Being a true shifter isn’t the blessing it may seem. But through pain and darkness Perdita seeks to find her own life despite the ambition of others…

Chapter Two – Reparation (part three)

All too soon it seemed to me, the winged ones were either freed of their compulsion or dead, while humans were throwing down their weapons in surrender. Moth hissed urgently in my brain and I turned my head to where a naked human was running for the forest as fast as his legs could carry him. Even as I saw him he began the change, but he was at bottom a coward and the thing went wrong, leaving a half man half wolf sprinting for the safety of the forest.
He never made it.
I caught him with two lazy beats of my wings and it was the work of but a second to rip his still beating heart from his chest. I held it aloft and the scent of it almost drove me to make the ultimate mistake. I wanted to eat it so badly, even if I did know I would be sick for days. My forelimb twitched with the strain of not throwing the dripping morsel into my mouth. What did it matter if I might never be able to return to human form? Was not being a dragon a fine enough thing? Moth screamed silently in my head and her impotent sorrow was enough to bring me back to sanity.
Not thinking at all about the consequences, I threw the heart to the young braggart who ate it with great enjoyment. Until it dawned on him what he had done. His crest lowered and he bent the knee – even he wasn’t young enough to think he could avoid dragon law. He had eaten the heart of an enemy from my talons, which made him mine to command for as long as I chose.
“I am your dragon, lady.” The words must have felt like spent coals in his mouth.
I looked at him for just long enough to make his status clear before I did the only thing I could sensibly do. I released him.
“A gift made in battle is simply a gift. No fault, young dragon. Your life is yours to live as you will. I only ask that you use your days wisely.”
Mandrake dropped to earth at my side and regarded the young fighter severely.
“You are a very lucky dragon. The lady saved your miserable hide when the bloodlust took you and now she frees you from what could have been a lifetime geas. I trust you will take the lessons of this to heart.”
The youngling placed his chin on the floor in a gesture of self abasement. “I shall endeavour to be wiser.”
One of the oldest and most scarred of the fighters laid a heavy claw on the youngster’s head.
“You fought well until the bloodlust took you, young dragon.”
The youngster blushed at this small praise, and I thought he might live to be a useful member of society.
Around us the mopping up process was all but finished and I felt pleased to see the captives being brought out of their prison into the rapidly disappearing daylight.
All seemed relatively healthy although they were cowed and still a little afraid.
One of the first to recover was a young female who I identified as a wererat. She came over to where Mandrake lounged at his ease beside me.
“Is you the wingmaster?”
“I am.”
“Then thank you, sir.”
“Think naught of it. Is it not a truth that lycanthropes are best pleased when they can help each other?”
“It is. But…”
He smiled and she recoiled from the sight of his gleaming teeth.
Perhaps surprisingly, perhaps not, it was the youngest dragon who took pity on her ignorance.
“Have you had no teachers madonna?”
“No messire dragon. Mostly none of us have. We have been loners brought here one by one. Loners don’t get no teaching. Mostly we just struggle to stay alive.”
The young dragon bowed his head in sympathy. “That must have been difficult. But I will tell you a law that a teacher would have told you as an infant. It may help you to better understand what has happened today.” He paused. “Not all lycanthropes are dragons. But all dragons are lycanthropes.”
To help her see, he allowed himself to flow into human form for a brief moment before becoming a dragon again.
The wererat sat down bump on the churned up snow.
“Is that a for real truth?”
“It is. And now you understand that we will help you beyond your escape from this place.”
A single tear ran down her rather long nose before she collected herself. She scrambled to her feet and bowed in every direction before scuttling back to her confederates who all patted and petted her.
The sound of heavy engines caused the former prisoners to huddle together but the youngster reassured them.
“That’s the deputies come to finish clearing up this abomination.” He turned his blunt saurian head towards Mandrake. “Permission to remain with the rescued ones.”
“Permission granted. And well thought, young one. You shall have the Queen’s authority to see that all are properly compensated for that which they have suffered.” Mandrake handed the youngster a token.
“I will bear myself with honour.”
“See that you do, young dragon.”
Suddenly I was tired beyond bearing and I felt myself losing control of my shape. I must have been visibly wavering, because the young dragon looked at me in some concern.
“Wingmaster. Is the lady ill.”
“I think not. I think just tired beyond her strength.”
Moth spoke in my head. “You let go beloved. Too weary to hold, and Moth is too spent to anchor you any more.”
I let my hold on the dragon shape go and fell unevenly and bone jarringly back into my human form. I began to shiver as the snow and slush bit through my thin human skin. Moth was too exhausted to help me and I wondered if this was to be my death day as the light grew too bright for my eyes.

