Something Rich

In the morning, when she woke, the river sparkled with the light from the top arc of the sun peaking above the mountains before her. The valley edges seemed to steepen, and the piercing scent of pine and juniper drifted along with the mist from the rushing water. The day passed gently, the bright sun piercing the conifers surrounding her, growing thicker over the slope of an adjoining valley which seemed to be falling into hers. She left the stream for this valley, following it higher into the heart of the mountains.

pine marten

When she walked in her shadow skin she heard and saw things the girl could not. There were martens in the trees and marmots in the rocks. But it was the growing scent which struck her most. It started as traces, and a ruddy smear of musk upon scarred trunks. The smell grew, and combined the muddy earthen scent with that of hot blood and pine-branch bedding. Over this lay a smattering of smoke, like a fire gone out days past. Overnight, she sheltered in one of these cold pine beds, wrapped in her silver shadow. The next day, she continued on her path, tracking the scent to find who lay behind it, and who’s shadow.

The man she found sat upon a boulder in a glade with a pothole pond beside it. He didn’t look up at her, but the bear who lay at his side stood slowly and walked towards her, towered above her. Her eyes, if level, would only have seen as high as its chin, and its hulking shoulders protruded from its back feet above the top of her head. She reached out to it and cupped its chin in her hand, burying her fingers in its fur. Slowly lowering her eyelids, she moved her palm to his cheek, and when she opened them again, he stood before her, seamlessly changed from the coat of his shadow to the wide shouldered man she had seen on the rock.


When she dropped her hand to her side, he had already started to speak to her. “Where have you been?” he asked, “I had hoped you might follow me, but I’ve only just settled down to wait.”

“Where have been?” she laughed. “Cold beds and musky trails.”

“They are warm when they’re fresh. But for now, this is yours.” he said through his smile. The silver cloak she was wearing turned to vest and leggings again, and around her shoulders cascaded a thick fur, warm and heavy. She helped him to assemble his bed, and he showed her where to arrange one.

“You’ve had your shadow a long time?” she asked.

“Yes, and I think someone else shaped yours.” he replied. The valley air dusted the pines with small ice crystals as she lay, chilled, in her bed, listening to the thick breaths of the bear beside the boulder.

A Song of Ice and Fire theory time!

Okay, so DO NOT read this post if you don’t want to know spoilers about the books! If you have read through ‘A Dance With Dragons’, though, please do read, and tell me what you think.

This is a theory about Greyscale

This is a theory about dragons, Dragonstone, the stone workings of old Valyria, and the fate of Westeros!!! Now that I’ve sufficiently talked this up, let’s go on to my ideas. Let’s start with a prophecy, shall we? This is from Danaerys’ visions in the house of the Undying.

“From a smoking tower, a great stone beast took wing, breathing shadow fire.”

What is the smoking tower?
I think Dragonstone. Smoking from the crashing mist of the sea and from Dragonmont, the volcano of the island.

How about the great stone beast and the shadow fire?
I believe that the great stone beast is a dragon out of Dragonstone and the shadow fire is Greyscale, a plague spreading from Dragonstone across the seven kingdoms of Westeros.

But how would a literal dragon spread Greyscale from Dragonstone???

I certainly don’t believe that any of the stone dragons are waking up, but I do think they are real dragons. I believe they are dragons which are infected with Greyscale by Valyrians before they lost their control of this magic in the Doom (note that Davos points out the Valyrians had strange stone working magics since lost to men). I think that when Dany arrives in Westeros (I like the go around the world to the East theory here) she will have brought only Drogon, perhaps Rhaegal will get there with Brown Ben Plumm, as he showed a strong liking for him when Plumm was still with Dany, and it is hinted he has Targaryen blood. His riding Rhaegal, I think, will be much like Nettle who rode one of the dragons in the first Dance of Dragons, a few hundred years back, a little sneaky girl-woman.

