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To Build the Rain

T

To Build the Rain

I am the wind, the breeze My fan passes between the trees I am the sky child, the cloud My words singing loud Petrichor my perfume, soft, And the pollen borne aloft The petals falling from my mane I am wild and am tame Ancient Mother, Seafoam Spray Send the water now, today The rain cannot fall while dry stuck in the cloud so high My robe and sash, they tangle When the systems mangle And when I touch the ground Only as mist am I found Thus I raise my song, my spear Mother and Father, do you hear? Grandfather, below the sea Please harken now to me The plants cry, flowers wilt Loose the scabbard and hilt Mirror to sword, the sun’s gleam, The sure path of the soon fed stream.

FFM2020 #31: For Love

F

FFM2020 #31: For Love

My groan fills the car as the seat belt unbuckles with its soft click. My stomach roils but a weight has pressed on my head like a coronal circlet since the traffic switched over to city traffic. I still marvel how I managed to slide through the traffic so easily. I watch as I float to the check in desk, my spine creaking and cracking despite the brace holding the bad disks in place and the special cushion protecting the tail bone. Either I am dissociated, the family guardians that protected my father during his enlistment and further service to country are with me, or both. With the things I have seen in my life I lean toward both. Something will go wrong to balance out the smoothness. That too has always been a thing in any trip of mine. Room key in hand I open the door. It is no door to Captain’s Quarters on a tall ship, nor a mysterious door beneath a glaring green lake where a merrow may or may not live, but for now this is my door. There won’t be baubles and books, but there

FFM2020 #28: Breakfast Time

F

FFM2020 #28: Breakfast Time

The rough tongues lave over bare skin, threatening to rip it away with tiny sandpaper swatches. I pull the threadbare covers up but something cold and moist worms under, soon followed by warm, wet, and slimy. I shudder as the fetid breath and substance wash over me. Fire pricks through the blanket and insistent yowls and grumbles break over the ears I try to cover. At last I give up the battle when the ice of the fan bore into me as the furry demons whisked away with the cover. Rising, I totter to fill bowls. Breakfast time. The tiny beasts swelling with their sacrificial feed would distract them enough for another hour of sleep.

FFM2020 #30: Brownies

F

FFM2020 #30: Brownies

Brownies, everywhere. Brownies in the cupboard. Brownies in the kitchen. Brownies baking brownies. Brownies in the attic, and brownies in the bed. Everywhere. It was a good thing she liked brownies, and even better that they were kind enough to bake her brownies. Brownie brownies were, in her opinion, the best brownies. Those cookie elves had nothing on this troupe’s baking ability. They were pretty good at other food too. How was she to know the day that she saved the cat she’d seen get hit in the road would reward her with friends and a solution to her inability to both keep up with her orders and be able to eat? She certainly loved brownies.

FFM2020 #29: Breaktime Breakdown

F

FFM2020 #29: Breaktime Breakdown

The birds were singing. They knew it was going to be a horrible day. The sky was dull and brown-grey, the sky refusing to unshroud itself and the sun stubbornly staying behind those layers. Likewise, Death also knew it was going to be a horrible day. Mother Nature’s hot flashes steadily increased his daily lists to the point that he had taken on an Apprentice. Now, he himself was sick. The birds, wisely, stayed far away from Death’s window. None were ever such exactly how many sickles he had, but Death was a horrid good shot with them. Nobody had the guts to go pick at their beheaded brethren below the window either, at least until he was in a better mood. Death’s Apprentice quietly rocked under a pile of books, sipping a tea and mumbling to themselves about job descriptions before finally working themselves up enough to pull together enough. There was work, and break time was over.

FFM2020 #27: The Cheater

F

FFM2020 #27: The Cheater

“Do it.” The words resounded in my head as I gazed at the plate placed before me. “He’ll never have to know.” I gazed guiltily up at the robin breasted waitress, who winked conspiratorially, then to where he usually sat across form me. “Enjoy,” she chirruped before hopping off to take care of another customer, tail dropped behind. I lifted the delicacy, a meaty manwich of a burger, to my lips and opened my maw wide for the first bite. I salivated, anticipating the salty flavors of bacon, teriyaki, tomato, and pineapple. Mine, all mine! “You CHEATER!” He cried as he puffed through the door and to my table. My diet was ruined, and I didn’t care. I chewed happily as he dropped puffing into the seat across from me. Our robin waitress giggled, and plated a slice of blackberry pie for him.

