Disclaimer: All conversations between Mouse
and Sparrow are taken directly from Dragonwitch with written permission from Anne Elisabeth Stengl.
“What are these? Wilted flowers?”
Sparrow lowered her head. “I
thought you might like them.” She didn’t dare glance up at her aunt.
“Why in the world would I like
wilted flowers?” She tossed them on the floor and snapped, “Get them out of
here. And go play in the streets or something—I must relax my nerves.”
Sparrow snatched up the flowers
from the ground and slipped outside, gritting her teeth—refusing to cry.
“Stupid.” She muttered. “Don’t know why I even tried.”
She threw them vehemently to the
ground and stomped away, leaving the little hut to melt into the crowded
streets. Maybe she could go to her rock and stare at the Citadel.
She felt a pebble bounce off her
arm. Spinning around, she grabbed the little urchin’s arm and tossed him to the
ground. “Will you never leave me alone?”
He grinned at her and then scurried
away. Sparrow heard him and a bunch of other children burst into fits of
giggles.
She broke into a run, darting past
people and little vendors. Her callused feet didn’t hurt as she scampered over
the rocky dirt streets. In no time, she reached the edge of the town, climbing
up the grassy slope to a single bolder lodged into the side of the hill.
She climbed onto it, laying her
cheek against its warm surface. Her eyes rested on the beautiful Citadel
shining in the sunlight. The house of her goddess.
She would give anything for the life
of a temple priestess. Anything to get away from her aunt who’s heart was only
wrought for pumping blood and not for loving. Anything to flee the constant
harassment of the village children, and the reputation of a cast-off.
Sparrow lowered her eyes from the
Citadel. Why would they want her when her own parents refused to raise her?
They didn’t want her—they wanted a boy. And her aunt didn’t want her either.
She bite back the tears. She
wouldn’t cry. What was the use of crying? It just reminded her of how weak she
was.
Maybe, had she been stronger, her
parents would have wanted to keep her.
*****
The day had come. The day the
priestesses of the Citadel came and claimed the temple tax from Sparrow’s
village.
She cleaned herself as best as
possible, brushing her scraggly dark brown hair. She straightened her ragged
clothes and washed her face—the only part of her that was not repulsive.
Sparrow ran out into the streets,
her heart pounding. She remembered the time, four years ago, that they had
come.
And they had passed over her.
She couldn’t bear to have that
happen again.
It wasn’t long before she caught
sight of the three women—tall and elegantly regal.
They were adorned in robes of deep red, a woven belt of gold and rubies snaking
around their waists. Hair like midnight sparkling with stars of rare, uncut
jewels and gold waved down the length of their backs.
Their beauty was unrivaled.
Sparrow gaped at them, their
painted faces set straight ahead, followed by muscular bodyguards.
So
this is what strength looks like.
She followed them to the village
square where everyone had gathered. She swallowed her anger when the urchins
threw pebbles at her and whispered so that the temple women wouldn’t hear.
“No one wants you, outcast!”
“You’re not worth anything!”
Says
the street urchins! Sparrow thought bitterly. But she knew the
difference—their parents were either poor or dead. Their parents didn’t beg
someone else to raise their child.
The women looked out over the
residents of the small village. Sparrow watched as one looked her direction.
And passed over her.
Her heart dropped into the earth
and her shoulders sagged.
Finally, one of them whispered
something to another and then pointed at Sparrow. “See the one with the fair
eyes?”
Sparrow almost gasped as they swarmed
to her.
One of them spoke, “Child, your
eyes are the color of the sea at morn. How is this so?”
Sparrow looked to the ground. “My
father was of the North Country.”
Another whispered, “There are no
other girls here who would impress the Speaker.”
The first one said, “Would you like
to journey to the Citadel of the Living Fire as your village’s tax?”
Sparrow’s eyes widened. She
couldn’t resist the grin that broke out over her face, not even knowing how it
made her blue eyes sparkle. “Oh yes!”
