lands imagined by eye and ear
Small screams drew us from far and wide through a sun-dappled valley of rosewood and pyne to the edge of a great field of green — but a green of vein-blue hue it was, like an ocean stained with jealousy. There in the deep of that sweetgrass sea stood a twisted old ironwood tree.
It snaked skyward, spawn of a gray strain unknown, ominous, lost, at anchor alone, a strange scurvy pirate, no skull but all bones, bleeding black sap like bile.
With gnarled, fingery branches it cast a wide net, nails longing to scratch at our treasure and get it…