Frostfire by Cien

Characters: Orion and Landen

Between the sand and sea and sunshine, it was hard to feel gloomy. Landen hadn’t expected much out of a beach trip; as far as he was concerned, everything about the ocean was determined to remind him about his incorporeal non-existence. But now that he was actually here, he found it hard to remember why he hadn’t wanted to come until Orion’s gentle persuasion finally won out.

“Come on,” Orion said lightly, letting go of his hand briefly to step forward into the waves. There was no trail of footprints behind him, the sand unmarked and pristine as though he wasn’t there at all—but Landen forced himself to look up, and the tiny knot of panic eased when he saw Orion’s smile.

Shoving aside his hesitation, Landen followed him, laughing at the feel of the waves tickling his bare feet. Orion drew him a little closer, his arm a steady, reassuring weight around Landen’s waist.

When he was alone it was hard not to be distracted by all the tell-tale markers—the undisturbed water that swirled right through him, the sand that he would never leave a footmark in—but with Orion it was so much easier to forget, to focus instead on the way the ocean gleamed and the warmth of the sunlight on his skin. Landen breathed in the salty scent of seawater, pressing a quick kiss to Orion’s temple before withdrawing.

“Race you to the other end of the beach,” he said teasingly, slipping away before Orion could respond and laughing when he heard Orion scrambling to catch up, yelling after him about cheating and how it wouldn’t count even if he won (but Landen always won, anyway).

Landen was hard pressed to ever call any day perfect, but he supposed today would be as close as he would ever get.

Vivid Spores by Kippie

At the center of the universe a swirling vortex sucks in the light and stars of surrounding galaxies. For many generations the Celestial Vortex has been feared, for it continues to grow each day, the more galaxies it consumes, the larger it becomes, the larger it becomes the more galaxies it takes. Space dwellers are sure to avoid the Vortex at all costs. However, as the laws of nature go, energy cannot be destroyed, it may only change form. This leaves observers to wonder, just what will become of the Celestial Vortex?

On the final day of the thousandth year it is foretold that a new super galaxy will be born of the Celestial Vortex, and ar the heart of it a mystical being of great power and a strong connection with the new galaxy. Over the generations this prophecy has become nothing but a mere fairytale, however there are still those that await the twin birth of the new galaxy and its divine ruler.

This is a little different, I came up with (composed) a short song for this flower and recorded it :)

Among the fungi in the forest lay a flower, unnamed and all alone.
This doesn’t bother the flower at all, for it’s glow is the brightest and that is all that it cares about…for now. And it did have the company of all the surrounding mushrooms in the area. As far as hit little glowing center could see.
When the sun rises and all the mushrooms in the area fade back to their uninteresting brown color, this flowers center maintains its luster.
“Where did you go, little mushrooms?” The flower asked during its first dawn. “I don’t see you anymore..”
The day went on and the poor flower had begun to miss the company of the mushrooms.
Night came and just when the flower thought he’d never see his mushroom friends again, they lit up the ground as they sat under the moonlight.
The flower couldn’t wait to grow up and mingle amongst the other mushrooms that may be out of sight…

From this flower grew a beautiful white and golden fox ineki. She was draped in black silks and his hind legs had passages of the gods written in black. What it says? Surely only she knows but will never tell.
When she walked, the swoosh of her tail left bubbles of light in its wake. Her golden eyes pierced everyone he met like the sun; her image burned into their retinas.
Even when she’s gone, she’s all you see…all you’ll remember. You’ll never forget a beauty and her elegance. Perhaps one might even wish to have that beauty as their own but little did they know she was not as well off as they thought.
She may be a wanderer but one would not tell that by looking at her. The desert is her home but had she the need to attend a party of royals, she’d fit right in.
All stand in awe of her.