FFM2020 #26: A Dreamweaver

F

FFM2020 #26: A Dreamweaver

The land had laid quiet the past several months, sleeping, healing. The crystals and bio-luminescent plants scattered about had continued to glow and pulse with the heartbeat of the land, as they always had and always would. The Shrine of Life, the Ool lay dreaming beneath the beams of sun and moon, blanketed by stars and leaves against the cold world beyond the borders of the land of the Dreaming Twilight. Dreams winked in and out of realization around the ancient pulsing butterfly artifact, the jewels shining with Life through the Darkness and Light over her stronghold in the Land of Nisa where it connected to the pathways joining the other sibling lands. Her fellow Dreamweavers winked in and out of this world as they needed, tending the mists and the Dreamers they encountered in their travels just as they had before she had shed her body. Her form shifted, flowing from the green flutterby alicorn those in the pony lands knew her as, to the highly scientific Qwhilla caretaker of the

FFM2020 #25: Folkloric Fieldwork

F

FFM2020 #25: Folkloric Fieldwork

I was there on a dare. Studying at Miskatonic was a hair raising affair on some days, especially for someone with a primary interest in mythology. The anthropology department and library were my homes other than the dorm, and some less serious friends (fellow students) had thought it high time that I should do some fieldwork of my own. What my professors would have thought of the affair I did not ask, although the librarian seemed to sense that something was up and slipped me a volume of “Fieldwork Safety for the Dangerously Adventurous: A Warning and Manual for Keeping Your Life,” when I checked out the volumes I needed to take back with me. I think she overheard our discussions of semi-local and local legends, and one particular strange doorway on one particular waterway that university yarns were often spun about. The male students always tended to embellish their stories around me, trying to make themselves seem more daring I suppose. I hoped that they didn’t suspect what I really

FFM2020 #24: Byron's Worries

F

FFM2020 #24: Byron's Worries

He rubbed against the post, grumbling and trying to pretend the itch he was intent on killing was that blasted descendant of Kay. Wherever that wretched human had hidden it, it was hidden well. Had he transfigured her skin into something? Was that why neither of them had been able to find Marsali’s skin when they had chances to look for it? Byron hated her being trapped more than he hated being Bound into his natural form. His fully human form or even his half form would make searching for a seal skin far easier. A slim hand found the spot on his drippy hide that he couldn’t quite reach, killing the itch, soothing his poor skin, but denying him even that modicum of revenge. Did Marsali know that’s what he was fantasizing about? Or was this just more of her gentle way? Her hand picked out the tangles from the seaweed in his mane, arranging it neatly and smoothing over the poison barbs of his frills. “Byron…” He looked at her, into those deep brown seal eyes he’d promised to protect

FFM2020 #23: Interruptions

F

FFM2020 #23: Interruptions

“I haven’t a clue what I’m doing.” She muttered under her breath after reading the day’s writing challenge. Everything to this point had been fairly easy, only one or two challenges twisting her gut with anxiety. Silk had been as smooth. The writer sipped her honey sweet coffee and looked out the window, thinking, plotting, trying to remember some example of the required style. Had she read any? She couldn’t remember any specific Discordian writing. Wasn’t that a religion? She tapped her pen on her desk and listened to the birds outside, and the rushing leaves. A car sped by, more tourists on the way to the lake, hopefully not throwing more cigarette butts and glass shards, and once even a sacrificial fork into her yard. Every day she seemed to find something that hadn’t been out there the day before to pick up. The purple ink flowed from her fountain pen as she scratched it onto the paper. One idea. Others would follow hopefully. Her stomach rumbled and she smelled eggs. Rubbing
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To Build the Rain

T

To Build the Rain

I am the wind, the breeze My fan passes between the trees I am the sky child, the cloud My words singing loud Petrichor my perfume, soft, And the pollen borne aloft The petals falling from my mane I am wild and am tame Ancient Mother, Seafoam Spray Send the water now, today The rain cannot fall while dry stuck in the cloud so high My robe and sash, they tangle When the systems mangle And when I touch the ground Only as mist am I found Thus I raise my song, my spear Mother and Father, do you hear? Grandfather, below the sea Please harken now to me The plants cry, flowers wilt Loose the scabbard and hilt Mirror to sword, the sun’s gleam, The sure path of the soon fed stream.

