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King’s claw-like fingers closed around the human in he squeezed harder, moaning in pleasure, savouring the taste of his victim’s ’s face haunted him, igniting the familiar pain deep in his , he threw the man aside. He could not feed #thurds.

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Wincing, Nagarath let Liara’s next whirlwind of fire lick at his defenses. First things first. He directed his next spell downward. His casting was simply: ice. The hex fed itself, growing his intended effect instead of negating it as the ground ate the magick. #Thurds #book3.

The phone rang as we ate breakfast. It was Rye. “Dee, I am out of school. I can come stay a bunch of days with you.” I had to teach this boy about negotiation but now was not the time. “Well, what are you waiting on, Rye? You’re letting grass grow under your feet.” #Thurds.

That 1st painful, electric touch changed me forever. Melded our souls. The center of my universe now revolved around her. In a matter of hours, my feelings for her progressed from wishful, secret observing to knowing I would take a bullet for her. From a machine gun. #Thurds.

His actions of defying nature and interfering in the world of the living were literally destroying his spirit—or at the very least altering it. Not only that, his power was growing. A poltergeist was something that was unnatural, even to the spiritual world. #Thurds.

The territory slumbered, and whoever guarded the walls at night had grown lax. Surprise was still on his side. #Thurds.

The tree branches keep reaching toward the sky like if they stretch themselves high enough, they can get back what they’ve lost. I tell them to be patient – spring will come, the sun will shine, and what they miss will grow back from their own fingertips. #Thurds.

The sight of the Veil materializing before me leaves me stunned. Dark silver and gray swirl within a curtain of black aether. It grows slowly, fanning out wide and tall. In the center appear wisps of white, coalescing to form an unmistakable shape. #Thurds #TheWhiteRaven.

“The agitation. No better?” “It is worse.” “You grow more powerful each phase.” “Power?” Barakiel laughed bitterly. “More like impotent rage.” “Remember what your mother taught you. Like all warriors, you have a compulsion toward violence. You are a born weapon.” #Thurds.

“The next stage is moving to humans but this isn’t growing spliced embryos in jars, this is sowing bits of animal into humans while they are awake. They scream so loud they say you can hear them as you walk through the woods.” #thurds.

Towering in the expansive atrium of the Cabinet of Curiosities an ancient & gnarled tree soared to the ceiling. Gently grazing the glass orb above it, limbs reached in all directions, some growing into the museum’s walls, while the woodsy roots dug into the floorboards. #Thurds.

God’s blood! Did another flattering remark pass her lips? At least her husband stopped scowling at her, though who could tell beneath that beard. What possessed him to grow such a wild wealth of hair? Perhaps an animal died on his face, and he failed to notice. #Thurds.

“Hey, don’t make a habit of this unless you plan on paying,” she said. “This is a business here, you know.” Sean felt his face grow hot. “Sure, I didn’t mean-” Julie interrupted, a huge grin on her face. “It’s okay. I don’t charge - friends.” #Thurds.

‘I knew a little of the sights here, for my brother passed through on his way to Genoa some years ago, but his tales did not prepare me for the reality of this great city. Even as the pestilence grows there is beauty to see. It is heartening.’ #Thurds.

I cain’t grow nuthin’ t’save my life. Hands just ain’t made for it. But her—ever’ plant she touched thrived. Ever’ flower reached up like it could kiss the sun. When she tended ‘em, they did. I tried. After she was gone. But ain’t nuthin’ gonna grow for me. #thurds #FeelLines.

Then came the drinking. Cobble had never understood its appeal. He had tried a few times growing up but always ended the night with an emptier stomach than he started with. The older men seemed able to drink large quantities without any change to their input/output ratio. #Thurds.

He was reared on the power of stories, of entertaining the mind and piquing the imagination. That pastime had fallen by the wayside as they busied themselves with surviving and living through future stories. It would be good to be a listener again. #Thurds.

“I’d like to see Mystic Manzo” said Flotsan. Learning his future was an interest he’d had since a passing seer predicted he’d grow up to be a farmer. A much generalised prediction with high odds considering he lived on a farm, but it sparked his fascination none the less. #Thurds.

“Do you think I am happy with my father’s rule? Do you not think that every day, I awaken and wonder if this will be the day I find one of his daggers in my back? As I grow older, I become more of a threat to him. Given his way, I doubt he would let me reach adulthood.” #Thurds.

What indeed? The war was about jam tarts and rose paint, not the nonsense you mean. The smile grows larger. Jam Tarts? But the Queen of Hearts was capricious. Off with their head and all that. Jack runs his finger along his throat. #Thurds.

King’s claw-like fingers closed around the human in he squeezed harder, moaning in pleasure, savouring the taste of his victim’s ’s face haunted him, igniting the familiar pain deep in his , he threw the man aside. He could not feed #thurds.

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He wasn’t one of those shiny big brothers who fight your battles, because that’s what weakens you. He gave us space to grow, you see. But I knew his arrows would always be pointed over my shoulder. Who’s gonna watch my back now?” she asked, her lower lip twitching. #Thurds.

“Some things are harder than others, and they require more will. Once you use up your will, you’re done with magic until you rest up and replenish. The more a wizard grows and learns, the deeper their will grows, too, so they can do more.” #Thurds.

Gardening was hard work, she thought. There is no two ways about it. Hours of digging, planting, watering, the list endless. Summer. Blooms fill the air with a heady scent, and a riot of colour. Long afternoons watching nature celebrate its festival of life. #Thurds t: grow.

A faint voice at the back of my mind whispers that I must eat to ensure the pups in my belly will grow, that my clutch of eggs will be strong, that my fawn may be born healthy. I need not rely on my mate to provide me food when there is plenty right here. I shudder. #Thurds.

. For some strange reason the conversation turned to male pattern baldness, one comment was ‘grass don’t grow in well used places’. 👩‍🦲 #Thurds.

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