by Sarah Stribley

Created on: August 10, 2009

Excerpt From: "The Snake Heart"

A tide of nausea ebbed over the Guardian of Dryads, flora, and fields as he dismounted from his horse and surveyed the lachrymose scenery.

His eyes took in the grey-brown haze which wove a jagged path through the ruins of a once great forest, its cremated remains jutting forth from the blackened soil like colossal charred ribs of the earth.

No tree was spared the raging wave of fire that had ravished this patch of life and verdancy, elm and oak alike had become towering ebony thorns which tore though the ash and ember ground. Spokes of burnt branches encircled trees in crooked pentagrams, some still smoldering, others betraying a dying glint of flame or the sulfurous stench of whorling smoke clouds.

Rowan leaned against his Arab's muscled body, exhausted by the trauma of finding one of his most precious tree-scapes so horribly marred.

A rancid miasma of flame-churned sap perforated the air and leached into the Guardian's senses, sending him reeling away from the site of destruction, gasping in what pure breath of wind he could obtain without the radius of fire-riddled wood and ember-warped leaves.

Again, his eyes darted over the dead sea of trees, absorbing the many shades of midnight and grey that painted the horizon so bleakly, taking in the many darker-than-shadow spires that stretched out towards the sky like so many arms uplifted in supplication.

Rowan fell to his knees, his head mechanically shaking from side to side as realization slowly broke through the thick crust of denial he had tried to build about himself. Above him clouds drifted through the slate horizon like grey whales and with the mighty sky leviathans came torrents of icy rain, as though the sky were crying for those who feared to shed their tears.

Rowan drew his emotions together, holding the aching tatters to himself like a travel-worn cloak and trying desperately to bury the images of flame-devoured trees and inky foliage from his scarred sight.

The rain hissed as it struck dying embers, soon awakening a stifling layer of steam which shrouded the once lush forest grounds. Smoking shards of ebony bark and a few lone leaves whirred about in the wind that picked up with the oncoming storm, their brown edges curling and pulsing with faint flames.

Morning-dew tears slid down his cheeks, spattering the blackened terra firma like a summer rain and he felt along the fire warmed earth blindly, his hands searching for any living plant, his fingers

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