Turning Of The Leaves

Cold feet

Imagine if you knew of a population of semi-wild hamsters that live communally near to where you live. They don't run for their lives and bolt into their nests for safety when they see you, they'll just kind of go "aw fuck there's that guy again" and just kind of lazily trot off - they know you're not really a predator, just an inconvenience. But some of them don't flee from you, they're a bit weird you guess, but those are your favourites. So every once in a while when you've got a task you really don't want to do alone, you can just walk up there, grab a hamster, pop it into your breast pocket and now you've got a little emotional support buddy for the day.

That's Gandalf's relationship with the hobbits.

“Are you the witch who turned eleven princes into swans?”

The old woman stared at the figure on the front step of her cottage and considered her options. It was the kind of question usually backed up by a mob with meaningful torches, and the kind of question she tried to avoid.

Coming from a single dusty, tired housewife, it should’ve held no terrors.

“You a cop?”

The housewife twisted the hem of her apron. “No,” she muttered. “I’m a swan.”

A raven croaked somewhere in the woods. Wind whispered in the autumn leaves.

Then: “I think I can guess,” the old woman said slowly. “Husband stole your swan skin and forced you to marry him?”

A nod.

“And you can’t turn back into a swan until you find your skin again.”

A nod.

“But I reckon he’s hidden it, or burned it, or keeps it locked up so you can’t touch it.”

A tiny, miserable nod.

“And then you hear that old Granny Rothbart who lives out in the woods is really a batty old witch whose father taught her how to turn princes into swans,” the old woman sighed. “And you think, ‘Hey, stuff the old skin, I can just turn into a swan again this way.’

“But even if that was true – which I haven’t said if it is or if it isn’t – I’d say that I can only do it to make people miserable. I’m an awful person. I can’t do it out of the goodness of my heart. I have no goodness. I can’t use magic to make you feel better. I only wish I could.”

Another pause. “If I was a witch,” she added.

The housewife chewed the inside of her cheek. Then she drew herself up and, for the first time, looked the old woman in the eyes.

“Can you do it to make my husband miserable?”

The old woman considered her options. Then she pulled the wand out from the umbrella stand by the door. It was long, and silver, and a tiny glass swan with open wings stood perched on the tip.

“I can work with that,” said the witch.

I love this picture so much! Post it whenever I come across it.

I love drawing pen and paper maps for my D&D campaigns, here’s a bunch of my recent ones

Yūsha Yoshihiko to Maō no Shiro (勇者ヨシヒコと魔王の城, lit. “The Hero Yoshihiko and the Demon King’s Castle”)

I feel like folks talking like Tumblr is the last bastion of reason on the Internet are forgetting that the owner of Tumblr is demonstrably cut from the same cloth as Zuckerberg and Musk. Tumblr's moderation polices aren't less bigoted, they're just less competently implemented.

Neography

Neography

The art of writing systems

An interesting online resource for those interested in constructed scripts and adjacent topics.

Two neurons sensing each other and trying to connect

Credit: @rockatscientist