Swamp Novels & Stories

Samson behaved himself, not trying to mark or mate Alayla and I have hopes that they can do this more frequently. When we get to the haunted forest, Reagan shifts back, and crouches down in front of Samson. My cocky wolf tries to stick his nose between her thighs, earning him a swat to the nose. “Knock it off, Samson, and listen to me. Do NOT lick the sprites.” He tilts his head at her and even I have to agree this is a very strange request. Why would we lick them? “I don’t know what it is about them that draws wolves to them, but licking a sprite is the same as marking your mate. So, if you don’t want me heading home tomorrow morning, keep your tongue to yourself.”

The three traveling companions followed the trail which led through the swampy forest. Tall reeds grew densely from each side, making it difficult to tell if there was any swamp creature waiting to pounce on them. Water rose past their ankles and they had to be careful with their steps should there be a deep hole or protruding rocks that could throw them off balance or make them twist their ankles.

He choked out, struggling to swim to the surface, spitting out the dirty water that filled his mouth. Leaves and garbage clung to his clothes, the smell of decay filling his nostrils. Hawk's footsteps grew louder and closer, and Stefano saw a large rock sticking out from the swamp. Without wasting much time, he swam toward it, hiding behind its massive size. Hawk arrived at the swamp, his shadow illuminated by the harsh glow of a flashlight. Stefano held his breath, his heart pounding against his ribs, as the light swept across the water, searching. Finally, the lights went away and footsteps faded, heading south.

That faithful moment that changed her and her sister’s life forever. Rie dried her face using the towel hanging on her shoulder and then walked out of the bathroom. She weakly sat down on the bed. She no longer knew what was happening. Rie was still drinking tea made of flax seeds every night. Flax seed was one of the major ingredients for a sleeping potion.

“Discarded Umballici. Discordant chords. Possibilities and connections you’ve once had with others of your kind; now unrealized, now severed. They’re coming home to be crushed by the one great force that created them. They all wash up in the Drain of the World, towards the mouth of Spinstra’s Cave at river’s end.” Spin-what? The water is moving so idly it almost looks stagnant. It eddies in places and occasionally pulls some of the white stuff under, only to burp it out again with a horrid noise. Swamp or river, the water might as well be a vat of toxic waste considering the lifeless bodies waiting at the bottom. I turn my attention to the banks where a jungle

This results in more of a triangular shape than a square for most buildings, the narrow part jutting out with minimal sturdy support such that it will not disturb the wildlife flourishing below. And such wildlife—the wetlands are teaming with the soul of nature. Birds with plumage in every hue imaginable flutter up and down through the bridge system. Even from up here, I can see the abundant, colorful fish in the creeks that meander through the reeds and brush of the wetlands. I catch sight of a couple of lizard-type creatures stalking their prey, some sort of fuzzy mammals that clearly make their home on the dry areas between the water. The Swampland people h

Thank you…for saying that, was all she could manage to say in response as they reached the town proper. Her stomach did backflips as the as she saw what had become of Traketen. She could scarcely believe it. The town was gone. Completely gone. No flooded ruins, no weatherbeaten houses or buildings of any kind. There were no remnants of buildings either. No wooden planks strewn about, or household items carried outside by the flood waters. In place of Traketen stood a swamp with still dark waters several feet high and mangroves stretching towards a pale grey sky. The mangroves in the swamp grew closely together and thus their can

She was with him the first time she came here, and now she was alone. However, she wasn’t sad or disappointed. Her body and soul were ruined beyond repair… She was still calm; Silje realized that if a person was in too much pain, it could make that person tranquil. It was a gloomy winter day and too early for the park to be crowded with people. Oddly enough though, the lake was swarming with white swans. Staring at them, Silje suddenly felt something. The white swans… “…” The whiteness of them reminded her of ashes, bringing back the devastation to her heart.

Death said, and directed me to the Kenai River. I pulled off to the side of the road when he told me to stop. I got out of the Jeep and kept my hand on it. “Hverfa af.” The Jeep disappeared from sight, but I could still see it. I didn’t need anyone writing down my plates, or the man I was here for, seeing it. “Hylja sála.” I stepped into the quiet realm, and Death stood next to me. “That house down this pathway, right at the edge of the river, that’s where he’s keeping her,” he said, and pointed toward the house sitting on about two acres of land. He didn’t have any close neighbors.