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day. Slevyn closed her eyes and let the early-morning rays fall on her like a feather-filled blanket. She checked herself. She did not have a feather blanket so she did not really know for certain whether or not if it would feel as dreamy as the sun’s rays. Nor did she have a real bed or even decent shoes. Crude, sewn pieces of dried cow hide resembling socks more than shoes, were what the people in her water-front village wore. Legends told, however, of a wonderful place in the faraway mountain peaks of Perth where people lived in villas that shone like crystal in the sun, where lakes were as still as mirrors and the streets were paved with gold. Slevyn snorted. She may only be an ignorant twelve-year-old girl, who always dreamed about lands that did not exist instead of focusing on the one that did—her father’s words – but she had eavesdropped enough on his conversations with the village men to know that was not true, or at least not entirely. Still, what if such a place did exist? Slevyn pulled up tufts of grass and let them fly away through her fingers in the wind. It did not matter. Any place, even a made up one, was better than this. Slevyn curled her fingers into her palm, and with one finger, traced the streaks of white clouds in the sky. Next, she moved on to the birds, mere specks bobbing up and down aagainst the pale-blue. The hawks soared, rising and dipping on the shifting air currents. When she came to the last dot, she moved her arm to the right side of the sky, where a solitary form shot across the blue expanse. Slevyn frowned and sat up a little, resting on her elbows. This was no hawk. For one, it did not release itself to the wind to soar as the others did, and this thing was far, far bigger. She could tell that much even from this distance. “What?” she began. “Oy, Slevyn! Wha’ch’ya doing out here, girl? Don’cha know your da will skin you alive if ‘e finds you’ve ducked yer chores, again?” “Girl? Who are you calling girl? You’re not much older than I am, Doret Mayorson,” Slevyn shot back. She sat straight up and glared at the intruder. Doret was the mayor’s son. He stood tall with his shoulders back to emphasize his full five-feet-six inches, of which he was very proud. He was the tallest boy his age in the village, but Slevyn cared nothing about that. She cared nothing at all for Doret and never would, even if he grew to six feet! Why he had taken it upon himself to be her keeper she would never know. He was like an efficient hound dog, always sniffing her out no

The Woven Tale Press Issue #5  

An Eclectic Culling of the Best of the Creative Web

The Woven Tale Press Issue #5  

An Eclectic Culling of the Best of the Creative Web

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