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@dyre.bsky.socialOct 7, 2026, 7:55 PM

Have you talked about your works today?
QTP and give us
Title: #WealdandWen
Genre: Horror Fantasy
3 feelings your story evokes: Despair, Dread, Delight
🔗 : amberreinke.itch.io/weald-and-wen

@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 21, 2026, 8:39 AM

I put all the Peter Gundry I listened to while writing #WealdandWen into a playlist to share, for people into that. I stole some of his titles. I put him in the acknowledgements. Please listen to this man's beautiful sounds and get lost in the woods with me.

music.youtube.com/playlist?lis...

@dyre.bsky.socialSep 11, 2026, 10:27 PM

Mitra gets this one, #AwesomeCharacters, Although I can't say she always means to be funny. It's more she can't help but open her deceptively large mouth.

For example, one of my favorite things she maybe shouldn't have said from #WealdandWen. It *does* lighten the mood though.

Her core fluttered, “I’s holds Napyr nots shines none but ichors. I’s...I’s scuffed.” “Wrong, you mean?” Delgrij scoffed. “I have dealt with Myr before and even they would not be able to parse your nonsense.” “Nots M—Buffs smooth!” Mitra cracked, throwing her hands up. “I’s sorry. I’s wrong! I’s holds me words is cracked, I’s nots holds why.” Delgrij began to gather the wallowood branches from the ground but mumbled, “Apology accepted... and requested.” “No scuffs ons me surface,” Mitra said as she flitted to her prepared pit. After piling her twigs, she laid over them, curling her fingers and toes to hold them tight and burned. Brighter and brighter she burned, illuminating every trunk, bough and bush within a three stride radius in hot, pink light. Delgrij jumped from her bright, scowling at her snicker, while Faerai breathed deep of heating wood so sweet in her snout. “What were papa and da like when Delgrij know them?” She asked, rushing to help him gather dropped wallowood. “Beautiful,” he breathed, “they both were. In every way..." “Fyrni nots holds those bits,” Mitra teased over the growing crackle of her twigs. “That is not!” he snapped and whipped around to glare. “We never—”“What means ‘bits’?” Faerai interrupted, eyes darting to the little light as a slew of creaking giggles erupted over a roaring fire.