Come out on the board, he said
It will be so much fun
I’ll paddle while you ride, he said
It’s lovely in the sun
I went out on the board with him
He had a lovely time
Because his smile made sun look dim
The pleasure was all mine

©️ jj 2024

Since Ben and Joss Beckett took over The Fair Maid and Falcon, they have had to deal with ghosts, gangsters and well dodgy goings-on. Despite that they have their own family of twin daughters and dogs, and a fabulous ‘found family’ of friends. Life seems to be going well when…

I hadn’t realised Ellen was back until she spoke from behind me. “And I’ll go over to yours and deal with the twins’ bedtime. I’ll just tell them you are working late.”
I held out my arms and we hugged. “Thank you, dear.”
Ellen went on soft feet and Sian grinned tautly. “I need to see what Benny has before I can finish putting together a TikTok. Can I sit here and do my homework while I wait?”
“Course you can, lovely. So long as doing this won’t put you in any danger.”
“No. Not if you get Mark onside.”
“Oh, I’m onside all right.”
A deep voice from the doorway made me jump and I whirled to face a rather grim looking Mark.
“When I saw Morgan’s face, I put out some feelers. It smells as if The Fair Maid is being lined up for a spot of extortion and we can’t have that.”
“No we can’t. But even more importantly, we can’t have people bitch-slapping the kids.”
Sian snorted. “No we can’t. But equally we can’t let the gruesome twosome know that Mark is here and in the mood for blood. You know how much they adore him and how good their emotional antennae are. We need to keep them apart this evening, or explain this whole can of worms to two over-intelligent six-year-olds.”
Which was an absolute truth and required a bit of thought. I looked at Mark.
“Where’d you park the Jag?”
“Far corner of the overflow car park away from prying eyes.”
“Good. So Roz and Ali won’t see it. I’ll call Ben and make sure he doesn’t bring them in through the pub and we’ll be laughing.”
I picked up the phone and it pinged before I had chance to make my call. It was Ben.
“Two sleepy people packed into their car seats. We should be home in about thirty minutes.”
“Will you take them straight indoors. I’m a bit hung up with paperwork, but Ellen is there to do bedtime and sit with them until we finish up here.”
“Okay. Can do. I’m putting the phone on speaker now. Say goodnight to mummy, girls. She’s in the office doing busy things, so Ellen is going to put you to bed and read your story tonight.”
“Goodnight mummy.” Two sleepy voices chorused.
“Goodnight my loves.”
Ben ended the call and Mark grinned at me. “Those girls.”
“Haven’t you got enough girls of your own?” Sian giggled.
“You can never have too many girls in your life.” Then he actually blushed. “There may be another one soon. Debs is pregnant. But we have chosen not to be told the gender.”
Both Sian and I hugged him.
“What will Debs say when she finds out you told us?” I teased.
He smiled widely. “It’s okay. I had permission. We called Hannah, last night and told Morgan this afternoon. Other family is allowed now.”
“How did your daughters react?” I asked, knowing how well he and Debs had melded their two families, but also knowing what different characters his Hannah and her Morgan were.
“About how you would expect as you know them well. Hannah laughed until I thought she was going to cry before dropping a bomb on my feet, and Morgan hugged us for all she was worth while she tried not to cry.”
“What was Hannah’s bomb?” It was Sian who asked.
“She and Thomas are trying for a baby themselves. She thought it might have been funny if I had a grandchild older than my youngest child. Debs laughed at my expression, before reminding me that we want more than one between us so it could still be true. The women in my life do have a way of putting me in my place.”
