The Forum's Scriptorium

[Keep Looking]

I agree! One of the best joys in life is just paying a bit of attention to the world around us. I like to listen and look for the black cockatoos that often fly over the city - we have red-tailed black cockatoos here as well as carnaby's black cockatoos which have white tail feathers. Tragically the population of black cockatoos has been declining due to habitat loss leading to less old-growth tree hollows to nest in and less food sources, although many of the cockatoos have adapted to eating the nuts of introduced trees like the mediterranean pine and pinus radiata pine trees that have plantations here. It's always special to hear the cockatoos flying overhead or see them landing on a nearby tree.

I've gotten good at identifying different common birds by how they're flying, even with just a quick glance while driving. Whenever my girlfriend walks to the bus stop she'll always tell me and maybe send a picture of a honeyeater or magpie-lark she's spotted while walking, and of course if she sees or hears some black cockatoos. It's amazing how many birds we can find even while living in a city - let alone what we can find when we go to local wetlands or up into the hills.

Even introduced birds like the pigeons in the most built-up parts of the city can bring some amount of joy - it's amazing how so much life not controlled by humans can still live and thrive in the places we've altered the most. I admire the adaptability of the pigeons, ravens, ibis and seagulls I see even in the most dense urban areas.

One interesting book I read recently was "Curlews on Vulture Street: Cities, Birds, People and Me" by Darryl Jones. Darryl writes about his experiences as an ecologist studying urban bird life and how birds have adapted to cities and human environments - for example, the differences in behaviour between urban and non-urban ibis populations, or how rainbow lorikeets that live in cities often choose to roost in trees near strong sources of artificial light so they can see if night-time predators are approaching! In particular, the book challenges the idea that "nature" is something that has to be "out there" - far away and untouched by humans - when in reality nature and animals and ecosystems are all around us and are worth observing and studying.

[Grade E cat]

Poking my head on this forum after a long absence to inform anyone interested that I finally joined Archive of Our Own and started publishing there:
Maomao_the_cat's works

[Kitty]

i'm writing a trash romance light novel, and i'd like to be noticed. here is the link, i hope someone likes it

https://www.honeyfeed.fm/novels/12368

it's not actually poorly written, i just call it trash out of affection. it's my hobby, so i don't take criticism. i'm just having fun scribbling here

[wavewright62]

I will definitely go have a look (when I'm not at work, whoops) - having fun is precisely why I engage with fandom and creative pursuits!  (Also, I get that 'wanting to be noticed', so much.)

[Yastreb]

Róisín encouraged me so much over the years that she naturally earned herself a place in my Dragonhost Saga as an incarnation of Baba Yaga, Second Guardian of Gevarna. I thought I would share those scenes in the first three books in which she appears (excluding first-person POV moments from Book 1). Here's the first, from Earthfire.