FFM2020 #31: For Love

F

FFM2020 #31: For Love

My groan fills the car as the seat belt unbuckles with its soft click. My stomach roils but a weight has pressed on my head like a coronal circlet since the traffic switched over to city traffic. I still marvel how I managed to slide through the traffic so easily. I watch as I float to the check in desk, my spine creaking and cracking despite the brace holding the bad disks in place and the special cushion protecting the tail bone. Either I am dissociated, the family guardians that protected my father during his enlistment and further service to country are with me, or both. With the things I have seen in my life I lean toward both. Something will go wrong to balance out the smoothness. That too has always been a thing in any trip of mine. Room key in hand I open the door. It is no door to Captain’s Quarters on a tall ship, nor a mysterious door beneath a glaring green lake where a merrow may or may not live, but for now this is my door. There won’t be baubles and books, but there

FFM2020 #28: Breakfast Time

F

FFM2020 #28: Breakfast Time

The rough tongues lave over bare skin, threatening to rip it away with tiny sandpaper swatches. I pull the threadbare covers up but something cold and moist worms under, soon followed by warm, wet, and slimy. I shudder as the fetid breath and substance wash over me. Fire pricks through the blanket and insistent yowls and grumbles break over the ears I try to cover. At last I give up the battle when the ice of the fan bore into me as the furry demons whisked away with the cover. Rising, I totter to fill bowls. Breakfast time. The tiny beasts swelling with their sacrificial feed would distract them enough for another hour of sleep.

FFM2020 #30: Brownies

F

FFM2020 #30: Brownies

Brownies, everywhere. Brownies in the cupboard. Brownies in the kitchen. Brownies baking brownies. Brownies in the attic, and brownies in the bed. Everywhere. It was a good thing she liked brownies, and even better that they were kind enough to bake her brownies. Brownie brownies were, in her opinion, the best brownies. Those cookie elves had nothing on this troupe’s baking ability. They were pretty good at other food too. How was she to know the day that she saved the cat she’d seen get hit in the road would reward her with friends and a solution to her inability to both keep up with her orders and be able to eat? She certainly loved brownies.

FFM2020 #29: Breaktime Breakdown

F

FFM2020 #29: Breaktime Breakdown

The birds were singing. They knew it was going to be a horrible day. The sky was dull and brown-grey, the sky refusing to unshroud itself and the sun stubbornly staying behind those layers. Likewise, Death also knew it was going to be a horrible day. Mother Nature’s hot flashes steadily increased his daily lists to the point that he had taken on an Apprentice. Now, he himself was sick. The birds, wisely, stayed far away from Death’s window. None were ever such exactly how many sickles he had, but Death was a horrid good shot with them. Nobody had the guts to go pick at their beheaded brethren below the window either, at least until he was in a better mood. Death’s Apprentice quietly rocked under a pile of books, sipping a tea and mumbling to themselves about job descriptions before finally working themselves up enough to pull together enough. There was work, and break time was over.

FFM2020 #27: The Cheater

F

FFM2020 #27: The Cheater

“Do it.” The words resounded in my head as I gazed at the plate placed before me. “He’ll never have to know.” I gazed guiltily up at the robin breasted waitress, who winked conspiratorially, then to where he usually sat across form me. “Enjoy,” she chirruped before hopping off to take care of another customer, tail dropped behind. I lifted the delicacy, a meaty manwich of a burger, to my lips and opened my maw wide for the first bite. I salivated, anticipating the salty flavors of bacon, teriyaki, tomato, and pineapple. Mine, all mine! “You CHEATER!” He cried as he puffed through the door and to my table. My diet was ruined, and I didn’t care. I chewed happily as he dropped puffing into the seat across from me. Our robin waitress giggled, and plated a slice of blackberry pie for him.

FFM2020 #26: A Dreamweaver

F

FFM2020 #26: A Dreamweaver

The land had laid quiet the past several months, sleeping, healing. The crystals and bio-luminescent plants scattered about had continued to glow and pulse with the heartbeat of the land, as they always had and always would. The Shrine of Life, the Ool lay dreaming beneath the beams of sun and moon, blanketed by stars and leaves against the cold world beyond the borders of the land of the Dreaming Twilight. Dreams winked in and out of realization around the ancient pulsing butterfly artifact, the jewels shining with Life through the Darkness and Light over her stronghold in the Land of Nisa where it connected to the pathways joining the other sibling lands. Her fellow Dreamweavers winked in and out of this world as they needed, tending the mists and the Dreamers they encountered in their travels just as they had before she had shed her body. Her form shifted, flowing from the green flutterby alicorn those in the pony lands knew her as, to the highly scientific Qwhilla caretaker of the