They placed their hands—their
strong hands, thought Sparrow—on her head and shoulders and chanted.
“Fire burn. Fire purify.”
Sparrow felt her voice soft in her
throat as she whispered.
“Fire
burn. Fire purify.”
*****
She stood trembling with the other
villages’ taxes as the Speaker herself approached. How she wanted to be the
Speaker’s personal assistant! But she couldn’t hope for that.
Sparrow lowered her eyes as the
Speaker came to a halt before them. Sparrow dared only look at the glowing white
robe that was splattered as with blood the deep colors of fire—scarlet,
sapphire, saffron.
The Speaker gazed intently at the girls for
several long, torturous moments. Then she pointed at one of them. “I suppose
that one will do.”
Sparrow’s eyes shot up and disappointment
clouded her vision.
The Speaker glanced at her, and
then surprise seemed to seal her gaze on Sparrow. Sparrow beheld a harshly
beautiful face, and a glory of black hair crowned in red starflowers. And she
couldn’t look away.
The Speaker held up a hand as the
priestesses began to take the girls away.
“Your eyes, child, are blue fire.”
She said, and Sparrow was stunned at the look of almost…almost awe.
The Speaker motioned to the other
girls. “Send them to the acolytes’ house.” Then her eyes returned to lock Sparrow’s
gaze. “Train this one for my personal service.”
*****
There wasn’t another acolyte who
was as dedicated to her work as Sparrow. Determined to prove herself worthy of
being the Speaker’s assistant, she went beyond what was asked of her and she
was diligent in her studies to learn the rites of the priestesses and the
glories to be paid to the Flame.
For three years, Sparrow never once
made a mistake. She learned quickly and silently, learning from other’s
mistakes.
And yet, the Speaker still didn’t call
her into her service yet. Sparrow waited, waited for the day when the Speaker
would come to her and announce that she was ready.
She never came.
It was the day that the priestesses
journeyed into the mountains for the villages’ taxes. Sparrow thought for sure
that now, at last, she would be accepted into the Speaker’s service.
After all, she had tried her very
best to be what the Speaker was.
Strength.
And then, several days later, they
returned, bringing girls from all over the Land Behind the Mountain.
The Speaker came forth to look at
the girls. Sparrow stood on the edge of the throng, watching. Waiting for her
to remember Sparrow.
She pointed at a girl, a very small
girl, with a lovely face and hair long and sweeping—black and shining. Sparrow’s
breath caught. She was far lovelier than Sparrow could ever be considered—even
with her black wig and iridescent blue eyes.
The Speaker’s voice cut deep into
Sparrow’s heart. “This girl will do. Send the others to the acolytes’ house to
be fitted out. I’ll take this one into my personal service.”
Sparrow turned away, but didn’t
dare cry. She didn’t even put a hand to her face. She would be strong.
Fire
burn! Fire purify!
The Speaker had forgotten her.
Fire
burn!
*****
Sparrow watched as Mouse, the
Speaker’s chosen, began to light the braziers early one morning. She slipped
along the open passage, huddled inside her black acolyte robe. She lowered the
brazier, lit the coals, and poured incense over the flames. Mouse’s soft voice
wafted through the pillars to Sparrow’s ears.
“Fire burn. Fire purify.”
A whip sounded, startling Mouse.
She jumped and almost dropped her lighting stick.
The Speaker had wanted this clumsy
thing?
Mouse scurried to the edge of the
hall and peered down. Sparrow watched as she heard another whip crack and a
cry. Mouse trembled.
Sparrow strode silently to her side
as she craned her neck to better see the long line of eunuchs seeming to
disappear into the red rock beneath Mouse’s feet.
Mouse, without noticing Sparrow’s
presence, set aside her tools, got on her hands and knees, and strained to get
a better look.
“They’ve gone to the Diggings.”
Sparrow said.
Mouse jumped to her feet,
shamefaced. She was much shorter than Sparrow, and when Mouse glanced up at
her, Sparrow saw fear in her eyes.
