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@dyre.bsky.socialOct 12, 2026, 9:28 PM

This word is used as a measurement of time in #WakeandGlaer so I have it a lot but I am not sure I shared this one yet...so...

Here you go, #WIPSnips

Morin was not in her office fondling odd black crystals as she wished to be. A pair of fawns anxious enough to earn her ears beat down her door and told her a yearling stag went overboard. They didn't recognize the stag, but yelling dragged them from their cots in the nursery and they watched...as some tree-borne terror towering too tall blurred from a hall to grab him, to fold him and toss him through a porthole. "E mifyr!" They'd cried, over and over until she soothed them and allowed them to curl up in her bed. Where they remained as she stormed up narrow steps to the pace, to the cheln's neck and the bone-carved ladder leading to an olhm-shell lookout and helm drilled into its skull. Looking back at thick, greasy waters too dark to see much more than the shimmer of scaly beasts through, Morin did not see any yearlings, but she wouldn't for their speed. "How many yearlings are onboard?" She asked her Eyes, dutifully keeping watch on the storm ahead of them. The yearling doe, Tuln blinked, considered and spoke in that precise order, "Just me, Cap. Rest are adult crew or rescued fawns. Is this about Lyrt?" Morin turned from her vigil tailward to find a smirk on her Eyes and a taunting tone on the doe's tongue, "Saw him splashin' tailward half a pulse passed and he didn't go for that swim willing." "You sounded no alarms, Tuln...you are meant to sound the alarms," She said it low but dismissive, sighing after. While Tuln chuckled. "Like any would try and fish him out. Waste of breaths better spent on duties." "So it was Lyrt, not some unknown yearling..." Morin wasn't asking. Answered anyway, "Was, and don't pretend you aren't glad. He didn't belong onboard and was a liability to any doe not too young t--"
@dyre.bsky.socialOct 4, 2026, 10:40 PM

Currently, #awesomecharacters, the #WakeandGlaer main trio are on a ship, which is a giant beastie, enjoying better accomodations than the captain. They're ambivalent about it but will be comfy before terror sets in.

Parnamyr is in his tower, not happy or miserable but aching for elsewhere.

@dyre.bsky.socialSep 30, 2026, 5:31 AM

#WakeandGlaer again #WIPSnips and it is ever so fun to realize you let a side character live in the first book and now you have to figure out what to do with him in the second... he does not have a good time. Because I hate him.

One she poked at further, even offering the respect of her eyes, "Your party, Lyrt, the does and stag who guarded you during your meatless hunt for light." In a single move she stood up, set paws on the desk and glared down at him, emphasizing a size difference he despised. "What. Were. Their. Names?" "I...I don't—" Lyrt tried, withering in the shadow of the large doe, too large he'd argue. A stag's size, he'd complain. But not to her. To her he huffed and looked away. Avoiding. "I don't see the point in this question." "Of course you don't," Morin said smooth and sharp, stepping around the desk to cross arms over a chest broader than any stag. To loom closer, bright eyes shining in the dim of the room. "Not your blood, not your problem." An arm went out to indicate the auru outside as she continued as smooth, voice never wavering from its deep and resonant tone, "But, Lyrt, there are none of your blood on this cheln...and if you can't be bothered to care about us, why should we care about you?" "B-b-" Swallowing, he stomped and shook fists at his side, trying again to find a courage she shouldn't have been able to steal. "Because I can cleanse you of the fairi!" Laughter was not appreciated, instead huffed for and growled for. While Morin simply shook her head and opened her door, motioning for him to leave. "Go hide, Lyrt, somewhere I can't smell your cowardice or I will cleanse you in the Wake." When he stood his ground she shoved him out, earning a scratchier growl and higher pitched complaint, "You can't speak to me this way, I am--!" "No one." Morin cut, sharp and quiet. Leaning, to show how much was required to see him eye to eye, she smiled and added, "You are no one and nothing while I am Captain and not near so forgiving as my missus." Standing and closing the door in his face, she wasn't done mocking, "Who should have tossed you to the Swell with your siblings."
@dyre.bsky.socialSep 29, 2026, 1:35 PM

#WakeandGlaer today #WIPSnips and the word is in there a few times. I'd say enjoy the monster but you probably shouldn't.

Line too long for alt text is:
She could do no more than grunt for it, voice again locked in her chest.

Its voice, its terrible voice, cavernous yet soft, wretched yet tender sang next, "Such a feast you brought me, little bite with delusions of being a predator." Laying down, all that mass too great to make her chest a pillow it snuggled beside her, bark-white forehead nuzzling as a fawn might. "For cycles your young will feed me." Sitting up it traced her lips with the very tip of a massive needled finger and pouted, "But you...I doubt you will last the light." Sound, in her chest, in her throat begged release and the monster gave it to her. With a whisper she could not hear it gave her voice, and she used it to beg, "I can last hundreds for you, thousands if you need. But please-" "Let the fawns go?" It laughed too quiet for the thickness of its chest, the size of its neck, and set the blue-black horror of its tongue along the bare fur of her stomach. Up and up it licked, tip alone enough to cover her, to soak her in milky drool. "Mm-mm, little bite," it cooed after tasting all of her. "Delicious morsel as you assuredly are... they will be more, given time to ripen." Snuggling its too large face again beside her, it sighed, eyes closed and gears quiet. "And with all you dragged along I have plenty to feed them, seeds even to plant. My mire may not seem the setting for a luscious garden...but I promise you life can flourish here as well as anywhere. You, however--" The teeth glancing her thigh were twitched for, all of her desperate to flee, but she bit futility away and promised, "Can be all you need. Light after light. Take whatever you desire from this flesh, these bones but let them go." "Mm, no," it said too smooth, needle tracing hips while more twirled her tail between them. "Your mind speaks of him, you know, drips with him." Too close its face, eyes staining her gray fur red, needles yet teasing, seeking more as one slipped between impossibly still thighs. "You yearn as I for his touch."
@dyre.bsky.socialSep 28, 2026, 12:37 AM