A keen-eyed falcon perched upon a high branch and looked down upon a village that was empty of life.
The buildings were undamaged, but doors and shutters stood open.
An expanse of woodland perhaps thirty paces across had vanished and the brown soil was now ashes the colour of bleached bone, save in the centre, where a single tree and a section of stone wall stood in a circle of grass.
At the base of the tree, a limp figure sprawled. 
The devastation was a perfect circle, and its edges were as sharp as a knife slash. There were trees that were half living wood, half white ash, and rocks scorched black on one side but unmarked on the other.
The falcon leaped from the branch, wings spreading, and dropped to the ground near the edge of the devastated soil to vanish in a flash of vivid green.
A woman stood up and looked around.
She was small, buxom, and fair-skinned, wearing a plain brown blouse and skirt under a green cloak edged with falcon feathers. Her flowing hair was rust-red, confined by a plain leather headband, and her eyes were large and bright blue, with faint patches of grey. Her broad, pleasant features had the unblemished fairness of youth.
She bent down and dipped her left hand into the ashes, which looked as fine as sand, and her fingers met almost no resistance. It was almost as if she had plunged her arm into water until she struck earth just over a foot down.
When she drew her hand out, the ashes flowed off her arm and through her fingers without a single fragment remaining, and her face briefly twisted in revulsion.
She went around the boundary of the devastation, pausing on the way where nine sets of prints entered, and a place where dozens, scores of people had left in a body, their tracks of all sizes, as if a whole community had fled… and where a single set of tracks, made by someone struggling to walk, led towards the mountains.
Then she turned to face the forest, summoning her energies, and sharpening her senses, the wolf, the cat, the eagle, as new arrivals came into view.
Two dozen wolves were drawing near, and at the head of the pack were two grey vol’volkiy; a mated pair. She watched them close in, and then the pack halted just yards away.
* Red Mother, we greet you.   
* What happened here?
Beast-speech did not always give clear communication. Animals, even the brightest, did not use words as Humans did; the Talent could render their thoughts, mostly images of sight, sound, and scent, in a way that could be understood, but not always clearly; and words were never easy to transform into sensations in return.
But the reply was clear, if in many voices.
* A Human did that. He burned other Humans. All the others here ran away into the night.
* We were hunting one who slew Our kin, and followed him there. The Human who destroyed him and the others used a terrible fire. Then he tried to run away. He was very badly hurt and very scared. With him was a wolf child.
* He was heading for the high rocks. We knew that the Old One was dead. We were angry at the fire the Human had used. But he stopped, when he saw Us. He was too hurt to go on. We would have killed him if We had not seen the Old One's spirit with him. He tried to Speak with Us, but he was in too much pain.
*Then the wolf child pleaded for his life and said that he was good and kind. We looked, and saw his spirit, and it is good. We healed his worst wound and let him go on.
She stood for a moment, eyes softening in memory.
* You acted well. The Pact still holds. Those who slew your kin do not live in these forests.
The wolf-pack turned as one and hastened into the forest, disappearing among the trees.
The woman carefully waded through the ashes to the huddled body on the grass and crouched over it. Her head slumped down, and she sobbed.
After some moments she wiped her eyes, took a deep breath, and looked at the dead man’s hands. Her expression changed to surprise.
Releasing the hands, she turned away and looked down at the grass. Carefully tugging some free, she shook off the soil and caught the grass in a freshly plucked leaf that she folded delicately and placed in a pouch on her belt. 
She passed through the ash and walked over to one of the houses to look inside before calling out, - Dotchka? Dotchka? -
There was no reply.
She moved on to four other homes, looked inside and called out to each of them, to be met with the same silence.
Finally she turned away and vanished in a bright green flash.
The falcon took wing, heading into the deep forests to the east.

[thorny]

I'm looking forward to the rest of these, Yastreb.

[Yastreb]

