A decent couple o’ paragraphs today from THE FLAME OF BATTLE, and also a bunch of pretty flowers (mine).
Every sensation of burning at the stake – the unbearable heat billowing into her face, her dress catching fire, the mocking laughs of the crowd watching her, making fun of her shrieks of pain – all of these leapt into her mind so vividly that she jerked her head back from the sparks of the fires.
“What if I flew your dragon in the race?” Fia asked.
“What if I turned you into a little stone statue and you never spoke again?” the stabler replied, pulling the knots tight around the man’s wrists.
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Chunks of embers arranged themselves into a vaguely human shape: a larger piece of ember for the head, two embers for the body, stacked atop each other, and then the limbs strung together with the ashes and bits of cinders.
With a soft grating noise, like a log sliding over and breaking burned wood, the small human-shaped group of embers rose to its feet among the heat and ashes.
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The fog opened to reveal, directly ahead, a small green dragon waiting with open jaws. A green racer, and the kidnappers were dragging her daddy onto its back.
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Sarae suddenly struggled to a sitting position, speaking garbled words, her eyes unseeing. “What happened? What the hell is going on?” She looked wildly around the RV – and then her eyes darkened and she turned back to Marcus. “And where the hell is Remy?”
A movement brought the girl’s eyes up from the pool of blood. The surviving man, still standing in the middle of the field, coolly drew out a cigar, lighted it, and placed it between his lips, all while gazing with complete satisfaction at the dead man.
Her shuddering cry broke the silence. “Murderer!”