Weakness.
“They’ve gone to the Diggings.”
Sparrow said again. “To be lost.”
“Lost?”
Sparrow reached down and picked up
the lighting stick that had flickered out. “They are men from the mountains who
have rebelled against the Flame. Their fate is to labor in her Diggings until
they are lost.”
“You mean dead?” Mouse’s voice had
a hint of tremor.
Sparrow shook her head. “I mean
lost. Those who enter the Diggings beneath the temple without protection never
come out again. In time all Diggers are lost.” Sparrow held out the stick to
Mouse. “You shouldn’t let your fire go out, you know.”
Sparrow watched, annoyed, as Mouse
took it and relit it in the brazier. “What is in the Diggings?”
Sparrow rolled her eyes, but Mouse
couldn’t see because her hood covered most of her face. “Diggers. What else?”
“No, I mean, what do they dig for?”
“The chamber of Fireword.”
Mouse continued lighting the
braziers, with Sparrow checking her work. “What is Fireword?”
Sparrow frowned at the amount of incense Mouse
slopped down on the fire. “The demon sword that twice slew our goddess.”
Mouse’s hand froze as she started
to light the next brazier. “I…I don’t believe you.”
“What difference does it make what
you believe?” Sparrow snapped, glaring at Mouse. “The goddess was twice slain
by Fireword, and she fears to be slain a third time. All this you will learn
for yourself as you get older and are brought into deeper knowledge. Until
then, know better than to speak back to your elders.”
Mouse seemed to hide behind her
hood. Sparrow slid ahead and lowered the next brazier, impatiently waiting for
Mouse.
She slowly lit it, sprinkling the
incense. Her nose wrinkled with the smell.
“I was to have your place, you
know.” Sparrow broke the silence. “I was to be the Speaker’s girl, to walk in
her footsteps and care for her needs. I was being trained for it.”
Sparrow didn’t notice Mouse’s
slight tremble as she continued. “And then you come along. You come out of some
wild jungle mountain, all tattered and smelly.” Like me. But Mouse didn’t need to know that. “And the Speaker looks
at you as though she’s been waiting for you for years. All my work was for
nothing.” She found herself staring at the brazier, swinging back and forth.
“I…I’m sorry.” Mouse offered in a
tiny whisper.
Sparrow pulled down the next
brazier for Mouse to light. “Sorry and small and ignorant. You are a mouse. And
yet she favors you.” Sparrow closed her eyes. “It is the will of the Flame.”
She shrugged, but inside, she found herself burning.
Fire
burn. Fire purify.
*****
Sparrow sat on the edge of her
pallet, staring out her window at the dull moonlight shining on the scorched
ground. She rested her cheek on the marble. It was cool, but beneath it, there
was a crouching flame. A deep warmth. She could feel it.
She bit her tongue.
She tried so hard to be strong
these past three years. And now, in one day, a little Mouse undid it all.
A birdcall sounded.
What sort of bird was that?
Sparrow started, finding herself
staring straight at a wood thrush. He sang again, and then Sparrow was sure she
heard words.
“Give me your weakness.”
Sparrow waved her hand. “Shoo,
bird. I don’t need to give you anything.” Sparrow took a breath. “I am strong.”
The lie was obvious. Sparrow
shifted her gaze to the floor and murmured. “I am strong. Very, very strong.”
“I will give you my strength.”
Sparrow shooed it away. “Go away,
little bird. You’re not strong. Not any more than I am.”
With another whistle, it flew away,
leaving her alone again.
She clenched her fists.
I
am strong!
She rested her head on the cold
marble sill, and felt a voice—or something like a voice—breath into her heart.
A voice raspy, melting. A voice shrouded in fire.
You are weak.
*****
Sparrow was glad when she was
finally initiated as a priestess—but she was disappointed as well, because it
meant she would never serve the Speaker. She received the red robe and flaming
ruby belt with pride, but also humiliation. All her work, and she never became
anything more than one amongst hundreds—maybe thousands—of priestesses. No one
different. No one special.