Sian snorted derisively. “Oh yeah. I bet they don’t even dent the machismo.”
I decided to put my foot down before Mark could retort. “You can both behave. Sian stop being cheeky, and Mark please remember that it ill-behoves the Managing Director of Brown Brothers to get into a brangling match with a cocky teenager.”
They both threw me mocking salutes, but they shut up.
I went to the bar and refreshed my sadly warm and flat drink, returning with a coke for Sian, an alcohol-free lager for Mark and beer nuts for us all. Sian applied herself to the creation of a video. We chatted quietly and by the time I heard Ben’s familiar tread Sian was ready to finish her handiwork. Ben came into the office walking very quietly.
“Bloody woman,” he grumbled.
“You shouldn’t be talking about Joss like that.”
Sian’s cheekiness stopped him in his tracks and he slapped his forehead with the flat of his hand.
“You’re dead right there.”
He crossed the room in two strides, wrapping me in his arms and kissing me lightly but with a punch of sensuality.
“What’s pissed on your strawberries marito mio?”
“That bloody bitch. Seems like she makes a career out of stiffing people, and then her back-up boys move in for a bit of extortion and intimidation. The constabulary has had her in their hands several times, but every time the complaint gets dropped and they have to let her go.”
“And we know this because?”
“Because a detective sergeant of our acquaintance was at the drive-through when this arrest occurred. He was rather pleased to think this one might even stick.”
“Oh it will. The burger people aren’t the sort to back down.”
Mark nodded. “But she’ll only get a slapped wrist.”
“Which’ll be better than nothing.”
“And it’ll give her a record,” Mark said with false mildness.
“Good,” Sian bit the word off. “Have you got anything Benny?”
“Yep. Will I Air Drop it to you?”
“Please.”
By the grin on Sian’s face when she looked at what Ben sent, it was precisely what she wanted. Ten minutes later she sat back and flexed her fingers.
“I think that does it. You wanna watch?”
The video lasted approximately ninety seconds, and it cleverly spotlighted what a nasty piece of work we were dealing with, whilst making her look a complete idiot.
Mark grinned. “I particularly like the screaming and swearing.”
“Me too. And it’s all kosher. I think Morgan should see it before I set it running.”
“Good thinking.”
Another ten minutes saw Morgan’s enthusiastic endorsement and Sian outlined her plan of action. It seemed good, and we all nodded, with Mark adding an offer to post on a website set up to allow private security companies to identify idiots. Sian showed him her teeth in a wicked grin.
“Five, four, three, two, one. Boom! Operation ‘don’t fuck with my friends’ is go.”
“Sian. Mind your language please. I don’t want your mum after my blood,” Mark said.
A thought struck me and I waved my hands for attention .
“Sian. Have you ever heard of a website called FAFO?”
Mark and Ben looked bemused, but Sian nodded delightedly.
“Moratorium on language?” she asked.
“While you explain.” That was Stella’s voice from the open door.
“Fuck Around and Find Out is a website where people post clips of eejits getting their comeuppance.”
“Can we post there?”
“If we sign up.”
“Let me do that,” Mark said. “Or, rather, will you do it for me? Because I’m fairly sure even the dimmest muscle will be bright enough not to get on the wrong side of Brown Brothers.”
So it was that a video of a very unpleasant woman went viral and the rest of us went about our business.

