Clay Mudwing Novels & Stories

BLAKE’S POV “Okay Blake, show me what you’ve got.” After a month of attending pottery classes, it was safe to say that I was no genius when it came to the creation of a masterpiece with mud. But Miss Clara and Anthony seemed to think that everyone who laid their hands on the gooey mess could bring forth a piece like no other. Well, they weren’t wrong on that front, it just wasn’t the piece they were expecting to see. “What’s that?” I could hear the shock and disappointment in Miss Clara’s voice when she asked me what I was holding up. It was supposed to be a mug, but I could understand why she was confused as to what it was. For starters, it didn’t have an internal cavity.

I answered Whiz truthfully. “That poses a few different problems for us June bug. The first being I can’t change her identity again without changing her appearance completely. We had Clara cut and style her hair differently but due to the pregnancy we couldn’t dye it and that red hair of hers is hard to hide. Secondly without a new picture to go with her new appearance creating new documentation is completely out of the picture. For now, she is stuck being Ophelia which means we need to find somewhere even more remote than Mentone.” Whiz sighed deeply before continuing on. “I know you aren’t a fan of asking for favors but I think the time has come to call in Hawk. He is the only one I know t

Her chin firm and her eyes burned with surety. “Then what do you call this?” Clara asked. She motioned at the mud body and then the rest of the battlefield. Jade jerked her face to the left and the right and the rest of the mud fell from her cheeks. Clumps of mud and clay clung to her hair.

(Lobelia Mudswan) All of them can see that amidst Lobelia Mudswan amazement and smiles at Aeternum crafts, there was a hints of worry and anxious deep down in her voice. It was understandable, after all, the Mud Town and the Mudswan Tribe, prized profession and main products is crafted equipment.

The scent gets stronger by morning. Not in the marsh. In the nursery. Draven wakes first, claws already out. “Something was here.” I check the cribs. Cael sleeps. Lyana sleeps. Geralt sleeps. Love, who refused to leave them, sleeps on the floor. All breathing. All safe. But there’s mud on the windowsill. Not marsh mud. Clay. Red clay. Rowan sniffs it, recoils. “Old, older, than, Father, older, than, witch.”

I snapped a photo of the grim-faced doctors and the muddy interior of the bus and hit send: [I’ve got a whole bus full of candidates. [Where are you?] he shot back. [Heading into the Clamville disaster zone. Don't know when I'll be back. If the silence gets too loud for you, go find someone else. But don't expect me to be your safety net when you're done.] My phone rang within seconds. I hesitated, then pressed it to my ear. "Are you out of your mind?" Cole’s voice wasn't just cold; it was vibrating with a primal fury I hadn't heard before. "The rain in Clamville is peaking. There are reports of secondary floods and massive mudslides. You're heading into a slaughterhouse."

This hunger that kept her constantly in my mind. But a crazed panic overcame me one day while I was out for a short flight. I had left my office feeling tense and annoyed that I couldn't go see Amara until my paperwork was finished, deciding to Shift and take Erebos out to stretch his wings. It’s a long but welcome process for a dragon to Shift, with our body melding into our dragon's heart while the rest manifests through a cloud of black smoke. My solid black and scale covered body had been enjoying the sky just aimlessly flying over the forest when a distant cracking sound caught my attention. I dropped lower and found myself over the ruins, my heart stopping cold in my chest as I caught

Clara could feel the tension constricting her chest, waiting to take over. Air churned behind him, gathering and molding into what she could make out like birds—ten of them—flapping their wings in a beat. The small birds did a little show in a swooping arc and glide. The flutter of their small wings had Clara’s heart doing the same. As they glided in swiftness, a flash of rich browns and brilliant blues followed them in a trail.

The young woman drank a lot, causing the maid dissatisfaction. Gulls cries made Nocté shudder. White-winged birds flew past the window, rushing to the cliff with the mill, where they built their nests. On foggy days, cliff wasn’t visible at all. Closer to the cliff, the sand was taken over by wide stone slabs, lined with black veins of sinkholes, where small crabs and clams caught on seaweed huddled. At high tide, the stones were hidden under the water, and at low tide it was possible to find partially opened shells with pearls.

The rain pours down from the cloud like a shower, only falling on Mindy. "Make it stop!" Mindy cries. Now, for the final touch. I close my eyes and concentrate. I can feel my powers coursing through me as I call the mud from the ground beneath us. The mud begins to rise slowly, forming a swirling vortex around Mindy until she is completely covered in it. The mud rises higher and higher until it reaches her shoulders, covering her body with a thick coating of wet soil and clay. She looks like a clay sculpture come to life.