Jane Jago

Ponies and Progeny or the graceless art of equine management as envisaged by the pen of Jane Jago and inspired by the genius of Norman Thelwell (1923-2004)

Today we consider the issue of sloth…

***** ***** *****

Some whimsical words on whimsical themes…

What shines so greenly through the glass?
What magic does it hold?
If you drink, what comes to pass?
Does it stop you growing old?
Is it poison? 
Is it food? 
What is in suspension?
Is it frozen?
Is it hot?
Is it in this dimension?
You’ll never know unless you drink it just what it will do
You may find it lifts your mind, or rips the life from you

Jane Jago

April Fools to you semi-literate little webbies. It’s upon us so you need to listen up!

This day of all days when making bloody silly jokes is all right.

Only it isn’t. It isn’t funny to send your sister a photoshopped image of her boyfriend in bed with a blonde. It isn’t funny to put an announcement of your mother’s death in the local paper. It isn’t funny to befriend somebody online only to make them the but of your annual ‘humour’ fest.

Just stop it.

It’s not funny. You’re not funny. Leave humour to those who don’t equate being funny with making people cry. Stop being an asshat for ten minutes and consider how you would enjoy being the but of one of your own ‘jokes’.

For those of you who find themselves on the receiving end of one of these gems of sparkling ‘wit’ I have the following advice.

If the perpetrator is an online acquaintance, by all means retwixigramstackblog the offensive item adding one or more of the following hashtags:

#sentbytheguywiththegherkindick

#sentbyadiscardedlover

#sentbythebitchwhohasnofriends

#thanksasshole

I think you get the idea.

However, should the ‘joker’ be known to you outside cyberspace, vengeance is perfectly acceptable. Consider one of the following:

Itching powder in the underwear.

Chilli in the wine

Pepper in the chocolates

And the classic. A kipper wired to the exhaust pipe of their car

Soooooo. To recap. Don’t do personal April Fools jokes. They are seldom kindly and never funny. 

But.

If you do. Expect vengeance…

Have fun until the next thing pisses me off.

Becca offered a silent prayer as the engine failed to catch then did. The car was too old but she couldn’t manage without it. Today, her day off, she had been temping as a receptionist. Tomorrow it was back to an early start as a home carer. But now she had to collect the kids from her mother’s. A neighbour’s daughter would babysit for her evening shift waitressing. 

On the radio, a slimy politician sucking on his silver spoon was saying that poor people should get a job.

She wondered how many jobs she needed not to be poor anymore.

Eleanor Swift-Hook

Take this exclusive opportunity to explore the mysteries of the zodiac through the wisdom of the esoterically enigmatic Madam Pendulica…

Aries.
The mythical ram is surprisingly fond of roast lamb with all the accompaniments. If you want to start a fight with an Aries suggest that redcurrant jelly is a more proper condiment than mint sauce

Taurus.
Taureans are not, by nature, attracted to gourmet dishes. They are prone to consider food as fuel rather than pleasure. Generally speaking Taurus cooks consider any food that takes longer to prepare than eat a waste of time

Gemini.
For a sign represented by twins Gemini people have remarkably restrained appetites. They can, however, always be tempted by chocolate – particularly in the shape of a certain biscuit and caramel bar, which comes conveniently two to a packet

Cancer.
Cancerians tend to look sideways at any food they consider to be ‘messed about’ – by which they mean anything that isn’t served with chips and peas. Fish in batter is a favourite although they are willing to allow a sausage with the proviso it contains neither herbs nor garlic