FFM2020 #25: Folkloric Fieldwork

F

FFM2020 #25: Folkloric Fieldwork

I was there on a dare. Studying at Miskatonic was a hair raising affair on some days, especially for someone with a primary interest in mythology. The anthropology department and library were my homes other than the dorm, and some less serious friends (fellow students) had thought it high time that I should do some fieldwork of my own. What my professors would have thought of the affair I did not ask, although the librarian seemed to sense that something was up and slipped me a volume of “Fieldwork Safety for the Dangerously Adventurous: A Warning and Manual for Keeping Your Life,” when I checked out the volumes I needed to take back with me. I think she overheard our discussions of semi-local and local legends, and one particular strange doorway on one particular waterway that university yarns were often spun about. The male students always tended to embellish their stories around me, trying to make themselves seem more daring I suppose. I hoped that they didn’t suspect what I really

FFM2020 #24: Byron's Worries

F

FFM2020 #24: Byron's Worries

He rubbed against the post, grumbling and trying to pretend the itch he was intent on killing was that blasted descendant of Kay. Wherever that wretched human had hidden it, it was hidden well. Had he transfigured her skin into something? Was that why neither of them had been able to find Marsali’s skin when they had chances to look for it? Byron hated her being trapped more than he hated being Bound into his natural form. His fully human form or even his half form would make searching for a seal skin far easier. A slim hand found the spot on his drippy hide that he couldn’t quite reach, killing the itch, soothing his poor skin, but denying him even that modicum of revenge. Did Marsali know that’s what he was fantasizing about? Or was this just more of her gentle way? Her hand picked out the tangles from the seaweed in his mane, arranging it neatly and smoothing over the poison barbs of his frills. “Byron…” He looked at her, into those deep brown seal eyes he’d promised to protect

FFM2020 #23: Interruptions

F

FFM2020 #23: Interruptions

“I haven’t a clue what I’m doing.” She muttered under her breath after reading the day’s writing challenge. Everything to this point had been fairly easy, only one or two challenges twisting her gut with anxiety. Silk had been as smooth. The writer sipped her honey sweet coffee and looked out the window, thinking, plotting, trying to remember some example of the required style. Had she read any? She couldn’t remember any specific Discordian writing. Wasn’t that a religion? She tapped her pen on her desk and listened to the birds outside, and the rushing leaves. A car sped by, more tourists on the way to the lake, hopefully not throwing more cigarette butts and glass shards, and once even a sacrificial fork into her yard. Every day she seemed to find something that hadn’t been out there the day before to pick up. The purple ink flowed from her fountain pen as she scratched it onto the paper. One idea. Others would follow hopefully. Her stomach rumbled and she smelled eggs. Rubbing

Anthro vs. feral

Anthro vs. feral

Update: Wow! :O_o: Even in 2020, people are still reading this article? Wow, people. Just wow. :XD: Well, I'm glad that I could be of much help. While browsing for furry art, sometimes, I see characters with distinct anthro and feral forms. Often, the differences are minor (hands become paws, feet become more digitigrade, etc.) or even completely different (no clothing, lacking hairs, smaller body size, different body marking placement locations, etc.). While I'm fine with it, at the same time, I can't help but also find it ludicrous. :XD: Of course, that's just me. In correct word usage, "anthro" is short for "άνθρω

FFM Day 28: A Visit to the Truth

F

FFM Day 28: A Visit to the Truth

“Row until you no longer cast a shadow.” the ferryman intoned. Yves took the proffered paddle with his fingertips, “You mean you don’t come with me? As a guide of some kind?” Black swamp waters threatened underneath the rickety canoe. The ferryman stepped back and gestured Yves forward. With a pronounced gulp, Yves inched onto the canoe. It trembled under his weight, but remained steady. He pushed off into the purple mists. The humidity made it hard to breathe and water droplets streaked down Yves’ leathers. As he rowed, the reeds around him became taller and thicker, until they towered far above him. Yves shivered - now the colloquial moniker ‘Lavender Forest’ made a lot of sense. The dark waters grew darker beneath him. “Hello.” A distant voice murmured and wisps of mist twitched around Yves, “Unusual for me to get two visitors in one day.” Yves whipped around, hunting for the source of the voice. The mist parted and Yves spotted another canoe ahead of him. He frowned. The
8Comments

FFM 28 - To Err is Human

F

FFM 28 - To Err is Human

I found her curled outside the gate, knees to her chest for the fourth morning in a row. “Please come in,” I rested my head against the rails studying her features. I could not take her sadness away but she would not let me anyway. She shook her head, eyes wet with tears. They did not fall. “What will it take?” Her unfocused eyes rested on me, her mind elsewhere. She said nothing. Weariness made my bones heavy and I sighed. I unlatched the gate and sat beside her. We sat for a while in our silence as the clouds rolled by. Music played inside the gate but it didn’t register for her. Silver bells chimed in th