There will be more from Joss, Ben and their friends, courtesy of Jane Jago, next week, or you can catch up with their earlier adventures in Who Put Her In and Who Pulled Her Out.

Because life can be interesting when you are a non-player character in an online video game…

Sure, enough she had barely got home, given Ruffkin his breakfast and made a fresh pot of fruit tea, before the Visitor she had overheard on the pier was banging on her door. She didn’t bother to welcome them, focusing instead on pouring some of the fruit tea into a pottery bottle and sealing it up.
“Come in. It’s not locked.”
The figure who entered might have stepped out of an ancient tale. She was clearly an elf, the pointed ears, elaborate hair and lofty expression of superiority spoke to that. She wore golden armour that gleamed with its own radiance and even lit up the room more brightly. One hand rested on the pommel of a sword, shaped to resemble the skull of a dragon with hollow socket eyes that gleamed darkly and a jagged blade representing flames coming out of its mouth. On her back was a bow, Milla could see it over the elf’s shoulder, which looked like it was made of a milky white wood, set with tiny gemstones.
This was clearly the kind of Visitor Pew called a poser.
“Hail fair lady. I, Blessedknight Gloryjammer, have need of your wisdom.” The elf managed to make it sound as if she were doing Milla a favour by allowing her to help, instead of it being the other way around.
Putting her hands on her hips, she wrinkled up her snout and glared at the elf, and Ruffkin gave a low growl from his bed by the hearth.
“Really?”
The elf looked a bit puzzled and cleared her throat.
“Hail fair lady. I, Blessedknight Gloryjammer, have need of your wisdom.”
“Yes. You said.”
“Uh…?”
“I don’t know how things are in the Melifulous Glades where you elves all come from, but here in Wrathburnt Sands we have these things called ‘manners’. You might even have heard of them?”
The elf had changed colour and looked a little grey.
“I…Uh… B-but this isn’t in the walkthrough.”
“Please,” Milla told her helpfully. “You say please.”
The elf swallowed.
“But it isn’t…”
“In the walkthrough?”
The elf shook her head.
“I don’t think that’s my problem,” Milla said and tapped her foot impatiently.
The elf looked close to tears.
“Alright. Please. Please will you give me the fragging pyramid quest?”
Milla sighed and picked up the bottle of tea and held it out to the unhappy-looking elf.
“You’ll need to get some flyberry cookies from One Eye Rye as well, so save yourself the time and get some flyberries before you go to see him.”
The elf took the bottle and stared at it uncomprehending.
“I already got some berries, but what’s this?”
“Fruit tea. The drakonettes who guard the pyramid love it.”
“But that’s not…”
“In the walkthrough?”
The elf shook her head again.
Milla resisted the temptation to shake hers and instead managed a fake smile. Not that the elf would think it fake. Visitor’s never noticed such things. Except for Pew.
“Uh. Alright. If you say so,” the elf said, sounding sulky. Then the colour shot back into her face with embarrassment “I mean – I thank you fair lady Milla for aiding me in my quest.”
Milla decided not to say that the only reason she had given her the tea was because she didn’t want the elf coming back to her house and trying to use her fire to make the tea herself. She’d learned early on that if she let them do that the Visitors always left the place in a mess.
Instead, she pulled a newly finished necklace of shells from her pocket and dropped it into the elf’s hand.
“Oh, and that’s the quest reward so you won’t need to come back and find me afterwards.”
The elf’s mouth was opening and closing like a fish.
“But..but…”
“But it won’t work until you’ve finished the whole thing in the pyramid, relit the Everburning Eternal Fire, defeated the Lich Lord and summoned the Guardian of the Ages. So you’d better get going. You’ve a busy day ahead.”
As she spoke she gripped one heavily armoured elbow and spun the elf, unresisting, on the spot before pushing her firmly out of the front door and closing it behind her.
This time Milla did lock it. Turning the key firmly. She’d had more than enough of Visitors for the day and it wasn’t even lunchtime. She sat at her table and drank some of the fruit tea. Once she had tidied the place up she might do some baking then pop over to see One Eye and…
There came a thunderous knocking on the door.

Log on to Wrathburnt Sands by E.M. Swift-Hook for the 13th Quest next week.

‘Wrathburnt Sands’ and ‘Return to Wrathburnt Sands’ were first published in Rise and Rescue: A GameLit Anthology and in Rise and Rescue Volume 2: Protect and Recover.

Though the biggers never see it, there is much going on in their own backyard where the ‘nomes make their home…

Cheezer and Chigger had an argument one night, which culminated in Chigger having to be rescued from the bog garden. He was sullenly angry, and the nome community thought him bent on vengeance. They were right. At midnight the twang of a sprung nome trap was followed by horrendous bellowing.

First there was Granny, followed by Brenda and Bernard. They looked up into the suspended face – of Chigger .

“I thought you laid a trap for Cheezer,” Brenda remarked.

He swore loudly. Brenda shrugged.

“If you makes a nome trap,” she said, “it’s as well to remember where you set it.”

Jane Jago

A dictionary for the bemused by Jane Jago…

aminal (noun) – the knitted thing dragged around by a toddler which it can never be persuaded to part with for long enough to be washed

chocies (plural noun) – the best chocolates in the box

eithert (noun) – the face pulled by drunk people lighting the wrong end of a ciggy

hampet (noun) – a small furry rodent, genetically engineered to be uber cute

horriblt (noun) – foul mouthed hobbit

insprit (verb) – particularly of toddlers to insert any foreign object in the left nostril. Example: The inspriting of his sister’s craft beads caused Peterkin an uncomfortable interlude in A&E

jakstrap (noun) – piece of S&M equipment of whose uses I wot not

kow (noun) – ungulate animal with a pouch and an udder

mulchy (adjective) – of gardeners boots being rendered three sizes bigger by the addition of a mixture of thick clay and well-rotted manure

noludar (noun) – delivery driver whose satnav has picked up, often found crying in a lay-by on the B793 near Harrogate

relaly (adjective) – of getting pissed again on coffee after a heavy Pernod night

sandles (noun) – extra springy love handles

tatstes (noun) – slightly overripe gonads with an odd odour

upshit (verb) – in deference to those of gentle sensibilities I will merely explain that this refers to the bodily functions of those inebriated enough to be face down in a gutter

Disclaimer: all these words are genuine typos defined by Jane Jago. The source of each is withheld to protect the guilty.