No one strong.
She had finished teaching a group
of young acolytes early one morning about the rite of the Breaking of Silence.
As she walked into the open hallway, she started as she saw a stranger—a woman
in green with a glowing white flower in her hair. At either side was a huge
black dog with hungry red eyes.
Sparrow slid behind a pillar,
breath coming fast. Who was she? And how had she gotten in?
“Who are you? What are you doing in
the halls of the Flame?” Mouse cried. Sparrow hadn’t heard her voice for some
time now, but nevertheless, it struck Sparrow as a blow to her face. All her
work…
“Fairbird!” Came the woman’s
voice—surprised, but earnest.
“Stay back!”
“Don’t you know me? How long have I
been away?”
Sparrow gulped. Who was this woman?
“I don’t know you! You shouldn’t be
here! Get out!”
“You’re not Fairbird. I was
mistaken. You’re not Fairbird.”
The cold of the marble seeped
through Sparrow’s red priestess garments, making her shiver.
“I don’t know any Fairbird! Get
out!”
“I come on another’s behalf. I
would speak to the Dragonwitch.”
Dragonwitch! Somehow, Sparrow knew
she was talking about the Flame.
The pillar seemed strangely warm
now.
The
Flame hears!
“I don’t know this Dragonwitch.”
Mouse hissed, ignorant child she was. “You are come to the Citadel of the
Living Fire, abode of the Great Goddess. And you are unwelcome here!”
“I will not harm you. I know the Dragonwitch
is near, and you must take me to her. Tell her I have come on behalf of one she
knows: Etanun the Sword-bearer. I bring a message from him. He wishes to tell
her where Halisa is buried.”
Halisa.
Fireword.
Mouse’s voice was now a wisp of
air. “The goddess searches for Fireword.”
“Poor little thing! Are my people
always to live enslaved?”
Sparrow stiffened. Would everyone
pity Mouse?
No one had pitied Sparrow.
“Who are you?” Came Mouse’s
question.
“I was called Starflower.”
Sparrow’s nails scraped the pillar,
eyes growing wide. Mouse formed the words Sparrow’s mind could not.
“Silent
Lady!”
*****
The Silent Lady was to guide a
process of the Speaker, priestesses, and eunuchs down into the Diggings.
Stoneye, the Speaker’s personal bodyguard, snatched the Silent Lady by the arm and
marched her to the door of the Diggings.
Sparrow was caught off-guard at the
cold wall that assailed her as she stepped closer to the seeping darkness of
the Diggings. She had never felt so cold since before she was taken from her
village, many, many years ago.
She held a blindfold, as did all
the priestesses, but she also held an extra one. She had been instructed to
give it to Mouse.
Sparrow, who had avoided Mouse as
much as possible, spoke. “Here. Take this.” She gave her the blindfold and went
on to secure her own. “You must not see the darkness of the Diggings. If you
do, you will be lost.” She held out her hand as a eunuch offered his arm and
guided her into the doorway.
The darkness was more than the lack
of light. It was the presence of
darkness. So deep she felt it.
It bled midnight.
Sparrow wanted to run. She wanted
to cling to the eunuch, but she straightened her back.
I
must be strong!
Fire
burn! Fire purify!
But there was no fire in this
place. Just cold. Cold and darkness.
“Here. This is the place.” It was
the voice of the Silent Lady.
“Impossible. We searched this
entire quarter ages ago. There is nothing here. We must proceed.” The Speaker
commanded.
“No. This is the place. Etanun’s
mark is on the wall.”
Sparrow ripped off her blindfold.
There was light from the torches of the eunuchs, but the chill of the darkness
still lurked.
“We would have seen it long ere
now.” The Speaker replied.
The prophetess said simply, “You
could not. No matter how you searched. Etanun said his sword must sleep
undisturbed. He did not wish it found until this time.”
