River Spirit Art Novels & Stories

Pfttt. I took a turn towards the creek road, waving at some of the high schoolers who were probably up to no good and stopped immediately once I heard the silent stream of the water. It was like a song to my ears. Stories have been told about the spirit of a siren charting across the waters at twilight, it made no sense but I chose to believe it anyways. I placed my bike against the stump of one of the trees, made my way down the lined rocks and to the bank of the river where I gently placed my canvas on the easel, and waited patiently for my subject of the night—The full moon.

Chapter: 36 ******** VALE: As I stepped into the embrace of the Spirit River, a shiver of recognition coursed through me. The air shimmered with a luminescent haze, and the water flowed like silver threads under the soft glow of the celestial light. It was a sight that always brought me solace, yet today, my heart felt heavy. The river whispered secrets of the cosmos, but all I could hear was the fading warmth from my earthly visit.

Unlike Xavier's lifeless office, his house was a complete opposite. Though intimidatingly big with huge chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, his sitting room was an artistic wonder. There were different paintings that seemed almost alive. Each stroke felt like a tale being told. In the middle of the room was a painting that caught her attention the most. It was the painting of a scenery of a river. Rock and brush painted the hill side, ending where a Sandy inlet sloped into the ocean. There was so much details on the artwork and Maya couldn't help but believe it meant something to the artist.

Three years later, I held a solo art exhibition at a renowned gallery by the Sierra River in Blythe. My exhibition was named “Rebirth.” My paintings featured the lavender fields of Frankfort, the sunflowers of Airreluz, the azure waters of the Mediterranean, and the warm sunlight of Blythe. Every painting was full of life and the love of life. The only thing they lacked was people. My paintings never showcased any individuals. For the past three years, I had been traveling all over Urania and immortalizing various snapshots of scenery in my paintings.

"The boat is a boat, Mia." She crunched her celery and studied the canvas. We were in the back room of Vance's during the afternoon lull. Lulu was napping upstairs. Silas had the front. I had maybe forty minutes before someone needed something from me, and I was spending those forty minutes fighting with acrylic paint and losing. "You should submit this," Mia said. "Submit what? The drunk boat?" "The series. This one, the rain one from November, the pier at night. There's that gallery on Pike Place, the one with the green door? They're doing a spring open call. New local artists. I saw the flyer at the bookstore."

"They have the best opportunities... and the numbers for artists like you." "Leave it to you to run their numbers by researching them to completion on the internet." James shakes his head, not at all surprised at River's boldness. But it was always that way. They both thrived on that dynamic, as it had kept them both in check for all the years, they'd known each other. "They're the biggest promoters of amateur art globally." James had already gotten to work with a rag and bottle of paint remover, by the time River's statement was over.

The Fire That Follows The wind no longer speaks. The leaves of the river trees, usually rustling like gossiping old women, hang limp. The water stands still as glass. Not a single ripple moves across its surface, as if the world has paused mid-breath. Mira wakes with her hand submerged in a clay bowl of river water beside her mat. She doesn’t remember placing it there. But the water is warm, pulsing gently, as if alive. In the corner, Esi is drawing with charcoal on scraps of palm parchment. Her knees are muddy, her clothes streaked with ash. Mira watches her silently for a moment. The child is hunched over, focused. Drawing something circular — but the center is sharp. Teeth. Roots.

And it was extra special, no one had ever made something for me. The other paintings Lily had made and wanted to throw out were hanging at my office. It felt nice having her there in a way and it was nice to have some nature inside. When I needed to think I would just stare at one of them for while to calm my thoughts, watching the pain strokes she so carefully had placed. She really was a great artist, I already had other people ask me about the paintings. They were all of nature and most of those she had left behind were off trees, flowers or the river. Everything that you could find in the Iron River pack territory. It was a perfect way to showcase the beauty of my pack.