Nov 28, 2012

The Alabaster Chalice


Restless, Motte shifted from one leg to the other, her talons gouging the granite as she settled on the pediment.
The Ley Lines sang to her. They sang of what had been, what was, and what was yet to be. Songs, older than time, of love, joy, and loss, dwelled in Motte’s heart, and she recognized what had been prophesied had come to pass.
He’d bonded with the child. It was foretold, and so it would be.


Illustration by Thomas Block