The Frewyn Herald: Home of the Haanta Series

The Galleisian War Saga is the prequel series to the main story. It begins with the birth of Boudicca's father, and ends with Alasdair's coronation. It's a huge project, encompassing about 150 years of Frewyn history, including the Brennin family feud, the Livanon Civil War, and the altercation with Gallei that brought everyone together. This particular piece is about Vyrdin, Boudicca and Alasdair's commander when they were in Tyfferim Company. He came to the keep as a fugitive and stayed to become one of Frewyn's greatest heroes. Enjoy.                  T he sun began its descent on the holiday eve, and as the varied hues of the gloaming winter skies cast its amber and indigo light over the capital, Ailineighdaeth broke upon Frewyn in a wave of mirthfulness and merriment: the bells from the church purled and resounded throughout the kingdom, songs and gaieties reigned, fires were lit and meals were pronounced, the mel...

T he afternoon passed agreeably, spent in the happy throes of shoveling the caved-in tunnel, and with the arrival of gloaming came the rumbling of Miss Sniffle’s stomach. She had cleared the path enough to open the door and resolved on finishing the rest tomorrow, resigning herself to the comforts of a warm fire, rosehip tea, and acorn pancakes. The hearth was lit, the water was boiled, the batter was mixed, but she had not begun to cook the first of the pancakes when she heard a loud thump outside. She glanced out the window to find snow once again in front of her door. She sighed and looked up: the snow from the boughs had been shaken down by the howling gales. “I guess I’ll have to shovel the entire thing again tomorrow,” she sighed to herself, and she returned to the kitchen to resume her work when a knock at the door gave her a start.                 A knock at the door? Impossible. Who could it be, in...

T he Sniffles were prudent in removing to Lucentia before the winter began, leaving their fair daughter to be mistress of the hawthorn on Broadwood Lane. Upon their leave, they made her a generous present of the family portraits, their finest set of painted porcelain, and left her the best of the carpets, as where they were going they were certain to be met with the very finest satins and silks that the richest country on the Northern Continent had to offer. Miss Sniffles could very well do without silks and satins and finery of any distinction; all her happiness was in sitting by a warm fire, her embroidery in one hand, her needle in the other, and with a slice of sweet bread soaked in honey on the small working table beside. She spent her days in a cheerful reverie, venturing to the nearby markets to see if there were anything fresh giving away, fetching excellent prices for chestnuts and filberts, saying hello to all the young hedgehogs and rabbits in her way, and glorying in al...

Frewyn has many stories, legends, and myths, all of them compiled in a book called Frewyn Fables. Since many have asked me to write some of these stories, I began writing a children's series by the same name. Frewyn Fables includes stories from across the kingdom, tales from the smaller inhabitants of the Continents to legends of the Gods themselves. Here is a first look at one of the stories: A t the end of the Broadwood Lane, where the low boughs of evergreen were hung round with heavy snows, in the oldest hawthorn tree lived a family of mice by the name of Sniffles. As they were so busy fussing and flumping over the cleanliness of their doorstep, gathering the leftover grain in the threshing field, and maintaining the loveliness of their whiskers, mice seldom ever took the trouble of giving their children first names. They were more distinguished by their appearances than they were by titles and ranks, and when the mother and father Sniffles had their only daughte...

Parents, especially when wanting the best for their children, have no idea how much their habits and professions can ruin their relationship with their child. Many blessings to friends who had a mother like Maddie MacDaede.  T he clamp packed and patted with mangolds, Boudicca had nothing to do but begin on the potato clamp. She began digging the next hole and matting it with straw, and once she was satisfied with the depth and width, she turned to barrel wherein sat hundreds of potatoes from the harvest, waiting to be eaten or reintroduced into the soil as time would serve. The sight of her mother entering the yard from the house and walking toward her moved her to pause and observe her stumbling steps. Her illness was beginning to claim her legs and hinder her mobility, and before her mother could trip over the newly made clamp, Boudicca went to assist her and bring her back into the house.              ...