(c) Nin Harris 2009 – . All Rights Reserved. Left of the Librarium, and slanting somewhat northwards the corridor swerves. The floor is covered with a threadbare carpet of maroon with beige swirls, intricate details lost under years of wear and dust. She pays attention to each dip and swerve in the floor as she … Continue reading House Slippers and a Swerving Corridor
(c) Nin Harris. All Rights Reserved.
In Memory of Janet Yanosko Elkins, one of the first and earliest readers of this frenetic, hypertextual web and all souls, friends and loved ones lost along the way, somewhere in the Great Dreaming.
Ackbroll squatted beneath the shadow of a teak tree, watching The Wild Maiden of The Trees as she circled the gradon that dreamt within states. All around them, Nemorosum Somnium moved and rustled. It was a feral force that troubled even the Maiden in all her wildness. It troubled Ackbroll even more so, for he was significantly less untamed. His patron, the antlered one, had warned him of this many moons ago. Now, as the Wild Maiden grew frenetic and urgent, he finally understood. The wind affected even him, the murmuring of the trees bending and shifting his own memories, despite the protection of the antlered one. Ackbroll had been named protector here, even if he could have left, his own sense of responsibility would not let him do so.
The susurration that was the conversation between twigs, the veins of corresponding leaves and the wind created an intricate weave that contained the consciousness of a thousand trees and more. It drowned out the thoughts of humans and animals alike. The susurration had the penunggu in the trees cackling and hooting, half-wild with starvation and a glee born of both deprivation and power. The madness of the forest had kept away the tourists who provided them with fresh blood, and fresher meat, but had given these malicious protectors of the trees something else. A new strength, a new dreaming. This could not bode well, Ackbroll thought. He sucked at his upper lip and made an irritated sound. There was no help for it, he had to act soon. Timing was everything. No time for elaborate plans here. He took his slingshot, and loaded it with a mangosteen fruit. It was firm, but soft. Firm enough to be used as a projectile. Soft enough not to hurt too much if used. He looked up at the elegant teak tree and patted its trunk in a familiar, affectionate gesture.
“This may hurt a little,” he said to both the tree and the forest.
He eyed the gradon, whom he knew to be the queen of dragons, as well as the source of the disturbance within the heart of the forest. He aimed his slingshot. He fired.
It would have been a loud shout of outrage, had it not hit something other than a very diminutive target. Ackbroll dropped his slingshot, squinted and then sighed.
“Broke my wing! My wing! Stupid spear-boy!”
Ackbroll dropped to his knees and peered at the Flitterer.
“Weren’t you banished from Nemus Animae?”
(c) Nin Harris 2009 — The Arbitrator is in a fuzzy, deep blue bathrobe today, his close-cropped red hair wet as if he has just come out of a bath. He invites me into his home in the South-Eastern Wing of Domus Exsulis, a sturdy retreat built of wood and set atop tall pillars of … Continue reading The Arbitrator Speaks of Story-Theft
(c) Nin Harris 2009– You don’t always hear of trees that dream they were once dragons. Still, they may be more frequent in number than dragons that dream they were once trees. Our attention may now focus on a peculiar tree within this dreaming forest of peculiar trees. All trees dream; within a dreaming forest … Continue reading Of Dreaming Trees with Identity Crises
(c) Nin Harris 2009 — Ipede Dwinkum looked at his hat. It was a rather battered old thing, but Waterlily had gifted it to him. You do not throw away a faerie gift. You were permitted or sometimes, even encouraged, to forget it, but you do not throw it away. Not that Ipede would, or … Continue reading In which Ipede discovers a flaw in his geas
(c) Nin Harris 2009 The gradon was not sure what it had been once, it knew it had scings and wales. It knew there were stories or histories or whatever there was before language raveled and spooled and spun around her. Disappearing into the darkness that was green, disappearing into twig and fig and leaf … Continue reading The Gradon Becomes a Fragment of Dreaming
(c) Nin Harris 2008– Thick, wide basil leaves hid a small, pointed, malicious face. The antennae on her head whirled busily as she listened. The wolf-maiden Tarme, she of the tawny fur and voluptuous torso had strayed into Nemus Animae. For what purpose, oh, for what purpose? The Flitterer knew not, but information was her … Continue reading Wages for a Spy-in-Residence; a tale of three forests
(c) Nin Harris 2007 The Caretaker Speaks: Late afternoon, and the sky is gradually approaching the color of flax, bright blue merely a memory, for now. Will there be a storm troubling the waves of Alta Exsilli soon? From the big, round window which overlooks the ocean, I can see the clouds. The changing quality … Continue reading Chess for the Season and All Things Unresolved
(c) Nin Harris, 2001-2009 Conrad speaks: Not far from Nemus Animae, there lies a darker, less inviting congregation of trees and wildlife. The undergrowth is sparse, the bark of trees darker. Yet, the fireflies that illuminate the thick-velveted green of Nemorosum Somnium and Nemus Animae also inhabit this darkness. As you barely enter its depths, … Continue reading Fireflies in the Wood of Spectres
The Faeries of Nemus Animae and Yrejveree have their own distinct personalities, some of which have caused their state of exile. If you are lost at any time, it would be wise to learn who to ask for help, and who to avoid. Do consult this Spotter’s Guide for more information. Note: The Art is … Continue reading Nemus Animae: A Select Dramatis Personae and Spotter’s Guide