Isola



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    No serious hockey fan or sports commentator worth their salt would have considered record-breaking Boston superstar Ilya Rozanov to be Shane Hollander’s rival exactly, but sleeping with a man who had a specific offense-related vendetta against him and a wrist shot like a jet engine to back it up was probably ill-advised just the same.

    Or, Shane is a goalie. Ilya can’t score.

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    01 Apr 2026

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    Bucky’s dad always says what they do is important.

    “We give people the dignity they deserved in life,” he says, seriously.

    Uncle Danny laughs at that. “Jimmy-kid,” he says, “your old man has got some real trumped up notions of what it is we do. Death ain’t beautiful. We just help create the illusion that it can be.”

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    28 Mar 2026

  3. Public Bookmark 12

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    All through the three kingdoms they tell the tale the same. There was once a lord of ancient lineage and crest-fallen estate who married a lady of surpassing worth and modest dowry, who bore to him three daughters and a son. The eldest daughter was tall and proud, with hair black as a raven’s wing, skin pale as alabaster and lips like rowan-berries. The second had brown hair soft as a thrush’s back, and she had a voice sweet enough to sing the birds out of the trees. But the youngest daughter — ah, her hair shone like the brightest of chestnuts, her eyes were bluer than a kingfisher’s crown and she laughed, played and sang all day long. And those who knew her said that, poor as her fortune was, some day a prince would come riding by, and carry her off to live beside him in his palace and become the mother of kings.

    For every puissant prince must be in want of a wife.

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    28 Mar 2026

  4. Public Bookmark 28

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    As I waited for sleep, my thought strayed to the methods used by the Nazhmorhathveras to hunt the sheleian that ranged on the steppes. No barbarian would have been foolish enough to try to take on a flock; though a sheleis resembled little more than a large stack of poorly cared-for carpets, the adults of a pack would vigorously defend their young. Thick of hide, dense of fur, tusked, and ferocious—the Nazhmorhathveras stalked the steppes in search of a sheleis that had gotten itself separated from the pack. A lone sheleis would flee, in the face of a hunter’s spear, and the hunter would pursue. Not at the desperate pace set by the sheleis; the beast could leave his sight, and still he would track it, at a steady and persistent pace. It might take hours, even a day or more, but eventually the sheleis would collapse from exhaustion, and the hunter would be ready when it did.

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    A caravan driver stricken with sessiva, bodies missing from Ezho's ulimeires, a deceased doctor--and the endless task of keeping Thara Celehar alive to deal with all these things in their turn.

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    14 Feb 2026

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    She had let go of everything else; hope of a retrieval, hope of an apology, hope of seeing her sisters or her son again. It would be enough to know. She did not have to do anything with the knowledge. Ulis would understand. Surely he would.
    "To the best of your knowledge, Othala— is the Archduke Maia alive and safe?”
    Thara Celehar stared at her for a very long moment, his grip on her trembling fingers very firm. Then he said;
    “Sister— he is.”
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    In a Thu-Tetar nunnery, the Dach'othalo asks a Sister of Ulis: Did you enter this place as Chenelo Drazharan?

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    06 Feb 2026