The room at the centre of the house was black with smoke, any signs of life choked out by the flames. Notebooks of recipes and herbs, wooden carvings and plants all served as fuel for the fire, the heat swallowing them all. A charcoal drawing pinned high on a wall was one of the final things to catch, a child’s drawing of two stick figures labelled ‘mama’ and ‘me’. Ash coated every surface that had yet to be swallowed.
A brief excerpt from the first draft of my novel series, featuring Elari Vael, one of the main characters and a lesbian elven hunter.
It took a couple of hours for Elari to leave the city proper and traverse across the valley between the islands of Varein. As she crossed the bridge however, she could see the peak of the island had some sort of ropes or large threads that ran through the night sky, connecting to the temple at the peak of the city, as well as a few others on the outskirts, and seemingly within the forest of the Gods on the second island. The sky was pitch black, the stars were clear and the flickering lights of the city behind were lighting up her path, but the threads seemed to emit a light of their own. A dim golden-red hum that was barely perceivable but also made certain the threads were seen. A testament of woven destiny across the inhabitants of the ancient islands, and of the shared knowledge and power of the gods.