It is up in the air whether the sell-sword will be with Dany or not. I do think he will die and a new head of the dragon will become Rhaegal’s next rider. Viseryon, someone will ride, I don’t know who, but I’ve got a sort-of idea coming soon. I think Viseryon will end up on Dragonstone and catch Greyscale, just as Shireen did as a babe (yes, I think Shireen Baratheon got Greyscale from the castle as a babe).  Griff is also an option and a Greyscale hazard, so I believe these should both rise from Dragonstone when “Aegon”, Young Griff, travels there and perhaps claims Viseryon as his mount. When the infected dragon rises from Dragonstone, the flame he spreads across the realm will be a shadow fire of plague.

So there we go, I hope you enjoyed it and do let me know what you think.


E’MS’ Bonus!!


Bonus Poem from Elsa!

Sarah: Hey, Dana!
Dana: Hey, Sarah!
S: Hey, Dana!
S: Hey, Dana!
D: Hey, Sarah!
S: Da-nu-ah!
D: Sarah, hey!
S: Dana, hah!

EMS 27-30

Even though she didn’t quite make it, lets hand it to Sarah for writing 21 poems this April! That’s the majority. I got the last of them last night (can we give her bonus points for writing 9 poems in one night?) so here you go!

twenty seven

I haven’t slept

That rock is not a goose.
That kid is not my boyfriend.
I can drive.
I can function.
I can sleep.


Twenty eight


Last day of April and my poems aren’t done.
And while I know that to write them is fun,
Somehow it so stresses me out to know
How far behind I am, how far to go.


EMS Days 25-26


Twenty Five
The last for us
Who graduate this May.

Gave euphoria
Not like the last I’ll play.
Or like I’ll go away.

octopus on bike

Twenty Six

Run from working out to concert
Then there’s nowhere for the car.

Can’t rehearse, so bike back home
To shower and though it’s not far

The wind is strong, pushing me back
Must brush my teeth, get rid of plaque.

Still have to warm up, show’s begun
And now, I’m ready. Let’s have fun. J


EMS Days 22-24

Twenty Two

Touring the Campanile
Oh, what fun it was!
Bells play ragtime and pop tunes,
Then we answer with applause.



Excerpts from the Future

“Really active maggot mass….”
“I wanna see the maggot mass!”

“Skin slothing, beetles and flies…”

“And just is this for more like the area of the field than anything else…”

“Its head flexed…”

“Which is fun…”
“It’s been rainy, and it shouldn’t be…”

“Not a big fan of cartilage…”

“Dis-attached limb…”
“I think this one was more directly from the limb… hm hmm- SCHWOOP!”
“Hehe!”happy asian family

twenty five


NaPoWriMo 30, Last Day

It is the last day of National Poetry Writing Month today! This spring has been an extremely variable one in temperature, switching back and forth between wanting to be winter again and blazing (it would be nice if we could average these and have some consistency!). In addition to this, it has been near constantly raining for days and days which isn’t necessarily a bad thing, I love the rain, but it does make running more unpleasant than it should be when it’s also windy. I am thankful for the rain in general, though. It is keeping me at work on my studies for finals by not inviting me to read in the sun and it is quickly decomposing a really wonderful deer I have been keeping my eye on out by where I run. Trade-offs, trade-offs. Oh well, here we go. . the final poem of the month.

gang sines


Sinusoidal oscillations
one could graph the temperature with ease
So long as we assume constant
Falling from the sky as rain.
disregarding small scale temporal variation
due to flashes of energy discharged as lightning
And from this figure one could easily deduce
the apparent population density,
if one were to sample the area Central Campus
of course during regular times, not
the periodic re-population as classes change
And perhaps there are other people, other women,
who walk with their faces in the rain
and don’t shield their hair under hoods
And maybe it is not true that all men in fedoras
(or stetsons) run through the rain
as if afraid of melting under that wide brim
But empirically, of variation, I have observed
(though one might note bowed heads make it easy to go about un-observed)

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