Because life happens…

Exploring the mysteries of life through the versatile medium of limerick poetry.

It isn’t as if we can know
The future and where things will go
To always be stellar
Take sunscreen and umbrella
And then you can go with the flow

E.M. Swift-Hook

Moonbeam Farquhar Metheringham IV takes time from his immensely important life to proffer profound advice to those who still struggle on the aspirational slopes of authorhood…

Dear Reader Who Writes,

It always behoves me to assume that there will be at least one new reader of my inspirational course on ‘How to Write a Book’. So to that gentle reader I doff my hat and reveal that I am none other than Moonbeam Farquhar Metheringham IV – author of the  brilliant and inventive novel, “Fatswhistle and Buchtooth”, a seminal work exploring the furthest conceptual reaches of science fiction and fantasy.

Today’s topic came to me a while ago and then I was distracted by my Muse offering other, more pressingly urgent dangleberries of wisdom and demanding that those took precedence. But then my focus was rehoned to the point by Mumsie walking into my writing cave, bearing her trademark pernod and gingerwine in a champagne flute with the inevitable green olive drifting in the murk. “Oh my god, Moons, this place stinks worse than a sumo wrestlers jock-strap!” I delicately pointed out that she was referring to my vetiver, bergamot and lemongrass aromatherapy oil, blended expressly to induce higher states of creativity.

Mummy was not, however, much impressed by this revelation. Instead she picked up my pristine first edition copy of Fatswhistle and Buchtooth and opened it, bending the spine and splattering droplets of her alcoholic creosote over it’s pages. Before I could recover from the horror of her deed, she had dropped the irreplaceably precious item back on my desk. “Don’t they say you can’t tell a book by the cover? Got it wrong with yours though. Shite inside and out.”

Cover Design

A book cover needs to be a visual precise of your prose. It should capture and enrapture the roving eye as a reader runs through the rows of books either on a shelf in a shop or on a scrolling screen. Yours must be the cover that cries out as that putative reader sifts through stacks of books to find their next favourite fiction.

But how is this achieved? If you read the academic artists they will talk of proportions, the Golden Mean, of colour strengths and shades and other esoteric claptrap. It is actually stunningly simple – make it red.

Red is the most eye-catching colour as everyone knows. We are all primally preprogrammed to see red as a signal of something requiring our attention. Therefore, so long as your cover is red your book will be read.

A more sophisticated and subtle touch can be achieved by drawing on that other universal colour combination guaranteed to draw the eye – black and yellow. Our perceptions are precisely honed to hover our eyes on anything that resembles hornets or wasps. So, if red is not appropriate for your magnificent tome – black and yellow may well serve the same end.

Of course, to be sure, combine the two concepts.

Oh and put a naked lady on it, ideally headless.

Follow these infallible rules and you will create a cover that none will miss and your book will bound from shelves be those physical or metaphorical.

Until next time, au revoir mes petites poissons.

Moonbeam Farquhar Metheringham IV

You can find more of IVy’s profound advice in How To Start Writing A Book courtesy of E.M. Swift-Hook and Jane Jago.

There are people who live in a convenient world
So much more convenient than mine
If they have a problem they know how to fix it
Their world spins along again fine

They have Amazon Echos and blue-tooth devices
Phones that are smarter than me
I tell them I need something done and they
Say: “Use this app. That’ll do it, you’ll see.”

But I live in a world where technology faltered
And ground to a halt times ago
My phone is not smart, and nor is my dwelling
My downloading speed is too slow

And most of the time that is how I prefer it
Convenience that works right for me
But they don’t understand when I say I can’t do things
They take for granted to be

I like to think it is not generational
As many of all ages surf
I prefer to consider it is more vocational
I choose to live down to earth.

