Pedro de Añasco was a coward. He didn’t know how he had gotten here, in the hills of South America, almost 5000 miles from his home in Spain, but here he was, standing outside the perfectly-white house of Sebastián de Belalcázar.
Henry’s heart was too big. That was always his problem. He knew that he could never be with the prince, but still, he watched him lovingly every day. He watched him eat, he watched him dance, and he watched him sword fight. Every action Prince Brandle took was beautiful, and Henry loved watching him.
A long time ago, merpeople existed. They lived in the sea, and they were half-fish, half-human. They were human down to their middle, and then they were fish. They had long, beautiful tails, and they swam through the water using their tails.
She knew what she was doing was wrong. She had known the moment she saw him. But love didn’t care about what side of a wall you were on, even if she was on the side of the palace gardens and he was stood in the ruined fields.
The war had gone on for years, but it only took a moment for her to lose to his eyes. They stared at her through a hole in the wall. She knew he was from the other side. He had the eyes of the Others, the Enemies. They were so bright that she could see her reflection in them.
The news of Crush’s proposal spread quickly. The mice argued, the foxes made jokes, and the birds flew from one tree to another, telling each other of the news. By sunset the same day, there was not a creature in the Great Forest who had not heard about Crush and Charcoal.
One day, Gentle the mouse went over to visit Crush the lion. Neither he, nor Bright Eyes the hawk, nor Grunt the pig had seen him for several days, and Gentle was starting to worry.
Gentle stood at the edge of the cave where Crush lived. It was very dark inside, and he was too scared to enter.
Behind the letters, there were pictures of people laughing. They looked young and happy. Their faces were soft. They didn’t have any grey hairs. Their teeth were perfectly white.
Silna hated them. She felt sick from hating them so much. As she walked to work, she kept thinking about those laughing faces. She carried the hate on her back, and it got bigger and bigger.
Once upon a time, in old Japan, there was a Buddhist monk named Zenchi. Zenchi was well-known at the temple where he lived because of his nose. It was about five or six inches long, and it hung down his face, from his upper lip to the bottom of his chin. It was fat at the top and fat at the bottom, and looked like a long sausage, which hung off his face and swung from side to side.