thirstday's excerpt

And—as it should be in the world—the new generation would rewrite the pages of love, would redefine color and tone, would throw on the fire the cruel rulebooks of its elders.

And—as it has been for eons—young lovers would be cast out of Eden, shunned, made to question what was already perfect, holy.

monday's excerpt

And Gertie just knelt in the dirt and wiped the seven cold foreheads, soothing them, offering peace when no deeper peace could be had.

From that day forward, Gertie slept in the house.

Not well—seven restless souls frequented her bed, unaware of the hour, caring not that she required peace of her own. And she would walk the earth in a stupor, empty and unseeing, a slave unable to pick, or fetch, or serve even herself.

thirstday's excerpt

In the darkness, they declared every moon phase their new favorite, wondrous.

They stood barefoot on creaky floors, and when they shed their garments, the day’s fatigue was shed with them. Their hands finally found something soft and they gripped hard, desperate not to lose it. Their lips brushed the curves of their daydreams, skin sweetened by perspiration now dried to a whisper, articulating their most excruciatingly personal fragrances.

monday's excerpt

Carter bit off a piece—it was like shoe leather, but the taste was phenomenal! He closed his eyes and went back to that day. Ridin’ up, smoke in the air, and Kelly Wood comin’ out the house. The screen door slammin’ and that blonde hair just hittin’ the sun.

“Well, hey, Carter! What do ya know?”

They wandered, talkin’ about work, about women, about nothin’. They shared a pipe, the herb that Kelly Wood grew on the south side of the barn. Wind chimes flanked his little garden—bells and glass and flattened forks that made music when the wind-spirits sauntered through, blessing all that grew, sacred.

thirstday's excerpt

He peered with one eye, bow drawn, arrow eager.

But then he saw the redhead. Hair graced her shoulders and half of her back, skin so white that it glowed in the dappled light of the forest. She stopped before reaching the top of the hill, then turned back and laughed. She dropped something, and her trio found it uproarious.

They carried their clothes and played the part of wood nymphs, too wet to dress. Their hair was coiffed by nature, already forming crimps and curls and perfect ringlets.

monday's excerpt

With two fingers, she moved the bedroom curtain lace to the side. The mare swished black flies with her tail. She misses her stable mate, her Shadow. She is half without her.

She let go of the lace, touched her belly. Three spirits had come from her, but it was likely that none would follow. If somewhere the spirit of her little girl—who looked and laughed like him—waited by a stream, would she wait an eternity or would another claim her, love her?

The stream would run forever, infinitely patient; but such could not be expected of a child.

Thirstday's excerpt

So he took his sweet time unbridling the horse, brushing out her coat, then watering and feeding both mares. All the while, the sun crept from the barn—its departure inaudible, profound.

He leaned on the stall door and just watched, just listened—the nosing of the hay and the grinding of the grain. And he let the beautiful horse smells enter him, venture like smoke, like good medicine, up his nostrils and into his psyche.

How is it that a beast can emit scents as evocative as a woman on a Sunday walk? Then he smiled as all things quietly made sense. These two are mares, after all.