Leo.
Leo’s appetites are as large and genial as those of the sign’s spirit animal. Shepherds pie, beef stew, and anything on which you might sensibly pour custard are all greeted with roars of delight

Virgo.
Sushi, sashimi, raw vegetables and hummus. For some inexplicable reason the zodiac’s virgins like their food raw. It has been postulated that they equate cooking food with the removal of its virtue

Libra.
Baked goods of a complex nature appeal to this sign’s affinity with measuring devices. If you would ensnare a Libra with your culinary skills one would humbly suggest the croquembouche

Scorpio.
Just shove an unfeasibly large amount of booze in whatever you propose to feed a Scorpion. Boeuf bourguignon. Champagne sorbet. Chicken in cider. Get the buggers drunk and they will sing your praises forever.

Sagittarius.
The archer sees himself as a gourmet of endlessly refined tastes. Sadly, though, this illusion masks an insane desire for the pub grub incarnation of lasagne – complete with chips (fries if you are a colonial)

Capricorn.
This sign is characterised by the inability to sit still for more than five minutes. Ideally, then, hand held food of simple pedigree. Give the goat a pasty and he will be your slave forever.

Aquarius.
The house of responsibility. Requires to read the food map before eating anything. Ideal meal is locally sourced and heavily vegetable based. Borsch and spelt bread is an ideal. But do stand back when an Aquarian belched

Pisces.
It is perhaps surprising that Pisceans love to eat fish. It seems to resonate with some masochistic inner swimming thing. Salmon en croute is the absolute apogee of their imagination.

Madame Pendulica predicts she will return…

Let mine be the hands
That hold you as you sleep
Let mine be the arms
Into whose warmth you creep
Let mine be the feet
That walk each path you do
Let mine be the eyes
That watch the stars with you
Let mine be the strength
Upon which you rely
Let mine be the heart
That loves you till we die

Jane Jago

Being a true shifter isn’t the blessing it may seem. But through pain and darkness Perdita seeks to find her own life despite the ambition of others…

Chapter Two – Reparation (part two)