Long after sunset, Lord Oleg Mikhailov of Vanavara, the most powerful of the boyars, sat in unaccustomed solitude in the feasting hall at the head of the great table.
The rumours had begun after the fire in the twilight had been seen searing white above the forests. For some days there had been a growing dread, a sense that something terrible had happened that night... and then the people of Kamenistiy had arrived in Vanavara, and told of what they had seen, and what they had been told.
Koschei is dead.
They had not been believed at first. For Koschei to die was as likely as the sun rising in the west, but then people in the villages around Vanavara spoke of the sorrow of their Domovoi, and soon after word came of the beasts of the forest growing hostile, threatening flocks, though thankfully no-one been harmed. And the fear grew for Baba Yaga...
Tell Lord Oleg that Koschei is no more.
So the people fleeing Kamenistiy had told him. He had no idea what to do as the most powerful boyar in Gevarna. The idea of taking power made him uneasy. So each night he had sent his servants away, even his personal guards and closest advisors, and convinced his consort to leave him in solitude until fatigue finally drove him to his bed.
He nursed a cup of vodka as he thought of what to do...
- I greet you, Lord Oleg. -
He froze for an instant, gave a quiet sigh, placed the silver goblet down carefully and rose, turning to face the one who had spoken.
- I greet you, Baba Yaga. Would you honour this house by sharing drink with me, Babushka, in this most solemn hour? -
The woman that Oleg saluted as Grandmother walked out of the shadows by the window. Her face was grave as she doffed her green cloak edged with falcon feathers.
Oleg had seen Baba Yaga many times since he was a boy, and in all that time she had seemed to him more a favourite aunt than a grandmother. He bowed to her as he had bowed to Koschei as she sat down in the chair of Oleg’s consort and accepted the goblet that he had filled from his own jug.
- I would have come sooner, Lord Oleg. The Pact had been broken. I needed to reaffirm it lest innocents suffer. That has been done. But now... - She sighed, and drank from the goblet, and Oleg saw deep grief in her eyes. - I will speak plainly. There may be bitter and dark times ahead. Do’kha. But there is still hope that the First Guardian will be with us one day… -   
Oleg stared at her. - I don't understand. Koschei is dead, but he will be with us again? Is this a riddle, Babushka? -
Baba Yaga shook her head. - No riddle, Lord Oleg. Yastreb, the one chosen as Koschei’s apprentice to be the Third Guardian, is still alive. He took revenge on the slayers and fled. I don’t believe it was through fear. I know in my heart that he will return one day and take Koschei's place. -   
Oleg felt tears of relief even as he cast his mind back. - His apprentice… yes, I remember him. The day Koschei punished Yuri Peshkov and his man-at-arms. A boy who did not speak, save to ask Vassili Ivanov why he did... what was done. An ordinary boy from his village, but he bore Koschei's symbol on his cloak. - 
Baba Yaga put down her goblet and rested her chin on her clenched hands. - Koschei knew that his time might not be forever, for all that we called him the Undying. That time did come, and he perished at the hands of outsiders. -   
Oleg looked away from Baba Yaga to the tapestries on the walls that depicted battles and victories and scenes of glory… scenes from places far away and centuries ago.
- So… do we face an invasion now that the First Guardian is no more, Babushka? None of us has ever ridden into battle in earnest. We have never needed to fight a true enemy. And we are alone in the world… -
Baba Yaga turned away to look through the window, and sadness tinged her reply. - If that happens, I’ll be at your side. Take heart from that. But I don’t believe it will come. I believe Koschei’s killers sought his power, not this realm. And they are dead now. Koschei knew that his death was near, so he passed on his power to his apprentice. Why Yastreb fled… I don't know. I wish I could have followed him, and brought him back, and found out why. But I dare not go beyond the mountains and risk leaving Gevarna without its only living Guardian. He is on his own now, wherever fate calls. - 
Oleg downed the vodka in one gulp. What Baba Yaga was describing, travelling beyond Gevarna, to realms unknown, among strangers, made his innards clench.
- May Byelovoi guard him and Morena the Merciful bless him, wherever he has gone. - 

[Yastreb]

This is the third and last scene from Earthfire. Baba Yaga appears in the second half; I've included the preceding events for full context.

