A child of the riverbank, of the river, the Sentinel, it was called. In a child’s mind there was no time, but time there was to learn to climb, and so she did, scaling the rock along the water’s edge. Learning to dream, and dreaming, a current moving in time. Seeing the world, not as it was, but as it was before the past was dust, and that was in the beginning, long before she’d ventured forth. She set her fingers in the water’s flow —a river in her hand— the water, it’d been places she’d yet to see, was going places she longed to be. “Let me show you,” the river whispered, and one day—it did. ©January 2018, January 2021 Christina Anne Hawthorne
Christina Anne Hawthorne
Alive and well in the Rocky Mountains. I'm a fantasy writer who also dabbles in poetry, short stories, and map making. My Ontyre tales are an alternative fantasy experience, the stories rich in mystery, adventure, and romance. Alternative fantasy? Not quite steampunk. Not quite gothic. In truth, the real magic is in those who discover what's within.
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