It’s 4am I should be asleep but instead I’m awake after the feeling of a wolf nuzzled up to me. When one awakens and there is no one there the cold soul returns and sleep escapes again. Some touch my soul and that residual energy stirs the long silence of warmth and wanderlust.
The Gods know and have foreseen this.
The SCA world revolves around hardsuit fighting, and not many would disagree. For newcomers, images of daring knights, beautiful ladies and duels to the death come to mind. Does this fairy tale adv…
In this my first year as Arts and Sciences officer of Tir Righ, I have had the opportunity to speak with many people about their A&S interests. In doing so, I ofttimes suggest that they enter t…
The news that came tonight was not of wonderful joy. It has come that one of the ilk has been hurt, both physically & emotionally by ones she thought she could trust. The pain and violation they caused on our ilk will not go unpunished. No one shall commit this and not suffer the wrath of the family. The anger of the father. The anger of the uncle. The anger of the sibling. The anger of the aunt. You pieces of vile shit will get what you deserve more so than that you will wish to the gods that you had NEVER TOUCHED HER. You will wish to the gods that you could disappear. For the record you two vile pieces of shit NO MEANS NO AND YOU WILL WISH TO ALL THAT YOU HAD LEARNED THIS LESSON…
Thankful she had the sense to report what you fucking pieces of shit did
May the Fates show No Mercy and No quarter on you two.
Late night phone calls.
Questions asked, answered and pondered.
Memories revisited. .Happy, sad and anger.
More questions asked more answers given. Some short, some long, some painful, some in tears.
Few regrets as to what happened.
Lessons learned again. New lessons too.
Closure of what went wrong.
New hope for what went right.
Friendship endured the storm of separation and loss.
New paths to be made.
ether but separate.
Names to be forever engraved on hearts that are bond through an unwritten, invisible, soul deep connection.
New paths to unfold one or two only the Fates know.
Is it to be that we will try again?
Is it to happen later a bit further down the road?
Is it be better than what it was?
Is it to be a new?
Do we say we tried its done?
Do we attempt to take the other road?
Do we depart and go our separate ways?
Do you stand on the shore as I swim away?
Is it not to be?
Only the Fates know what is and what is not to be. There are no guarantees with the Fates of Three. They determine the paths for eternity.
When meeting new people, sooner or later one is invariably asked “What do you do?” In my case, after providing my go-to brief description of Manuscript Studies, it is nearly always followed with “How did you get into that?” Consequently, I’m often reminded of my first manuscript experiences, and also of the early (mis)conceptions I had about their production.
Initially, I always pictured a tidy row of tonsured monks stationed at their desks, painstakingly copying out the texts before them. These men silently worked together, not only in a collaborative sense, but also physically; without fail, I imagined their activities happening simultaneously, and very much defined by shared space. In my manuscript-making vision these scribes always worked in a room purpose-built for their task, i.e. the scriptorium.
While this impression isn’t wrong per se, it is easily complicated…
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