FFM 30: swell

F

FFM 30: swell

Just past the rapids, with their treacherous frothing fingers, the river widened. The hungry current still flew in the deepest parts, but smaller eddies branched off to calmer pools. The body was just offshore, a glow of white in muddy brown-green water. As the merfolk crept out of the dense trees, their feet and hands silent in their passage, their leader stopped, held up a hand. "Scout," he said. A lithe young female came forward, diving into the river in a graceful arc. After a few moments, she resurfaced a discreet distance upriver from the body. "All clear," she said. "Not a trap." The leader made a signal, and the merfolk continued moving forward, skirting the river's edge, the scout following them as she shook the water from her fins. There was a faint splash in the distance as they entered the water. The leader stayed behind, kneeling in the mud of the riverbank. He pulled the body gently out of the water. It was a girl, not long dead, dressed in white and tangled in

The Burning of Cob Weaver

T

The Burning of Cob Weaver

In the dark wood behind the abbey William Bodger had cut into his hand with an axe, and Cob Weaver had done all he could to staunch the bleeding. “It’ll heal,” he said. “How long?” The vision had hold of Cob’s tongue before he could stop it. “Before it heals you’ll cast this town into flames.” A dark look passed over William’s face. Cob desperately hoped that the woodsman would ignore it, would pass it off as some ill-thought-out joke, but it was not William that he had to concern himself with. “Witch!” shouted Sister Prudence. “Witch!” “’Tis but a herbal poultice,” said William, standing. “Nothing out of sorts!” But Sister Prudence would not be persuaded. “I heard the curse that he brought down upon us!” “I meant nothing by it,” said Cob. But he was shaken by the vision of fire and ruin, for he knew there was truth in it, and could not in good conscience swallow the words he’d already spoken. “It was no curse: it was a warning. All should flee before the fire comes.” “He
9Comments

Fox Bride

F

Fox Bride

She was bathed and groomed to perfection before she was handed over to the crow priests, but they still cleaned her more. She needed to be perfect they said. Cleaner than she had ever been even at birth. The brushed gold dust into her blonde hair so it would shimmer more then placed a crown of flowers on her head. She was dressed in a pure white dress with red embroidery on it befitting of a bride on her wedding night. It was her wedding night so the dress was fitting. She was to be the fox’s bride. His twenty fifth bride in one hundred years to be exact. The fox had to have a new bride every fours years. It was decreed long before even her grandparents had been born. To not offer a bride to the fox was to bring disaster to the people of the valley. Giving up one girl to the fox every four years was a small price to pay for peace. Besides, the spring after the offering always brought about the best harvest. The land was most fertile the spring after. She herself had benefited from
1Comments

FFM 2020 Day 25: Deep Secrets

F

FFM 2020 Day 25: Deep Secrets

I watched the Merrow’s back disappear behind the door and heard the click of a lock. Then, just as they had lit, the candles snuffed themselves out in unison, leaving only the electric flicker of the torchlight in the hand of my uninhabited body. I stared at my slumped form, trying to will it to move. Nothing. I scanned the deck for something of use: harpoons, barrels, cannons, anything with the strength or weight to break the glass. But as ornate and detailed as the model ship was (was it a model? Or had it been shrunk, like my soul now was?), its decks were barren of artillery and heavy objects alike. Coils of rope hanging from the mask might allow me to disembark or swing from the crows nest, but what good would that do me? Outside of my body, I surely lacked the weight to smash through the bottle myself, and its top was firmly stoppered. I bit my lip, then looked to the doors on either side of the main deck. Perhaps the Merrow had not been so thorough as to empty the

The Sword That Would Bring Them Down

T

The Sword That Would Bring Them Down

He gathered up every drop of his blood they’d spilled, set it aflame and smelted steel from the ashes. For every blow they’d struck him he folded it again, till it was strong and sharp as their hateful words. He forged the sword that would bring them down, but they had given him the means.
8Comments

FFM 2020: Mantle

F

FFM 2020: Mantle

Dying, the goddess laid herself upon the ground. “It’s your turn now.” She told him, before sighing into nothingness; a spray of dandelion seeds upon the wind. He felt the island underfoot, the bones of things living, and dead. When roots sprouted from his fingertips, he understood. He would never be free of this place.

