short story
-
Today, the Reign of Fire anthology releases from Dragon Soul Press. In it, you’ll find 18 dragon-based short stories—including my own, The Dragon Harvester’s Daughter, and E.B. Hunter’s Kjell of Vittra: Rising Smoke. In celebration of the release, Eric and I have recorded a brief interview and reading from our respective stories—check it out below!
-
I heard mother’s humming as I pushed through the crooked wooden door of our rundown home. She was on a cushion on the floor beside the fire, my sister’s head on her lap, smiling as she stroked the golden hair that cascaded across her thighs. “Such beautiful hair,” she said. “Had it since she was
-
Back in May, I shared an old short story I’d written in 2002 for a school assignment. It was a story I recall being very proud of and I kept it safe all these years (one of the only early stories of mine I have saved, in fact). Below, you’ll find my re-write of this
-
The heat was the first thing you noticed. A wave of unimpeded warmth that hit you as though stepping off the plane onto some distant, sun-drenched soil. The orb levitated a few feet from the forest floor. Its light flickered and wavered, growing dim and then brightening to an almost blinding level seemingly at random.
-
Thunk. The arrow landed in the tree trunk, a shameful distance from the now departed rabbit, and Tomas cringed. “How can you be getting worse?” Andrew sighed, walking forward to retrieve the failed shot. Tomas knew better than to answer his brother, instead jabbing at the forest floor with the toes of his scruffy brown
-
I recently did a poll on Twitter mentioning an old short story from 2002 that I’d been meaning to write up for some time. I was thinking of simply re-writing it and publishing it *but* I thought I’d ask for some opinions (and thanks to the 3 people who gave me theirs haha). The more
-
The dog stretched out of the cramped hole in the base of the great tree, yawning deeply. It had been a cool spring night and he sniffed at the fresh morning breeze that brought with it an undercurrent of death and decay from the surrounding forest. His pointed ears pricked up at the sounds of
-
The old wizard walked with purpose, one hand grasping an intricately carved wooden staff, the other resting lightly on his weathered belt. You might expect him to be wearing a luxurious robe, as wizards are wont to do; in fact, he was dressed sensibly in woollen trousers, tunic and cape, for there was a long
-
It started with a sacred weapon. Arthur was told from a young age he would inherit his father’s sword—his grandfather’s before him—and take up his rightful place as Hero of the Realm. And yet… And yet, the idea left him hollow. It wasn’t even fear—well, he had to admit, perhaps a little fear—but rather a
-
The bell above my door rings and my heart jolts in my chest, sending a rush of adrenaline through my veins. I am torn; comfortable in my state of near-hibernation, reluctant to move… But this is my first visitor in months, drawn in by the ever-burning flame at the top of my tower—a waypoint in
Lucy A. McLaren 