerked away, staggering in a moment of uncharacteristic gracelessness before straightening.
“I am sorry, my prince, but you should not stand so close. I am not well.” he offered, rubbing his shoulder absently. He was becoming distracted. It might do just as well for him to find another solution, lest the one he was avoiding be the only thing he could bring himself to do.