Long ago, deep in the Balkan Mountains, a little village lay buried beneath the clouds. In all of Stara, people worked hard—long into their old age, and they were happy. Whether it was with sheep, crops, or stone, there was a rhythm to life that one did not venture from. It made the cycle of
Tag: Fiction
When the Great War began, the women in my land were summoned. “We each possess something — a secret gift, that, if combined, might stop doom fromengulfing our world,” Maeve wrote to me. So, beneath the full moon we thirteen gathered at the round table. Together, high on the Crag of Eldur, the torch flames





