The Throme of the Erril of Sherill (2013)
“He hated sleeping under trees. Trees whispered at night and dropped things on his face; trees wound underground and made hard knobs of their roots that gave lump in the back and crick in the neck. Trees let the sun too early in his eyes, and the sun would not go away. But worse than the sun was the Thing, that jumped out of nowhere onto the stomach of the Cnite Caerles.
“Oog,” said Caerles and opened one eye. A child looked back at him, her hair in sweet, moist tendrils down her back, her f...inger in her mouth. The other eye of the Cnite Caerles opened. “Child,” he said cheerlessly, “Why are you sitting on my stomach?”
“I have lost my dagon,” said the child through her finger. Caerles looked at her motionlessly, unblinking in the sunlight.
“I, too, have lost something,” he said finally. “I have lost my true heart’s love, the well-spring of my deep heart’s laughter, because I am sent on a hopeless quest from which I will never return.MoreLess
“Oog,” said Caerles and opened one eye. A child looked back at him, her hair in sweet, moist tendrils down her back, her f...inger in her mouth. The other eye of the Cnite Caerles opened. “Child,” he said cheerlessly, “Why are you sitting on my stomach?”
“I have lost my dagon,” said the child through her finger. Caerles looked at her motionlessly, unblinking in the sunlight.
“I, too, have lost something,” he said finally. “I have lost my true heart’s love, the well-spring of my deep heart’s laughter, because I am sent on a hopeless quest from which I will never return.MoreLess
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