Book In Grass Novels & Stories

The grass, typically a wild and untamed presence, had been meticulously flattened and woven together, forming an intricate pattern that spanned several feet. The blades of grass lay perfectly aligned, their emerald green hues contrasting sharply against the surrounding earth. Each blade seemed to have been purposefully placed, creating a mesmerizing tapestry of interwoven strands. The pattern appeared almost symmetrical, with gentle curves and arcs that flowed seamlessly from one end to the other. My curiosity piqued, I couldn't help but wonder why I hadn't seen it before, especially during my previous visit with Freda to see the elders. It felt strange that such a remarkable display had gon

Why was my love life so frustrating? "Have you noticed how the grass isn't itchy like regular grass?" I was wanting to keep topics on the tour. "The griffins who live here have an oil on their skin that coats the grass and makes it velvety. It's been like that for so long that the grass grows like that naturally now. And the color is like a turquoise mineral." I was feeling more at peace as we walked along. I turned and stretched my hands up. "Look, it's a griffin nest," I whispered. "And around the family are the flowers I mentioned. They're magnificent!"

Thirteen hunches beside me, clenching her ribs as she sniffles. "Hey," I whisper to her. "Look at the grass." She shakes her head. "I don't care for grass." "You haven't seen grass like this." At the Unfortunate camp, the grass is a pale green and only exists in random patches of spiky blades. Out here, it's a vast wonderland of beautiful, soft greenery. "If you just look up a little, you'll see—"

Her Wolf wanted to flee from this place and never look back. "This is it." Willow said, yet her feet halted at the edge of the clearing. Even now, there was a contrast between the grass under his boots and the grass in this space. Everything looked dry and dead. The grass appeared brittle, as if the slightest touch would break a single blade of grass into tiny pieces.

It’s driving me crazy. “Want to sit down?” He asks. He must’ve seen me admiring the soft appearance of the grass before. He sits first, and I follow, for lack of anything better to do. I was right: the grass feels like threads of silk. I run my hands through it as though it were a girl's hair. I start at the roots, curling my fingertips slightly into the soft earth, and then slowly run a handful of grass through my fingers. I can’t help myself, I lay down, giggling a little. I continue to run my hands through the thick grass, thinking about how easy it would be to sleep here. The cool night breeze smells like cotton and dreams, and for a second I think I almost do fall asleep.

she prompts, her voice soft and melodic, so full of hope and wonder. “It’s a clear blue, endless and free. Not a cloud in sight,” I say, my gaze drifting upwards. I wish I could give her this sky, offer it to her as a token of the remorse that eats away at me every day. She leans back, her hands feeling the grass beneath her. “Tell me about the grass,” she says, ever curious, ever so sweet. “It’s like a sea of green,” I describe, watching as her fingers dance over the blades, a tender and exploratory gesture. “Some patches are darker, others lighter, all swaying with the breeze. It’s... peaceful here.”

He glared. “Okay then this one?” I pointed to one that clearly was about plants. It was green, a vine was poking out like a bookmark as it weaved down and around the spine. “No idea.” He grumbled again. “You know if I would have known it was this easy to distract you with books I'd have chosen a different location.” The pounding finally stopped and he pushed the books aside to climb out from under the table. I followed before grabbing a very human book. It was an old history book about a specific battle and I held it in front of Hectyr. “What’s this one about?”

I mean, the walls and the shelves are clean, and there's no visible dust on the books from my view point. But... all the books look... unused. I almost start to wonder if it were wrong to take books from here, but then Nyall brought me here. I don't think he'll do that if it isn't right. I pause, quirking my lips to the side, then stretch out my right hand and slide a book free from the shelf. The book's title is 'Herbals of the Northern Ridge', and as I stare at the front cover, I wonder if it would have what I'm looking for.

The world changed with the smallest breath. Grass brushed my boots. The scent of Vandwood struck me. Earth. Trees. Wolf territory. Old memories. Pain I had buried badly. The meadow looked almost the same as it had before. Wide. Green. Quiet. The edges lined with trees that seemed to watch us. The sky above it was grey-blue, softer than Emberfall’s burning brightness. Wind moved through the grass in thin waves. But something was wrong. I felt it before I understood it.

I walked to the edge of the settlement on the second morning with a cup of something the innkeeper called tea and looked at the ground. Grass. Thin, pale, but pushing up through the grey soil in small, scattered clusters, like something that had been holding its breath and had finally decided to try again. The residue on the settlement walls had flaked away overnight, leaving faint dark outlines of where it had been. The air smelled of damp earth and something underneath it, green and faint, the smell of nature trying to self revive itself. I stood there for a while and drank my tea and looked at the grass. We had done that. Whatever else was true, we had done that.