

Beyond the Storm Clouds“You’re a fool of a bird Gregory Flycatcher,” said Timothy Warbler. Gregory cocked his head to the side as if contemplating Timothy’s comment, then hopped back an inch. He extended his wings and fluttered a bit lifting his small form up an inch or two from the sun parched grass.Beyond the Storm Clouds
“For wanting to fly? But Timothy, isn’t that what birds do?” Gregory asked genuinely puzzled. “Sure, we fly, all the time. But into that?” his small face turned up to an enormous thunderhead of a cloud that blotted out the sun and brought a morose haze to the forest. As if it understood the songs of the birds the sky peeled off in reply a deafening


The Collector: Part 1Once upon a time, ...or perhaps it was actually whence between the Nevers, there was a man, a man who fancied himself a collector. He collected all manner of objects, as it was his fancy to do so. He had been collecting things for a very very long time. The man had quite the assortment of almost everything you can fathom. Toys and blankets, discarded food containers that might or might not have been able to be used again, lamps, boxes, wires, ideas, little scraps of magazines, small rays of multicolored light, lost loves, spread-sheets, stars, fingernail clippings, dust, suction cups, fortune cookie fortunes, rusty pennies, paint chips,The Collector: Part 1


The End of a World"The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere The ceremony of innocence is drowned..." -The Second Coming, W.B. YeatsThe End of a World
Ulf and Iscah walked about the streets, in awe of the ruin and the quiet. Well, the quiet here. In the distant night the cries of the dead and the dying filled the newly darkened world with unearthly cacophony. A sobbing mingled with the cries of the not-dead, the tears of those still alive, kept awake by the wails of the dead. They wept not for the lives that had already been lost, but for their own pathetic lives and imminent demises. Ignoring
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I've been called rascally, treacherous and tricky but I am, if I do say so myself a lovable sort of fellow...
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Felipe Gaona
Illustrator | Designer
Web site: [link]
Connect
Twitter: [link]
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Diana Greenhalgh, Inker
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. . . fabric flutters and wings flash, but in the end, nothing is left . . .
very cool keep it up.
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Rubbish! screamed a fat, elderly woman, in Richard's ear, as he passed her malodorous stall. "Junk!" she continued. "Garbage! Trash! Offal! Debris! Come and get it! Nothing whole or undamaged! Crap, tripe and useless piles of shit. You know you want it."
just wanted to say i put you on watch
*scribbles Dusk's background*
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Rubbish! screamed a fat, elderly woman, in Richard's ear, as he passed her malodorous stall. "Junk!" she continued. "Garbage! Trash! Offal! Debris! Come and get it! Nothing whole or undamaged! Crap, tripe and useless piles of shit. You know you want it."
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