The collected writings of a Renegade Tourist

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Text Snippet: The Riders and The Prisoner

As usual, Bran had been give a place at the edge of the camp, some distance away from the horses and all the gear, but close enough that the others could easily keep an eye on him. He was sitting on an old, half rotten log looking at the men and women setting up camp for the night. He raised his bound hands to his face to scratch at the stubble on his chin while he contemplated his situation. Continue reading...

Grandma Chosen One

Grandma Applebottom had just picked up her knitting when the door bell rang. Her grandchildren had just been visiting and she assumed one of them had forgotten something and come back. Knitting needles still in hand, she went to the answer the door. Outside was a tall slim man in a cloak the color of the night. ”Have you come to collect me?” she asked, a hint of trepidation in her voice...continue reading

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