As she stepped forward, Stoneye
yanked her arm. For the first time, Sparrow saw pain in the Silent Lady’s
features.
So she was human.
The Speaker whispered, and Stoneye
let go. The Silent Lady, once called Starflower, walked to a dark corner.
In the light of the pure white
starflower, an arched doorway emerged from the dim.
“Fire burn.” Hissed the Speaker.
She seemed to pounce forward, only to have a hand put out by Stoneye. “Out of
my way, man! I must see it!” Then she whispered. “Fireword.”
Stoneye didn’t let her go. He
pointed to himself, and then to the doorway.
I
must go first, he was saying.
The Speaker hesitated, but then,
clamping her eyes shut, she ground between her teeth. “Very well.”
As Stoneye approached the arch,
Sparrow noticed that the torch he held trembled slightly. She froze.
Stoneye was never afraid.
As if reading his fear, Starflower
touched his arm. He jumped back, and Sparrow again saw a slight quake in his
movements.
“I will enter first,” said the
prophetess. Her black hair shimmered in the torchlight as she removed the
starflower.
Sparrow watched Stoneye closely. He
furrowed his brow, as if demanding to know why she should challenge him. But when he stepped aside, Sparrow saw slight
tension release in his shoulders.
As the procession entered into the
chamber, Sparrow felt as if she were somehow leaving the threatening darkness.
The only light came from torches and the Silent Lady’s starflower—but it was
bright. And beautiful.
Looking at the walls, Sparrow saw
one thing.
Stories.
Stories—or were they memories?—were
told in multicolored tiles. Whose stories were they? She couldn’t seem to
understand them. There were too many, and they were too brilliant. It almost
hurt to be in such a place.
Glancing down at her fiery robe and the long
black wig which reached to her waist. She remembered the reflection of her
painted face in the mirror.
Beauty.
A harsh, fire beauty with piercing
blue eyes.
But looking at Starflower, her
natural raven hair far lovelier than any wig, and being in this chamber made
Sparrow wonder what real beauty was.
What real strength was.
She looked down, but then forced
her gaze upward.
I
am strong!
Silent thunder pounded. Burning
cold darkness swept through her. Sparrow trembled. She looked around, but
everyone was focused on a rock in the middle of the room with a sword. No one
else felt it.
Her vision blurred as she heard the
high priestess scream a thousand miles away. More screams joined. They echoed. She
vaguely saw Stoneye fall. Death swept through her.
The Speaker was shouting. People
fled. A knife flashed. Mouse jumped forward. The Silent Lady was dragged away.
But all Sparrow knew was the breath
of Death’s firstborn:
You are weak.
*****
Even when Mouse disappeared, the
Speaker didn’t call Sparrow to be her attendant. She called another—Nightingale.
Sparrow carried a pitcher of water
to the doorway of the Spire, cold for the Speaker after being in the presence
of the Flame.
As a priestess, Sparrow wouldn’t
have been called. But she still had to clench her jaw.
Sparrow made the sign of a dancing
flame over the water and whispered, “Fire burn. Fire purify.” She touched her
forehead to the floor.
The cold floor.
But when she drew away, the lurking
heat bit. She was tempted to splash a little water on herself—but no. She must
be strong. She must bear the heat and she would not defile the holy water.
A bird whistled in her ear.
“Give
me your weakness and I will give you my strength.”
Sparrow growled and shook her head.
“Only fire strengthens.”
She felt it creeping beneath the
cold floors. She felt it wrap around her heart and squeeze until she had no
breath left.
She couldn’t keep listening to it!
It was eating her alive! And yet, it burned.
You are weak.
She tore at her wig, her fingers
catching on gold and raw jewels.
I
am strong!
Then the Dogs came.
*****
Sparrow was, once again,
blindfolded and holding the arm of a eunuch, walking into the Diggings. The
Black Dogs had fetched Mouse back who brought with her the heir—the only one
who could retrieve the sword from the stone. The sword that had twice slain her
goddess, and the sword with which her goddess would slay.