The road led from the forest into more open country, but it remained little better than a track, twisting between hedges and hillocks much of the time, and Yastreb grew uneasy. It seemed to be the right country for ambushes.
Two hours in, with little said between them, and there were no others using the road, and scarcely any farms or hamlets visible; certainly there were no villages of any kind.
He mentioned his thoughts to Radul, who gave him a puzzled look. - I thought you’d prefer things this way. -
He did not respond. What was in his mind was that Zabelushka could have come with them.
No-one would have noticed her, in this countryside…
Radul seized his arm. - Quiet! -
There was a wailing scream that ended abruptly.
- You heard that? - the veteran demanded as Yastreb reached for an arrow.
The road ahead bent slightly to the right, around a stand of three oak trees. Radul whispered, urgently, - It came from the other side of those trees. Stay low and stay silent. -
They darted to the little grove and moved in at a crawl until they could clearly see the farm building beyond; a sturdy stone house, a sizeable wooden barn and a large stable grouped around a stone-walled well; the dwellings of a prosperous family group. Beyond that were broad newly ploughed fields.
Around the well stood a group of men in leather jerkins and brown tunics; seven all told, variously armed with swords, cudgels and axes, save for one toting a crossbow and another with a slung bow.
- Oh no, - whispered Radul. - Red Hand. See there? On their tunics? -
Yastreb felt a deep chill building as he took in the sight of the women and young girls lying sprawled beside the well, bound hand and foot, and the fire burning next to the well, the hay and scraps of wood heaped around the barn, and the cart in front of the barn door.
- They’re going to burn the barn! - Radul went on. - With people inside. The Red Hand are known for that. By the Saviours! What can we do? -
Yastreb put down his bow and took the quiver from his shoulder.
- What are you doing? - Radul said.
Yastreb felt the cold spread through his body, and with it, his senses sharpening. He knew what had to be done. - Take my bow and arrows. Get behind the barn. I am going to draw their attention, get them away from the women and children. When I... when I act, just… just shoot them down. The bow will shoot strongly. - He saw the disbelief on Radul’s face, and went on, - Please... just go, Radul. I know what I have to do. Do’kha. -
Yastreb scrambled back and rose to his feet.
There was no way that he could fight seven Red Hand men when all he had was a sword. He did not trust his skill with a bow enough to risk their lives, and Radul’s crossbow was slow to reload. He had magic, something the bandits did not have, but he could not use Fire because he could not control it; he would burn up everything around him. Air magic would likewise be destructive. Light would achieve little. All that he had to fight with was Beast.
He was accustomed to using his Beast magic in a limited way, to communicate with animals, and to enhance his own senses. There was the spell he had used to hide his and Radul’s scents from hunting dogs. There were other, stronger powers that could be called upon, to change his body form in small ways, such as giving himself claws, whether for fighting or for uses such as climbing. And then there was a spell enabling him to manifest Beast magic in combat, to strike not from arm’s length, but from much further, with deadly effect. Koschei had called that spell the Beast-Strike, and though he had taught it to Yastreb, he had been careful to explain that there were risks in using it.
To manifest the Beast power in that way, to shape and unleash it... you may never be free of the Beast thereafter. Use it rarely, and never for long. You must learn the limits, and remember them.
The Runes whirled, intertwined, and came together behind his eyes. His awareness narrowed as he strode around the trees and towards the farm.