Obsessed with Rhymes flowers…obviously ^^”

In the woods now covered in snow, the Kelph flower lay by the water while waiting to be born again. With its center eye, it looked around wondering if it was okay that its petals were freezing. It looked down and all around but all it saw was other eyes.
Why were they looking at him? Did they not have anything else to look at? Swinging the woowoos around gently, it tried to distract himself from the eyes around him but to no avail. The eyes were still set where they were. They blinked sometimes and even rolled around a bit but mostly the focus was the center eye, the conscious one.
When it found that distractions were futile, it shut its center eye. Rather than being under constant surveillance, this darkness would be comforting. This is how it stayed until it was full grown. The eyes were still with them but it was okay.

(one day I will replace my scanner but that day is not today)

At the base of the Sacred Tree, a flower illuminated the surrounding with soft green light. This was a light of healing, magical and soothing to all who saw it. The parents of the sprout cherished their gift. During every visit they softly touched the delicate petals. But the parents were not the only visitors to the sprout.

Elderly ineki, drasilli and kelphi often found their way to the tree, guided by soft green lights which floated through the air. Sitting for just a few minutes in the sprouts’s presence soothed aching joints and old hurts. An aura of peace wafted over every visitor.

As the time of blooming approached, the parents of this sprout were surprised to find a crowd gathered. The others kept a respectful distance away, but remained standing amidst the glowing green orbs which had multiplied as the sprout grew.

And with the blooming, these spores brightened to a blinding beam, forcing the watchers to shield their eyes until the light disappeared. Without the spores, the cave seemed dim and lifeless. But in the center, a baby Kelphi stretched and it’s movement brought light again to the cave.

The Sacred Tree had a way of softening and soothing. One sprout had bloomed with chaotic swirls of color that twisted the imagination. Petals glittering as it swayed in the light breeze, the bright glints softened the swirling pattern.

The same could not be said for the Ineki who bloomed from the chaotic little sprout. Patterns swirled across their fur, causing the young Ineki to be a constant source of attention to passerby. Sick of the attention, they threw themselves into their art. Unable to afford traditional pigments, they created their own paint from the surrounding flora. Mushrooms especially could create dramatic and bold colors. No money for paper, they spread the homemade pigments on the walls of the cave.

To say the paintings were unique would be an understatement. As chaotic as the young Ineki’s coat was, the paintings were even more so. They were routinely chased out of towns for their “graffiti” until only the deepest cave gave them solace to paint.

So deep in the cave were they, that magic fed off the concentration of mixing just the right colors and getting just the right stroke. Where a paw ended a brush stroke, magic continued. The pigment streamed into both stone and air. Still concentrating, the artist continued as if nothing out of the ordinary happened.

But to a lost adventurer, wandering through the cave and enticed by a distant sparkling, the walls were a wonder. Perhaps the Sacred Tree took pity on the flower that had looked so brilliant when nestled safely at her roots and gave the magic to let others appreciate their gift. Or maybe the magic was always there and dedication to their art caused it to finally bloom. The artist refuses to say, a small smile at the corner of their mouth the only response.

Flower:

Design:

Sirens blasted through the ship’s interior, red warning lights flickering anxiously up near the ceiling, as if the sound alone somehow wasn’t enough to wake every sapient on this godsforsaken tugboat.

Lleran strode down the main hallway, barely keeping herself from breaking into a run. Someone had to keep their head around here, and the greasemonkeys and technicians scrabbling from room to room desperately trying to repair the damage certainly weren’t going to. Lleran stepped lithely over a rissilan’s wayward tail, ignoring the spiky reptilian’s stammered apologies. She had somewhere to be and no power in the ‘verse was going to stop her from doing her duty.

Finally, she reached the lower levels of the ship—more difficult with the lift offline. There were fewer people down here, as all the ship’s important bits—the ones that were mostly on fire, at this point—were up near the bridge. Here, there were nothing but living quarters. Lleran stepped to the third door on the right, swiped her ID card, and stepped through the doorway before it had even finished sliding open.