Sparrow wouldn’t tremble, though
fire and cold pumped through her blood.
Fire
burn. Fire purify.
Then, a loud noise erupted the
silence as a slave fell. Sparrow tore off her blindfold.
People squirmed and pushed, but
Sparrow’s eyes snapped to the heir.
And saw one thing.
Mouse grabbed the heir’s bound
hands and sliced them with a knife.
The heir, though a fat dwarf, was instantly
gone into the darkness.
Sparrow’s heart burned. Every emotion
she had felt—betrayal, denial, weakness—threatened to cause her to explode.
Mouse’s cry raised above the
others. “The heir? Where is the heir?”
Traitor!
And this was the one the Speaker favored? This rat—this traitor—was the
favorite of the Speaker?
Sparrow never would have betrayed.
She was strong.
Mouse was weak.
Sparrow snatched Mouse’s shoulder
as she was knocked over by someone. She hauled her to her feet and yanked her
blindfold off. “I saw what you did!”
Mouse shook her head, but Sparrow
saw the lie in her black eyes. “I did nothing—”
“Silence! I saw what you did,
traitor! It’s time the Speaker knew what you really are!” Sparrow dragged Mouse
through the throng to the front of the procession where the Speaker
stood—silent.
“Speaker!” Sparrow shouted. The
Speaker turned to her, and for once Sparrow had hope. She remembered when she
had first met eyes with the Speaker. She had said, “Your eyes, child, are blue fire.” Sparrow would prove to her that
she was strong. “I saw it! I saw what happened!” She thrust Mouse forward.
“This one cut the heir loose! She let him escape into the Diggings!”
Sparrow looked for commendation,
for some sort of affirmation from the Speaker.
But there was none.
She raised her arms and shouted,
“Stop!” Turning to the priestess next to her as dead silence draped over the
procession she asked, “The heir?”
“Gone. Vanished into the dark.” She
said.
Hope surged within Sparrow. “I told
you, Speaker! It was this Mouse who let him go!”
The Speaker commanded. “Stand up,
Mouse.”
Mouse stood.
Weak traitor.
Now Sparrow would get her rightful
place. Now Mouse would finally be done away with. Now Sparrow would be strong.
The Speaker reached out and, before
Sparrow’s own eyes, drew Mouse to her side, arms wrapped protectively around
her shoulders.
Then she glared at Sparrow and
pointed. “Seize her.”
Sparrow jumped back and her eyes
widened. She cried out, but her voice sounded like another’s. “What? No!
Speaker! I am not the traitor! This girl you favor so blindly, it was she who
loosed the heir, she who has turned her back on the goddess!”
But the Speaker only gazed hatred
at her. “You have always resented Mouse. Mouse, to whom I have shown favor that
you believed due yourself. Don’t think I have not noticed. I’ll hear no more of
your slander. Take her away.”
Sparrow screamed and thrashed as
eunuchs snatched her and dragged her away. Away from the light. Away from the
Speaker she had so faithfully served. The one she had tried so hard to please.
After a long trek through the heavy
darkness, they deposited her wordlessly and returned, taking their torches with
them.
Leaving her to be lost.
What was the use of crying? And
yet, tears coursed down over her face covered in the paint of the priestesses.
No one wanted her. No matter how
much she tried, her offerings were filthy rags to the receiver. They were
wilted flowers.
She was worth nothing.
She bowed her head to the ground.
I
am weak.
You are weak.
I
am weak.
I am strong.
Sparrow felt terror melt the marrow
in her bones. Heat crawled through the rock.
I
am lost.
The voice of hearts breaking echoed
into every cavern.
You are mine.
The voice of the Dragonwitch.
It would consume her. Floods of
grief seeped into her skin—grief that belonged to the Dragonwitch and those
lost before her, grief that became hers.