The leader of the Red Hand men was leaning against the well, arms folded, one foot resting on the head of a woman who was sprawled face down in the mud, her hands and feet bound. She was sobbing quietly.
- You’ve all had time enough and more to make your peace, - the leader said casually. - So we’ve got nothing more to do here than plant the seed of king’s men in your wenches as you all burn! So, my lads, in the name of Prince Drago… -
- Hold! - shouted Yastreb.
The Red Hand men spun towards him as he approached slowly, hands by his sides.
- Hear me. Leave this place now, and let the people live, - he said, aware of a new rasp in his voice. - Leave now. -
The leader had a beard and a long moustache in the style of nobles. He sneered just as Sir Fedor would have done, made a show of stroking his moustache, and then chuckled.
- What's this, then, my lads? A hero in a green cloak! A beardless boy to boot! He must be one of Branvok’s pansies! Do you think you’re a Paladin, boy? You are? So, where’s your milk-white war steed and your shining mail coat and your mighty lance, eh? Do you even know how to use a sword? Come on, draw that blade, show us your skill! - He burst into mocking laughter.
The others joined in the mirth, laughing or guffawing.
Yastreb stopped at twenty paces away. He took a deep breath as pain suddenly spiked in his jaws and hands. - I’m giving you one chance, one chance only, to walk away from here with your lives. - The rasp had become stronger, almost a growl... - Do you understand me? This is your last chance. There won’t be another! -
The leader roared with laughter, and there were bellows of mirth from the other Red Hand men as he said, - Ah... break his arms and legs and put him with the others! -
Yastreb raised both hands. He was sick to the stomach… then anger surged, the Runes flared, and he roared, and he struck.
The leader staggered and fell as something tore into his face and ripped through flesh and bone, and the man with the crossbow was slammed back as something smashed into his chest, shattering ribs, and he sprawled in the mud, gasping as blood spilled from his mouth..
Two of the Red Hand Men had started forward at their leader’s command, but they, and all their comrades, froze in shock as their leader was cut down by a weapon none could see, and then they reeled back as Yastreb strode forward.
His hands were long, fur-matted, and clawed like a bear’s, his eyes were blood-red orbs, and his face was twisted in ferocity to something no longer quite Human. A guttural growl surged through bared fangs as murderous rage blazed within him. Any doubt, any thought of mercy, had vanished.
Suddenly the two men who had stepped forward came out of their shock and rushed at him, one with a sword and the other with a poleaxe. The archer drew, notched and stepped to one side to take aim, then suddenly stumbled and collapsed with a crossbow bolt buried deep in his back as the two other men came in at a run.
Yastreb side-stepped into the axeman’s path before the axe fell, his right hand closing around the man’s throat, and he swung around, lifting the gagging axeman up to hurl him into the swordsman, but that one had kept his wits.
As Yastreb released his grip, sending the axeman past the swordsman to crash into the cart by the barn, the sword blurred towards his neck. Yastreb tried to beat the blade aside, but too late, and it tore into his left forearm, slicing flesh until it hit bone…
With a howl he tore his maimed arm free and swung a back-handed blow that slammed into the swordsman’s jaw.
He did not feel or hear the man’s neck snap, and he did not see a raider clutch at the arrow transfixing his neck and slump down, or the last one break and run, heading for the fields, only to fall with an arrow lodged deep in his back. Instead he strode towards the leader, who was trying and failing to stand, crying out incoherently. Four huge gashes had torn away half his face, his nose and his left eye. He could only struggle feebly as Yastreb’s left hand closed around his throat.
Yastreb wrenched the leader up clear of the ground, drove the claws of his right hand under the man’s chin and tore the lower jaw away, roaring in savage triumph as hot blood gushed over his chest and arms…
He heard a scream, and a young woman’s terror broke through the rage to kill.
He let the ruined body drop. His deep breaths were rasping in his throat. The scent of blood was still strong…
- Yastreb! It’s over! Listen to me! You’ve done your duty here! It’s over! -
He turned to look at Radul, and then around at the sprawled bodies, and saw the sheer terror in the face of a young woman staring up at him.
- Come back! It’s done! - Radul stepped forward, one hand raised placatingly. - You’ve saved the people here. It’s over. Come back, youngster. Please. - His voice was shaking, but somehow his hand was steady. - Just… come back. Please. -
Yastreb felt the pain of his wounded arm, and grabbed it frantically to staunch the bleeding as weakness swept over him. He slumped to his knees beside the girl.
- I’m sorry… I’m sorry, - he whimpered as he felt his body returning to normal.

