spine folk

Life was a never ending cycle of seasons. It was an obvious thing for those close to nature. The Old Folk knew it. The settlers knew it. The birds knew it. One always found their way back to the place they began if not literally then metaphorically. It was impossible to escape the place of one's...

Spring had come to the Spine after the snows finally melted. At least it had in the lower lands. The high peaks still stood white rising above the clouds. Green and blue took its place amongst brown and gray. Birds sang of the renewal. Rivers and creeks flowed full once more. Where there was not...