Following the trail of death left behind by the crackling ice*, Culleen of clan Callawe’en and Vesta, her wolf-dog, turned towards the easterlies, crossing the abandoned lands under the fickle rising and falling of the middle’s sun. When they slept, they dreamt, of the ice-pack Northern ocean of their home. The glacial creep of ice islands, broken shale shores and raven’s clacking calls. Sea foam green were her eyes, raven haired was she. But she was born without the magic which flowed in the veins of the argon mines, in the veins of her people. Humanish, she grew feral as a child. Now a young woman, she went on her fey quest, to find her own magic where no magic was said to lay.
Perhaps in the breakers and combers of a great eastern sea, the flotsam and jetsam of a thousand lost ships, in the sea glass and high-water treasures, was the amulet, the wand, the chest with book of incantations that would give Culleen a small special power, a call to magic that she might go home. Breath life into the textiles she spun. Bring light into the darkness. Heal the body and the mind.
Continue reading here: Sue Vincent,#writephoto: great easterly sea smoke