A tear splashed down into the sawdust. A circle of sadness on wood that was only good for the fire or recycled art now. Wood that used to be where she spent many happy sunny days, swinging as she twisted and rolled the spiderwebs into little balls. Where she would design the fabric to be woven from the twined webs, as the web soaked in the colours from flower petals or onion skins in her thimble cauldren.
Yes? What? You are surprised it is about faries? That's only cos you were expecting dragons, innit?
Or that I can't figure out how to spell couldren. Cawldrin. Cweriden's cooking pot. *considers possibly looking in a dictionary...*
Hopefully, in 30 days, I will finally be able to say I have written a book. A life ambition. And not about Klingon erotica this time! Yey!