It took nearly an hour before the bus we were following caught up with the other one. I idly wondered why there had been such a hurry and felt Moth chuckle in my head.
‘This guess? They leaving road soon. Lead bus driver knows the way.’
That made a good deal of sense and also reminded me of the limitations of becoming a dragon. Subtlety of thought is not generally a dragonish trait, and I have never managed to Shift into clever dragon form. I called down silent blessings on Moth’s head and her laughter was as bright as the sky above the snow clouds.
Mandrake whistled a complex trill and I understood there to be a mountain pass ahead. I whistled back and two of his biggest fighters overtook the group to wait at the top of the pass. Only the buses never breasted the rise.
‘Where are they, Moth?’
‘Hush. I listen.’
The dragons whirled around us in a silent holding pattern, but they were beginning to be impatient before she broke her silence.
‘Went into rock tunnel, couldn’t hear them. Now out the other side I have again.’
She guided me and the wing formed up behind. We had only been flying about five minutes when Moth asked me to slow right down.
‘Buses are stopped, but I not think destination.’
I whistled and the youngest of the dragons came forward. He flew higher than we had been before and one of the older fighters snorted.
“If he runs out of air, I’m not carting his carcass home to his mammy.”
“He be all right,” Moth said, “might have a headache.”
The cocky youngster spiralled down from his foolish altitude. He hovered in front of Mandrake who snarled.
“Report to the raid leader, puppy.”
For a moment I thought we were going to have a dragon fight on our hands – and to be honest I didn’t give much for the youngster’s chances. You could see his dragonishly adolescent brain veering between bravado and the simple fact that Mandrake would kill him without batting an eyelid. Wiser council won and he lowered his crest. Just in time by my estimation. He backed air and came to hover before me.
“It looks like a checkpoint ma’am. Then a long straight road across the plain to a complex of buildings behind a wire fence.”
“Well looked, young dragon.”
He dropped to the rear of the wing, but not before I had seen the contempt in his whirling eyes.
“What is that one’s problem?”
Mandrake showed his teeth. “I don’t know. And we don’t have the time to find out right now.”
The old fighter who had spoken before rumbled in his chest. “His mammy is from the same clutch of eggs as The Queen. Has always thought that made her something special. Taught young Farsight to have a chip on his shoulder. It’s a pity because there’s good stuff under the stupid, but I very much doubt if he’ll live long enough for it to surface.”
“If he keeps acting proddy with me he won’t. I want two of you to keep an eye on him. Acting the asshole could jeopardise more lives than his own.” Mandrake wasn’t sounding too happy.
“I’ll see to it.”
The wing master turned his attention to me. “How do you want to play this?”
Moth took over my voice. “Sun will be going down very soon. Make use of the blinding brightness of a snowy sunset.”
He laughed. “Ah yes. With perhaps a distraction?”
I took my voice back. “What do you have in mind?”
“A queen dragon. It’s a ploy we have used with some success before. A fighter can puff up his belly so he resembles a queen in egg and fly as if he was in deep distress. With any luck the miscreants will think ‘she’ needs to clutch and try to entice her down.”
“And their attention should be focused enough for a silent swoop.”
He inclined his head. “I think we are in agreement ma’am.”
Once we had a plan I just sat back and let Mandrake do his schtick. To say he was efficient was to undersell his skill. He was ruthlessly organised, and I could feel Moth laughing in my head.
“If we were looking for a mate.”
“Not us.”
She offered me a metaphorical hug.
The sun was just turning the sky the colour of molten bronze when the dragon limped over the hills. ‘She’ seemed barely able to keep above the tree line and flew as if every wingbeat cost strength she no longer had.
A voice from the checkpoint called out high-pitched and excited.
“Look what fortune is bringing our way.”
There must have been some sort of communication equipment in the checkpoint hut because a bell rang loudly in the fenced compound and a crowd of armed men swarmed out of what had to be the barracks. Once they saw the seemingly limping dragon they mostly dropped their weapons and began making encouraging whistling noises. Almost as one man they ran out onto the snowy plain, leaving only two grizzled veterans who were either too canny or too lazy to pursue the idea of a clutching queen dragon.
Moth whispered in my mind. “Don’t like this. Seems too easy.”
Mandrake was of a similar opinion because he changed his plan somewhat sending only half his dragons in low and hard while the other half lifted on the sunset thermals until they were no more than pinpricks in the sky. For a moment it seemed as if his caution was unfounded, but then…
The roof of one of the buildings opened and the sky filled with what I could only call a squadron of ‘winged monsters’, led by a flying horse that was being ridden by the ugliest little demon I had ever seen.
“Mandrake,” I called, high and clear, and hoping he would hear, as I didn’t know the whistled signal for what I wanted to say, “tell the wing to go for the riders. I think many of the reception committee are reluctant.”
He whistled his understanding and the high dragons dropped from the sky like falling death. Their battle cries and the smell of blood on the air were almost irresistible, but I held back, knowing that my time to enter the fray was not yet. The dragon wing was professional and its members killed quickly and neatly, leaving the bodies intact and moving with care and circumspection. Except, of course, for the proddy young fool – who couldn’t resist the siren song of bloodlust. He lost vigilance as he ripped the heart from the chest of one of the guards and lifted the dripping morsel to his mouth. Had I been less vigilant, or a nanosecond slower, he would have been dead meat – but I am what I am and my talons crushed the spine of the man who was about to sever the young fool’s neck with an enchanted blade.
And then, of course, I was in the fight, and there was no backing out. My bright talons were stained with blood and other things as I took my part in the killing feast that churned up the snowy earth and besmirched its whiteness with sunset red.

Jane Jago

Ponies and Progeny or the graceless art of equine management as envisaged by the pen of Jane Jago and inspired by the genius of Norman Thelwell (1923-2004)

Today we consider the importance of hairdressing…

***** ***** *****

Some whimsical words on whimsical themes…

Where the goods trains used to run
Spring has come
With primroses and violets
Smiling at the sun
Celandines like yellow stars
Trees all dressed in white
You and I have found a morning
Sparkling with delight

Jane Jago