Gwen Tennyson Novels & Stories

Myra snorted and the two girls looked at each other then burst into fits of giggles. Ashley sighed. “Something which I cannot ever understand. Women when drunk. Gwen what’s your excuse.” “Company that is not so filled with power and seriousness.” Gwen quipped. “She is the heir of a race, just she. She will not be sharing her power with anybody, she is plenty serious and powerful too. She just isn’t showing it.” Gwen seemed to consider his words and shrugged. “That is good enough for me.” “I promise to always keep my seriousness away from you though I am never serious.” Myra promised.

I flip open the book on page seventy-seven. A single poem stares back at me, old-fashioned black letters standing defiantly against against the browning, moth-eaten paper. I read. The Wife Of Llew And Gwydion said to Math, when it was Spring: “Come now and let us make a wife for Llew.” And so they broke broad boughs yet moist with dew, And in a shadow made a magic ring: They took the violet and the meadow-sweet To form her pretty face, and for her feet