*
Fin and his Merry-Men were hunting atop a hill.
All day they were there yet caught no glimpse of game.
As evening drew in, Fin spoke, “let’s turn for home, boys, there is naught for us on this dismal hill,” he said, “’twill be late when we get there and a hunger and thirst will be on us.”
“A hunger and thirst on us, already,” said Conan, and spat into the ground.
*
So Fin and his Merry-Men turned and set off down the hill-side.
Before long a Black Fog fell and they lost their way.
“No good ever came from a fog of this sort,” said Fin resignedly, “we’re out for the night now, boys, and no mistake!”
As the Merry-Men set too, assessing their predicament, Dermot spied a white-washed house in the gloom.
Continue reading at Stuart France
as i followed the silver mist
When advertising executive Erica Whittaker is diagnosed with terminal cancer, western medicine fails her. The only hope left for her to survive is controversial healer Arpan. She locates the man whose touch could heal her but finds he has retired from the limelight and refuses to treat her. Erica, consumed by stage four pancreatic cancer, is desperate and desperate people are no longer logical nor are they willing to take no for an answer. Arpan has retired for good reasons, casting more than the shadow of a doubt over his abilities. So begins a journey that will challenge them both as the past threatens to catch up with him as much as with her. Can he really heal her? Can she trust him with her life? And will they both achieve what they set out to do before running out of time?
For Mandolin O’Dorke it should have been an average stroll in an average wood on an average day. The sun shone in a ho-hummish medium sort of way, Goldilocksian in that it wasn’t too hot or cold. He felt okay, nicely poised between happy and miserable, in one of those fence-sitting moods that can soar with the discovery of a fiver in the inside pocket of your jacket or plummet with the squelch of something clawing on the sole of your shoe.