Spotlight

Morgan 'Seapony' AKA Illya Leonov

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Artist // Professional // Varied
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My Bio

Ko-fi: ko-fi.com/Amehana

Patreon: patreon.com/Amehana

Paypal: paypal.me/thgstardragon


I write under Teresa Garcia and sometimes Amethyst Stormrider. I illustrate under Teresa Amehana Garcia. I am also known as Amehana Arashi and Amehana Ishtari.


I'm currently busy with writing, art, and apparently the taxi service for my teenagers. I hope to some day be an online professor teaching Asian Studies, Asian Religion, Asian Mythology, or Asian History. My major is International Relations with an Asian concentration, and my specific areas of the most interest are Japan and the Ryukyu Islands.


I am a priestess, legally ordained minister, coffee lover, author, poet, narrator, illustrator, publisher, sim administrator, and game administrator, but most of all a mother. I do not have the time for social time I once did. I live in the mountains of Northern California.


I paint, I write, I love tai chi, I love to fan dance before the central kamidana of my home when I am well enough. Not a lot to know really, but more to find out than most people ever do.


My gallery includes some pieces from as far back as my Junior High Years (not all of them) all the way through current. I retain the older work as a reminder for myself of what my level once was, to compare how far I have come, and as a way to hopefully remind new artists that they too will grow in their art.


Where you can find me:

ACX Narrator

Amazon Author Listing

Arashiryuu Productions Public Discord Server

Dreamwidth

Facebook

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Gumroad Store

Live Journal

Patreon

Smashwords

Serial Stories

GoodReads (what am I reading? chat about it!)

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THG StarDragon Publishing Blog

Twitter: AmehanaArashi

Youtube



Favorite genre of music: Classical Asian or heavy metal.

Favorite style of art: meditative and spiritual

Operating System: Coffee IV, thanks

Skin of choice: Scales... but I'm stuck with this human stuff for the duration. lol

Favorite cartoon character: Nigihayami Kohakunushi!

Personal Quote: I am the flaming pearl and calm mirror at the heart of the storm. Hold me if you dare.



Favourite Visual Artist
Josephine Wall, Hayao Miyazaki, Salaiek
Favourite Movies
Spirited Away
Favourite Bands / Musical Artists
Himekami, Kitaro, Hisaishi
Favourite Games
Okami, Armello, Starbound, Cthulhu Saves the World
Tools of the Trade
too many
Other Interests
shinto, dragons, poetry, art, skiing, hiking, mythology, world cultures, geology, sleeping, peace
Illya Leonov and I did a collaboration video on his Youtube. He asked me to read the lyrics for Ode to Billy Joe as a poem so that he could discuss them.
I will slowly bring my Fur Affinity gallery up to date. There is not as much there, and its main purpose is for those few works that I do not feel fully comfortable having in the gallery here that is more of a general audience place, but do wish to

Thanks for following! What sort of content of mine do y...

  |  3 votes
  • Color Pencil Art
  • Ink Art
  • Acrylic Paintings
  • Regular Pencil Work
  • Stories
  • Poetry
  • Photography
  • Something else? You can put that in a comment.

Comments 362

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PheonixStarmanProfessional General Artist
Happy BDay and i hope you have a wonderful day!
AmehanaRainStarDragoProfessional General Artist

Thank you!

AmehanaRainStarDragoProfessional General Artist

Thank you!

Barosus Writer
Barosus Frog by KmyGraphic  
Hello!  Thanks so much for the watch.  I have given you one as well, because i think we will get along great.  Most of my works are on either fantasy themes or spirituality.  

In fact let me make it easy for you to see what more of my stuff is by sparing you having to wade through my gallery unguided.  The labyrinth runs deep and many a soul has been lost in those Stygian depths. LOL

What I am suggesting is an exchange of links by means of introduction.  I will shwo you a few of my best ones and I hope you will do the same for me. ^_^

Chimney Sweep

Demiurge

Prairie Muse

Children of the Fae

An Island Dream (The One)

Okay that is plenty!  I realize you are busy so please don't feel rushed to read them, or even read them at all if you would rather not.  No pressure! Thank you again for expressing interest in my work!  It means a lot when a peer chooses to watch me. 

Thank you by KmyGraphic  
AmehanaRainStarDragoProfessional General Artist

Oh awesome, thank you. I love it when people show me what they feel is their best work. I'll read them over when I get the chance to immerse myself. I'll also have a think on what I feel are my best ones to share. It's always good to speak with peers and get to know them and their works better.