Delgrij and Mitra (she tries) from #WealdandWen and #WakeandGlaer are kind as default setting.

Delmas from #PaleBlood is warm and kind, even gentle to most he meets. I wouldn't 'pleasant' as he's a smarmy bastard but he means well and it's usually easy to catch that he's joking.

@dyre.bsky.socialSep 24, 2026, 3:46 PM

For book, the Prologue of #WealdandWen is the worst to happen to Delgrij. For wip, #WakeandGlaer will delve deeper into memories he's forgotten so it'll...it'll be worse...

He survives, has friends now to keep him alive, but 'overcomes' is pushing it.

@dyre.bsky.socialSep 15, 2026, 6:22 AM

I wrote 1k words in #WakeandGlaer today and I have to share this bit because Faerai being scary is my favorite thing.

Leaving Delgrij speechless but watchful as teeth too quickly found paw pads while Song growled in the sprout's throat and a blur of black and yellow blocked the door. "What a curious bauble," Morin managed, paw out and hanging still, twitching above fluttering wings as breath choked further thoughts. Not stolen, no, the sprout could not manage such a feat...but she managed to sing four shimmering silver darts to hover tight and sharp around the Captain's throat. Delgrij made no move to stop her, no word to question, both curious of her reasons and trusting of her snout. While Faerai crawled to the bottom of the bed, keeping to all fours and dripping fresh silvery blood on red silks, eyes bright and hard on Morin's. Her Song, growled still, echoed as even she had never heard it under the words so eager to flow, "We have voices in our Breath, Captain. Loud voices singing for Auru blood. Payment for what was stolen, eaten, kept." Morin twitched, attempting a sneer and Faerai growled louder, drawing thin rivulets of blood to pool in the Captain's fur. Sharp as her tone they dug just deep enough to scar as Faerai tilted her head and grinned for the matching breath, the fear in her scent, "We do not want to listen, do not want to wash this beast in death... but we can."
@dyre.bsky.socialSep 13, 2026, 10:03 PM

From #WakeandGlaer today #WIPSnips and the captain has things she shouldn't. Also she should be more careful with those trinkets, they're full of hungry red ichor...

A Captain eyeing fitful skies through a wide round window, its shell-carved bars glistening and sizzling with every splash of Wake from a cheln as fitful. Beneath her desk waited debris brought by a rescued fawn. The fawn insisted it belonged to the mifyr and be delivered to it immediately, for how helpful it had been on the Mover. Morin wasn't giving no mifyr her missus sent special words to anything. Certainly not a bag sewn of leather any Auru would know by scent if not sight. It was reverence to own the skin of one's fallen, it was privilege, it was treated with more respect than a bag full of junk. She'd sifted through it and found naught but more leather and skittersilk among useless trinkets, curious though they were they stunk of terror and pain and an alien sensation Morin had no desire to explore. Among it all hid an ornate box of wood she didn't know, bitterly black and too dry to be so supple, it showed tremendous skill in its creation and within were shimmering black crystals in confusing patterns. Impossible to her eyes, they were too thick to be any glass she knew, too thin to be much else, she couldn't help but hold them, admire them. Gape through their translucent surface as they caught and muted every sip of light in the room to dreary grays and deeper shadows—distracting her entirely from the matched black orb half the size of her head in the bag's corner. Pretty as the shiny crystals—placed with care in a drawer of her desk and locked tight—their origin was soaked in trouble.
@dyre.bsky.socialSep 10, 2026, 5:13 AM

Don't you tell me teeth, #WIPSnips, you know how many times I write about teeth?

This one's from #WakeandGlaer

In the shadowed mirror of the Wake, forgotten beasts keened in silent agony, slithering through waters without weight for ages without meaning. Directionless, feckless, lost and empty, their existence was one of eternal dark and eternal sorrow for lives half-remembered and never mourned. Until, breaking a surface none could hope to breach, came flashes of light. Of eyes and teeth... carrying the impossible. Burning within writhing tendrils of an emptiness even their most colossal could not claim it shone. Bright as the Heart itself. Bright and hot and singing. Too delectable the melody, too sweet the beacon and one after the next the forgotten beasts swam for it. Slithered for it. For them. Clawed and gnawed and bit into their wisping flesh with long-dead teeth for a lick. A taste. A single gasp of the Breath bursting so loud and full falling from a nascent sky. The shadows gnashed back. They gnawed deep and starving, refusing to loose their captive, to share their treasure. Still the beasts bit and clawed and rammed with every slip of forms so fleeting. Eager to taste, to know and remember—if but a beat, a single beat—the spark and thrill of life.