She was sinking. Crying out was no
use. This place stole all sound, all hope. Even the tears she wept were taken
from her.
You are mine.
She closed her eyes, ready to
accept it. Ready to give in. Because she was weak.
“Don’t
give in! Give me your weakness, and I will give you my strength!”
The voice of the wood thrush
whispered. It was soft, gentle.
It was weak.
Sparrow pushed it away.
Thunder, blood, and shadow screamed
at her.
Loud, demanding.
The wood thrust persisted.
“Sparrow! Give me your weakness! I will give you my strength! I will tell you
your true name!”
Sparrow saw twin beads of fire.
Hungry.
Staring at her.
Her eyes widened. The ground
burned. The air roared.
The Dragonwitch was coming.
Sparrow screamed, “Take my weakness!
Give me your strength!”
The bird was on her shoulder. “This way, child!”
Turning, she saw a light—but not
evil light. She ran to it, hearing the screams of those lost before her and the
demand of the Dragonwitch.
You are mine! Come to me!
She picked up the Asha Lantern,
undefiled hope filling her senses. The light was pure, and it was sure. The
fading voice of the Dragonwitch had no hold on her now, and it somehow made her
roar seem frail.
The Dragonwitch wasn’t strong. She
had lied to Sparrow and to herself—just as Sparrow had.
She wasn’t strong, and soon, she
would drink deep of her own weakness.
Sparrow followed the wood thrush
with the light of Asha chasing away hidden things.
Whether it was two minutes or two
decades, Sparrow didn’t know. But she did know when she emerged from the
Diggings and found herself in a place she somehow knew as the Haven.
Turning, she saw the wood
thrust—but he was no longer a wood thrush, but a man.
The Prince of the Farthestshore.
“My Lord.” Sparrow bowed.
He touched the top of her head and
said, “My child.”
The words washed over her.
I
am home.
She knew that he was her true
Lord—not the Dragonwitch. She knew he wanted her, unlike her family. And she
knew that, with the Prince, the Song Giver, the One Who Names Them, she would
be loved, because it didn’t matter if she was weak or strong. He was her
strength.
He whispered. “Your name, my
daughter, is Precious.”
Sparrow closed her eyes and song
filled her being.
Beyond the Final Water falling,
The Songs of Spheres recalling,
When night breaks to certain light of dawn,
Won’t you follow me?
VOTING: If
you would like to vote on this or any of the other fan fiction
submissions, email your top three titles to me at aestengl@gmail.com. Voting is for fans of the Goldstone Wood series only.
10 comments:
It's always great to see what characters pique the interests of fans. I'm glad to see you chose to explore Sparrow's story! Great job, Anna!
Poor Sparrow. I'm glad she has a happy ending.
Jemma
How very beautiful. I always felt sorry for Sparrow. Thank you for providing her with redemption. Phenomenal work.
Ooooooooh! *sniff, sniff* How wonderful that you gave Sparrow such a beautiful story! Thank you for this! And lovely writing! :)
Beautiful redemption story! I'm so glad Sparrow answered the Wood Thrush's call. I know she will find love, acceptance and reward in the service of the Prince.
Oh, that was good. That was very, very good! I'm so happy to see that Precious has a happy ending! Rather, a new beginning! Thank you, Anna!
This is beautiful. I never considered Sparrow, but you've done an excellent job with her story.
Wonderful job, Anna! It was so interesting seeing the events of Dragonwitch through the eyes of Sparrow. You made me care about her and feel what she was going through.
Whew!! That was quite the tale!! I loved seeing the story through Sparrow's eyes, and you've characterized her wonderfully! The story structure was great, you handled the building tension and the climax awesomely, and the transformational resolution was so satisfying and beautiful. The themes were so gorgeous, and honestly, struck a few chords that were a little too close to the heart to be comfortable, but that made the resolution all the more satisfying. Amazing job! I really loved this piece! :)
Blessings!
Melanie
Thank y'all for y'all's comments! :) They mean a whole lot! ;)
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