The Half-son

Tin'ntiri of the House of Skies

The Flight From Bræyk-helð


A single clear note carried high upon the thin alpine air, animating a single imperative:  "Säitoluhæsol!"  The veneer of restraint was rent.  Deep within the crevices of the overhang, ice boiled in an instant.

A sandaled foot had quickly become the unspoken token of those who would go against the invaders.

"I'm goin' t' tell," bellowed the little man, his rumbling voice so incongruous with his diminutive size.

She had a round, fleshy face cross-hatched with wrinkles that seemed pinched by her close-lipped smile.  The tip of her pink nose dangled like a soft earlobe between two quick, curious nostrils that flared as a small breeze stirred.

As though slipping off the edge of the world, the Shuril Falls plummeted more than three thousand feet without a break before exploding in a burst of foam and spray into the river below.

Dark tears fell heavily onto his forehead.  "Thank you," she whispered.  She pulled him close and kissed him and hugged him to her breast.

Behind The Little Knoll

"Swim, son!  Don't give up!  I'll find ya!"