- He’s a decent lad, - Radul said, - and that’s the truth. But there’s something that… well, no-one knows what. The mark of the beast, some called it. The red rage, some others said. But Gods be thanked, his heart is pure. If it wasn’t, well, you saw, young miss. But he knew who deserved to die and he stopped when they were beaten. -
Yastreb sat in one corner, stripped to the waist, washing the blood from his face and hair. His arm was bandaged, and his tunic and undershirt were being washed. No-one sat near him.
The bodies had been gathered up and buried once the wounded Red Hand men had been finished off. No-one in the household had been killed, though three of the menfolk, the father, the oldest son, and a farmhand, had been badly beaten before being tied up and thrown into the barn with the other adult males and the younger children. There were eighteen in the household.
- I… I think I understand you, - said the father, whose name was Marko. - But… by Byelovoi, from what Masha said, it’s a terrible thing to suffer. -
Masha was the girl who had been under the Red Hand leader's boot. She nodded, glanced quickly at Yastreb, and shuddered. She was young, not far into womanhood, and she had vomited when she saw the Red Hand leader die.
- He saved us, but it was so horrible! - Masha said. There was still fear in her voice. - Please, sir, tell us there is a cure for the curse. -
Radul sighed. - We were on our way to find one. We were told that one certain cure exists, but it’s one only a certain Veela knows. That’s where we were going, to where the Veela called Myrallea lives. It’s been a long journey, and we pray it ends there. -
Yastreb stood up, fighting off a brief dizziness. - I need sleep. If you don’t want me under your roof, I understand. A blanket and some room in the barn or a shed. That’s all I need. -
He was telling the truth. As well as exhaustion, there was still the pain in his hands and throat and eyes, the still-sharpened senses threatened to overwhelm him, and he needed to use his Light magic on his wounded arm.
They gave him what he asked for, and he sat for a while in the barn, working healing on his arm, before he lay down in a bed of hay and let himself sink into deep sleep…

***

- There is a lesson that has been waiting for the right moment. Come with me. -
Baba Yaga took his hand and led him inside to her own room, where two moon-orbs shone faintly. She embraced him gently, and pressed her mouth to his for a gentle kiss. For an instant he froze in surprise.
When he could speak, he said, - Mistress… I didn't think that… - 
- You missed your first Kupala Night, and both Kupala Nights since then, shalafei, - she said gently. - Tonight is Kupala Night. Let’s spend it together. Accept the friendship of my thighs. - 
The surprise faded as she began to lift his tunic up over his head….
He felt awe and desire together as he beheld her naked, full-breasted and wide-hipped, with flawless pale skin... and beneath those sensations was a small touch of fear.
Would he be worthy of her kindness…?
They lay together for a time, softly kissing and caressing, before she carefully eased herself above him…
He did not want it to end.
But finally he reached an ecstatic climax, and she was hugging him close…
 
He was lying naked among the furs of a wide and comfortable bed, in a room lit by the glow of two moon-orbs.
He turned his head slowly and saw Baba Yaga lying next to him.
- Yastreb, you’re awake. -
She raised herself on one elbow and looked down at him with sadness in her eyes. Her hair was unbound and loose, and he realised that she too was naked.
- I miss you, my dearest, and I fear for you. I see where you are, a long way from home, and you are still grieving. -
- But I’m here with you! How can you say…? -
She placed a finger on his lips. - You’re here in a dream, Yastreb. I had to know what had happened after Koschei died, and I found a way to reach out to you.
- We’re meeting like this, in a dream of a happy time, of that first night. Open yourself to me, dushka. I can tell that you’re troubled, but you’ve grown…
- In just a short time you’ve been through much, but you’ve done very well. Yes. You’ve slain marauders and murderers, and… a Demon? A monster from the Hell Reign. You’ve made friends and allies, and you have a goal now, to learn control of the power he gifted you…
- Wait, Zantria? The Ancients are alive still? They slew Koschei? Gods be with you, with all of us! Go carefully, my dear. Have faith in yourself. I know you can succeed. I know that Koschei chose well. -
- I don’t know… I don’t know if I can make it…-
She pressed her mouth to his for a gentle kiss, then drew back and looked him in the eye.
- Here's a truth I learned long ago. In peril we find out just what we can achieve. I know you’ll surprise yourself. -
He faded back into deep sleep, and she was gone.

Baba Yaga lay still, waiting for the pain to subside, her hands clasped over her breasts.
Beneath her fingers the little figure of woven straw, seeded with some of the dried blood that she had scraped off the grass where Yastreb had fallen, crumbled away into dust.
- Be safe, dushka. -