David A Ludwig (@DavidALudwig) flew the highest this week and takes his eighteenth win!
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“Uh-uh!” Lune shook his shaggy head emphatically. “That old lady creeps me out! I’m going around!”
Connla smirked, “We hunt the worst the worlds have to offer day and night, and you can’t even walk by a lonely old woman?”
“I can smell her even through the flowers; something’s not right with her!” Lune shuddered with hackles raised.
Connla shrugged, “Well, she has lived around a century longer than she should have.”
“That doesn’t bother you?”
The Unseelie swordmaster waved to his werewolf partner and stepped onto the overgrown garden path. Lune shifted nervously from foot to foot, snorted decisively, and took off at a brisk march around the perimeter of the Weeping Garden. In truth, Connla had picked their path with the intention of encountering the garden’s mistress.
The garden was a sanctuary for all who sought it. Since its creator had begun spending ever more of her time inside, the place had seemed to freeze in time. The rich green foliage was always thick and in sweet bloom; the air was always humid and unusually chill for a Seelie site. Navigating its verdure choked paths, it was never quite clear whether it was day or night.
Connla emerged at an overcast afternoon clearing. A long-haired, gossamer-gowned woman as pale and ethereal as moonlight sat watching the still green pond. The swordmaster knelt and bowed his head.
“Connla,” Seelie Queen Emeritus Erin’s voice cracked like a heavy tome opening for the first time in ages. “What word is there of my sister?”
“None, your majesty.”