E.M. Swift-Hook

Since Ben and Joss Beckett took over The Fair Maid and Falcon, they have had to deal with ghosts, gangsters and well dodgy goings-on. Despite that they have their own family of twin daughters and dogs, and a fabulous ‘found family’ of friends. Life seems to be going well when…

We were rather late showing our faces in the pub, which caused the usual merriment among the staff. Time was when I’d have been embarrassed but I’ve become accustomed to Ben’s rampant disregard for any ideas of prudishly concealing our predilection for afternoon affection. I did find it in me to punch him smartly on the biceps for his smug grin, though, before I let him have the pleasure of fetching our twin daughters from the fleshpots of a local burger joint.
The business seemed to be ambling along without my input, so I sat at the bar and ordered myself a large gin and tonic. I’d barely taken a restorative sip when one of the regulars came and bellied up to the bar beside me. He passed me his phone and I found myself watching a video in which the silly woman who caused a lunchtime fracas made a lot of blatantly false allegations.
“Stupid as well as unpleasant,” he muttered.
“Indeed. Thanks for showing me.”
Taking my drink with me, I went out to the kitchen. Our chef Neil, and his wife, Stella, were on duty, but as it was a relatively quiet evening, they were drinking coffee and waiting for pudding orders. I grinned at them.
“Can I borrow one of your daughters?”
“Don’t you have enough of your own?”
“I do, but they aren’t any more social media savvy than me. So I wondered. Is Ellen about?”
“Yes. She’s helping Sian with a project for school, but I’m sure…” Neil was genial.
“That nasty bitch from lunchtime acting the fool on antisocial media?” Stella asked.
“She is. And I’m after a bit of help putting together a rebuttal.”
“You need Sian as well then, she’s the TikTok expert. You go and sit in the office. I’ll round them up.” Stella bustled off to the flat above the function room where the family lives happily.
There are plenty of lady victualers who would love to warn me against making friends of my staff. If they were brave enough to risk my wrath, and if they didn’t see how well the Fair Maid and Falcon operates when staffed by our extended ‘family’.
Neil winked at me. “Star’s a bit put out by what that little madam did to Morgan’s face.”
“Me too, buddy, me too.”
I went and sat in the office, where I was quickly joined by Ellen and Sian.
Sian perched on the edge of my desk. “It’s a pity we don’t have footage of that cow bitch-slapping Morg.”
I decided to overlook the language, and was just about to agree when our bar manager, Ed, popped his face round the corner.
“I might just have what you want. One of the lunchtime tapas eaters was annoyed enough by madam’s shenanigans to film her with his phone. He cleaned it up and just now sent it to me.”
He waved his phone.
“Gimme,” Sian held out a hand and he put his phone in it.
“Don’t break my phone, brat.”
Sian snorted and he went back to work. She connected his phone to her tablet whistling through her teeth.
“Let’s see what we’ve got.”
My own phone burbled, announcing that Ben was calling.
“Hi love. What gives?”
“I’m sending you a picture. Want to know if you recognise the person.”
The file came swiftly and I opened it to see the face of the ‘influencer’ who had decided it would be okay to stiff us for her lunch and attack Morgan into the bargain. I called Ben back and put the call on speaker.
“That’s our not friend from lunchtime. Why do you have a picture of her?”
He laughed although there were all sorts of sharp edges to his laughter.
“She’s just getting arrested.”
“What did she do?”
“Tried to stiff the burger joint and they have a zero tolerance policy.”
“Oh dear, what a pity, never mind. And how stupid is she?”
“Very. And very sure she’ll get away with anything she wants to do. Anyway, fatherhood calls..”
“Benny,” Sian interjected, “you couldn’t get a shot of her being loaded into a police car. From behind so it doesn’t show her face?”
“I couldn’t, as they just drove away, but there are quite a few youngsters filming and laughing. I’ll see if anyone has anything.”
“That’s a good idea. And. Benny, it would be quite clever to mention that she cut Morgan’s face. I’m sure a few of them will be uploading videos and they’d love to mention that little fact.”
Ben chuckled. “Consider it done.”
Sian downloaded the video from Ed’s phone and while Ellen returned it she stood fiddling with her own phone.
“Joss,” she spoke quietly but something in her tone made me think what she had to say was important, “that woman is bad news. Once I had her face I found her and she makes a living out of stiffing food outlets and then dissing them to her followers so they wind up paying her to go away.”
“Oh what a sweetheart. Are you suggesting we pay her off?”
“Nope. But I think we might need Mark’s help. He should have some acquaintances who would be willing to make our video go viral. And also put the frighteners on this ‘influencer’.”
“I’m sure he’d be only too willing to step on the person who hurt his daughter, and crush the offender like the bug she undoubtedly is. But why do you think it’s necessary?”
“Because there’s some people in a few groups I belong to who have been warned that she has a couple of nasty friends who think nothing of messing up anyone who goes after her.”
“Messing up?”
“Somebody’s brakes mysteriously failed, and another was pushed from behind when she was waiting at a tube station. Nobody really badly hurt, and nothing provable, but..”
For a few seconds I felt a sense of pressure against my chest, and my instinct was to tell Sian to step back from possible danger. She looked at me.
“I’m going to do this, Joss, Morgan is my friend.”
Recognising determination when I heard it, I lifted a shoulder.
“Okay. I’ll call Mark.”
“Right. I’ll make a video.”

