by Sarah Stribley

Created on: July 31, 2009   Last Updated: August 06, 2009

Excerpt From: "The Snake Heart"

...The water's incessant murmuring poured through the dense growth of trees and fall kissed bracken, washing liquid words over the quiet forest.

Fronds of honey-gold and fiery orange nodded in the gentle breeze, their delicate tendrils tangling and untangling, occasionally sweeping the cool spice-scented earth. Clumps of freshly budded yarrow grew thickly at the base of gnarled oaks and junipers, their gilt blossoms letting off a peppery odor. The tangy perfume of heather, at some point, became one thick miasma when it whirled into a lavender scented zephyr.

Moss shrouded stones cobbled the forest floor, their worn mottled surfaces only just showing through the dense overgrowth of ivy and columbine.

An august peacock came to the fringe of the forest, the sound of its long tail whispering over the golden carpet of leaves was barely audible above the river's thunderous rush. The bird looked around cautiously, its tawny eyes darting from shadow to shadow, its tail flicking up and down nervously. It let forth a mournful cry, not dissimilar to a cat's, and strutted toward a tall oak whose ashen trunk was now overgrown with silver moss.

The ivy that had once grown up the tree's sturdy trunk began to turn a dry brown, the edges curling into a decadent yellow and crumbling away like ancient parchment. Fine flakes of dead foliage dusted to the time churned earth and melted into the musky soil, shed and forgotten by the forest.

A golden leaf twirled endlessly amongst the forest lords, stirring up secrets and ambrosial whispers. Its scalloped form shimmered dully in what sun-light flew between the criss-cross of branches, tiny sparks awakening beneath it. In a burst of mellow flame the leaf began to dance wildly, bronze wings and intelligent eyes spinning about and fluttering within an old star.

After a few careless sworls, the flickering cloud of brittle leaf, sleek feathers, and summer-hot fire blossomed into a tawny sparrow. It twitched its dun head to one side, eyeing some seductive glimmer sheltered amongst splintered twigs and dried grass. A minute patch of color distracted it, a small berry, faintly touched by the sun and as brilliantly red against the soil as a drop of blood. For a moment, the bird's attention was drawn to the tiny pome; the crimson bead of crisp flesh and woody seeds carried more promise than the unknown gleam in the death-caressed foliage. The head cocked again, considering the distance, weighing the worth, before it hopped gingerly toward the scrap of silver.

A ring.

It ruffled its feathers into a flurry of copper and earthy-brown, then darted at the thick band, snapping its beak onto the age-smoothed metal. It thumped to the ground heavily, crushing the hair-thin veins of an oak leaf.

In a wavering tongue of amber flame, the sparrow sworled into a crow, clicked its beak together dangerously, and folded its midnight wings. With the grace of an expert scavenger, the shadow-bird hooked one claw around the ring then took to the keening wind like a wisp of bruised cloud scuttling across the sky. ...

Learn more about this author, Sarah Stribley.
Click here to send this author comments or questions.