Rooted Unscramble Novels & Stories

Before the data. "Children who have lost parents describe feeling unanchored," she said. "Untethered. The language of roots comes from them, not from us. We asked. They told us what it felt like." She paused. "Rooted isn't about replacing what was lost. It's about establishing new anchor points. Stories as anchor points. Community as anchor points. The understanding that other people have experienced this specific terrain and found ways to navigate it." She looked at the board. "Roots don't replace what's gone. They establish what remains."

Heron “So your telling me the most eligible bachelor in the country proposes to you and you say no?” the exasperation in Clem’s voice was a welcomed comfort on this rather drab morning. It had not stopped raining, and I had to take off my display cases, that would barely fend against the wind. Though being under the canopy meant they weren’t drenched to the bone. Clem looked stary eyes as she rested her hands beneath her chin, her braids swooped up in an intricate bun, “You have to go back and say yes.”

➳ Over the next week, Matthew had been very busy with the merging of the two Packs. At first, the majority of the other Pack was against this, but they slowly realized this new integration would mean more strength and better protection. They all began warming up to their new Alpha... especially the females.

A violent, psychic shove. GO! The aster, roots and tiny bloom, is ripped from the sundered cliff. Not into the void. Down. Through layers of screaming rock, weeping memory-vines, gnawing void-stomachs. Down into the absolute dark. Down into the core of the Unraveler’s cell. Its perfect, malevolent negation. The roots hit the impossible, non-dimensional walls of its prison. And… pierce.

Smile. Walk. Don't move your hands. Take small steps. Don't run. Just walk. Breathe. Don't let them see you can't. Don't make a sound. Just breathe. Smile. Don't raise your voice. Nod your head. Don't talk back. Don't scream. Smile— "Luna? Luna?" Someone shook my shoulders. I turned, too fast, too sharp and found Remi's concerned gaze. His eyes zeroed in on my turtleneck.

And no this word of encouragement or unsolicited advice call it whatever you want is not about pots. ***End of flashback*** "I hope she forgives me wherever she is, I called you here to tell you my offer still stands" "Am not going back to school" "Part time classes you can't run this without some background knowledge we both know this is different from your dancing stuff" Robert was good at annoying him by disrespecting his job but that day he realizes his mistake and corrected it. Frank valued much about what someone did rather than who he was the exact opposite of his father who valued who someone was because to him who you are tells more about what you do. Confused? Yeah welcome to the c

" I lifted the dead plant. The soil was bone dry, and every leaf had yellowed or fallen. I had bought that pothos on the day I moved into the new house, and Marcus had helped me water it for the first time. He had said, "Jules, this plant is like us. Once it takes root, it never moves." Roots. He had torn every one of mine from the ground.

Together, she and another staff member finally managed to pull him away. The moment his grip loosened, I collapsed onto the couch, coughing violently as I struggled to draw air back into my lungs. My chest burned, and my throat felt raw from the pressure he had put on it. Even then, Raymond refused to let it go. "What happened to the baby? Tell me. What happened to our child?" He grabbed me and shook me hard, causing the funeral program to flutter to the floor. "What is this program about? Who died? Whose funeral did you go to?"