There will be more from Joss, Ben and their friends, courtesy of Jane Jago, next week, or you can catch up with their earlier adventures in Who Put Her In and Who Pulled Her Out.

Because life can be interesting when you are a non-player character in an online video game…

It had been a quiet few days in Wrathburnt Sands. The months since the Expansion had been very busy for Milla in her new role as a quest giver so she appreciated the break. It gave her more time to go beachcombing with Ruffkin, her little dog, and chat with Pew whilst she strung the shells she had gathered into necklace charms to give out as quest rewards to those Visitors who returned from the pyramid dungeon to claim one.
Pew – or more correctly Firecaster Pewpowerpwnsyou – was, she supposed, her boyfriend. At least he seemed to think he was and Milla was not entirely unhappy with the idea, even if there were times she wanted to shake him. But the other residents of Wrathburnt Sands made no secret of their feelings.
“He’s not a proper ryeshor. He’s not even a Local.”
“He don’t belong here.”
“Folk like him drag trouble with them. They’re cursed with it.”
“You be careful young’un, he’s a Visitor. He’ll only break your heart.”
Those last words were still ringing in Milla’s head as she walked along the beach in the morning sun, Ruffkin bounding ahead of her. One Eye Rye had said that yesterday, when she went to buy some fish for Ruffkin from his shop by the pier. He was her truest friend amongst the villagers. He even liked Pew. She knew he did because he sold Pew provisions from his shop at a discount those times when Pew was down on his luck and One Eye never did that for any other Visitor.
“Visitors never stay for long,” One Eye added, “and they always have other lives.”
“Not Pew,” she had told him stoutly, “He promised me he’s maining on his ryeshor toon and has stopped playing all his other alts.”
One Eye’s snout wrinkled at that.
“I start to worry about you, young’un. You’re even talking like a Visitor now – ‘toons’, ‘alts’ and whatever the bluesky and ocean that all means.”
Milla shrugged and had left quickly after that. The truth was she didn’t entirely know what any of it meant. But Pew had said it with such fervour that she knew it was something that mattered to him for her to know. She understood at least that it was his way of saying he wasn’t going to go away like the other Visitors always did. That made Milla happy as when she tried to imagine not having Pew around, life began to feel very flat and empty.
Walking along the beach in the early morning, she paused to pick up a shell. The pendant she always wore around her neck, swung forward, glowing with its hidden magic. She tucked it away in her simple tunic and was disturbed by voices on the pier. She couldn’t see them as the pier was above her, but she knew from what they were saying that it was Visitors.
“I hate this fragging fishing quest. Must have done it a million times.”
“You and me both, bud. You remember when we were in Epic Legends with that crazy guy, what was he called? The one who loved crafting and spent all his time harvesting?”
“You mean Buffalott?”
“That’s the one. I heard his wife left him for their guild leader in the end. She always just wanted to raid. Best MT on the server she was too.”
“Yeah? I thought that was Aggrowhore?”
“Just because We Rulz is the top raiding guild, doesn’t mean they have the best MT.”
“S’ppose. Anyway, I’m done fishing, have to go turn it in and then I can do the pyramid questline.”
Milla sighed and made an effort to keep the frills on her crest from flattening. Not for the first time she wished she didn’t have to be a quest giver. Life had been so much simpler before she became one.

Log on to Wrathburnt Sands by E.M. Swift-Hook for the 12th Quest next week.

‘Wrathburnt Sands’ and ‘Return to Wrathburnt Sands’ were first published in Rise and Rescue: A GameLit Anthology and in Rise and Rescue Volume 2: Protect and Recover.