The room was filled with gentle pastels, and the sirens’ blaring was only matched by the screeching wail heard from the low crib against the far wall. Lleran walked over to the bed, leaning on the railing and cooing comfortingly, “Hush, little one, all will be well…” as she reached in to lift the infant from its swaddling. The child was a gli’than, long-snouted, covered in dusty violet scales, with antennae sprouting from her forehead, the tips glowing gently in the faint light. A complicated glyph curled and twined over her face, spreading down her nose and across her cheeks. A birthmark, or a tattoo—Lleran had never questioned it, as it was not her place.

The infant stopped bawling as Lleran bounced her lightly on one shoulder. “Come, Highness, you’re in grave danger…” she murmured quietly, as much for her own comfort as for the child’s. “Your enemies have found us, my dear, we must get you to safety…”

Lleran turned toward the door, still cradling the child tenderly in her arms. She froze as the sirens suddenly ceased their wailing—either a very good sign, or a very bad one. It was imperative that she made it to the escape vessel immediately. Who could tell if those vile fiends were already aboard their ship?

Hushing the child once more, Lleran wrapped her tightly and held her close. May the gods protect us, she thought, before grabbing her blaster with her third arm and stepping out of the princess’s nursery.

Along with muslin, gingham is often used as a test fabric while designing fashion or used for making an inexpensive fitting shell prior to making the clothing in fashion fabric.
— wikipedia article: gingham

Brittany twirls on the spot, showing off her long fox ineki tails: voluminous at the top, and descending into a single soft braid that seems to trail behind her for miles. Her fragile heart stutters twice in her chest.

“Very nice,” the Sacred Tree murmurs through the wind. “Although…I hope the hair will be bouncier on the real thing.”

“It will,” Brittany reminds the Tree, twirling her limp ponytail around one weakening claw. “You know Test Sprouts are never as resilient as the real thing.”

For an ominiscient being, the Tree sure is forgetful. Brittany’s heart hammers erratically seven times. She checks her watch and sighs heavily. It’s been twenty three hours and fifty-nine minutes since the moment of her birth.

Time flies when you’re having fun.

The Sacred Tree hems and haws and mutters, its leaves guiding the breeze up under Brittany’s thin checkered fringe. Brittany stands motionless, a perfect dressmaker’s mannequin, a perfect Test Sprout ineki. She hopes the real sprout is happy with this form.

“It’s so hard to tell when I can’t see the final colours,” the Tree fusses. “I keep trying to make more diverse Test Sprouts, but you’re all the same: blue and cream and fragile.”

Brittany starts coughing, and tries to tell herself its psychosymptomatic; that she might still have a few seconds left. Her watch beeps, loud enough the even the Tree notices.

“Oh,” it says. “Has it been twenty four hours already? It feels like I only grew you a few minutes ago. You’ve done so well.”

Brittany’s heart swells with pride, even as it slams to a halt. She collapses against the roots of the Sacred Tree, her body already collapsing, like unstarched cotton at the bottom of a fall. She drops out of existence and consciousness gently. She will not be forgotten, because she was never known in the first place.

She was a Test Sprout. The real sprout will be along shortly.

The Sacred Tree wraps Brittany’s design around a spark of life, and nurtures the newborn sprout into sentience. Three eager parents are waiting on this baby, who will grow up with a braided tail and effervescent hair and not a shred of gingham anywhere.

And then the Tree opens up the most creative part of it’s magnificent mind, moving along to the next project. A drasillis sprout, with broad stompy boots and a twinkle in each of its eight eyes. Hair short on one side and long on the other. The Sacred Tree nods motionlessly to nobody at all, excited and relieved to have another project underway.

The Tree reaches out its most delicate magics towards Brittany’s remains. The empty fabric grows and swells, briefly becoming a flower, and then a baby, and then a fully-formed adult with eight checkered eyes and delicate boots.

Brittany bounces around happily, inhaling and exhaling through new lungs, new life.

“I missed you.” she says, warmly.

“I missed you too,” the Sacred Tree replies.

By Loom