Flights of Death and Glory

Glad you could join us for the next flighty episode of Elliot’s Adventures. If you’re new here, you can catch up by returning to the beginning, and reading really fast…

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Image credit: Tomás Saraceno / Guido Limardo

The Alliance’s call to retreat rang out beneath the approaching shadow. All land and air forces, except the Freelands bees, pulled back to the Hive tree, beating away the closest attackers to defend and hold the royal residence to their deaths if necessary.

Ripping away from its parent darkness and speeding toward them, a smaller shadow became Sam and Clifton leading their company in a desperate race to reach Central Fen ahead of the growing darkness. Sweeping past the swarm still tormenting the enemy vulture, Sam yelled, “Retreat! Run! Get back to the Hive!”

“Captain,” Clifton called, “those are Freelands bees—”

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Another World, Another Life

Glad you could join us for the next domesticated episode of Elliot’s Adventures. If you’re new here, you can catch up by returning to the beginning, and reading really fast…

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Image credit: Antrey

Low and halting, like a song overwhelmed by tears, Pristalwhisp’s melodious voice told them her tale.

“I had a family — sisters and brothers and a mother who cared for all of us with gentle discipline. She used to tell us we were destined for love if we would heed her counsel. We learned cleanliness, peacefulness, and the joy of being stroked. Then, one by one, we were taken away. I never saw any of them again.

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Pristalwhisp

Glad you could join us for the next sorrowful episode of Elliot’s Adventures. If you’re new here, you can catch up by returning to the beginning, and reading really fast…

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Photo credit: Discovery Channel, UK

Cassandra’s gasp of alarm breathed out as compassion. “Oh, you poor thing!”

The last gleam of daylight glimmered in sunset blue eyes, shadowed and lonely, tired beyond life, sorrowful and aching. Grime and cobwebs overlay a ragged gray coat that didn’t quite cover patches of skin ripped naked bearing scratches, scars, and seeping sores, the trophies of lost battles, the badges of survival.

Lowering herself to the ground, the feline groaned. “Who are you? Have you come to feast on my decay?”

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