Sample Post from the Fantasy Genre this Month:
Daud ibn Tabir posts in Tales of the Clockwork Empire
It was the season for the qibli—what the Europeans call the sirocco—the wind that comes off the desert and blows north. It brought rain to the south of Europe as it crossed the Mediterranean, but it increased the dryness along our coast. I had never been across the sea, but I had seen pictures. It was different, too different to compare to the world I knew. One day I would like to travel there, just to see what it was like, to smell the air, to feel the moisture. I would like to speak to the people, to understand their lives. But I would never leave my land—Zahra—for long. I loved our country and its people. My father is lord over a large tribe, one that holds much territory.
The wind flicked at the tent sides, rattling the bones of our shelter. The mare, lying with her seemingly delicate legs tucked beneath her, whickered and I made a soothing sound to reassure her. I needed reassurance as well. Any number of sounds could be hidden in that wind. Sand hissed against the fabric, sounding like rain. I reached for my mint tea and breathed in the fragrance before sipping from the dark blue glass. Setting it down, I smiled as my sister immediately refilled it, a truly gracious woman. She kept my house as we were both unwed. Noor preferred to travel with me rather than to stay behind in the hareem with our mother.
We camped near the Great Erg, a complex of dune fields and salt white pans. It was a rugged land, beset by neighboring rival tribes. My father once patrolled this region as I did now, but, in his old age had decided to remain at the house near Kairouan. I couldn't blame him. He was easily nearing seventy now, old battle wounds and injuries slowing him down. He thought to protect his dignity, but I think he loved spending time in the beautiful courtyard by the fountain with my mother. I smiled thinking of our mother. She was still beautiful, nearly as old as Father, her dark hair streaked in silver.
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