Cal Sims watches the shambling man stumble out of the pancake butter sunset for the better part of a half hour. He'd just been a blurry horizon speck at first, but at the twenty minute mark began to materialize.
The baby dragon I'd rescued from the crows a few months back, the one that was roughly the size of a fat cat when I found at and had stayed that size ever since, had finally started to grow. Ash was as big as a beagle, and that wasn't counting the tail. Hiding her from Grandma and Grandpa, which had never been easy, suddenly got a lot more challenging. I knew I couldn't keep her in the house, but the old high school gym ten blocks over was still standing. If I could get Ash to the gym, she'd have plenty of room to grow and fly.
I was playing in the backyard--something both grandparents had warned me against many times on account of the big dragons being heavy in the area--when a flopping green mess came scrambling over our property's cement barrier, and landed in the oleander bushes. Squawks and croaks emitted from the bush, chased by plumes of fire and smoke. I wanted no part of this dragon.
Ten years beyond the big Ocean Rise, the first of the dragons flew ashore. People freaked out, though not as much as you might expect with the revelation that dragons were real. I think a lot of that had to do with their size. These early dragons were much tinier than anyone expected.
Roger Nimitz stands just inside the open mouth of his garage and surveys a swirling sky the color of dryer lint. The day's not yet freezing, but he's bundled up in his bibs and warmest coat all the same. A monster of a snow shovel rests like a bastard sword over his right shoulder, while a pumped and primed blower rests at his side like a faithful hound. He should be able to handle the storm's early stages, but Roger wants the blower ready for when the flakes earnestly start to gather, and the situation turns serious.
Finished up The Girl in Red by Christina Henry last week. Fun retelling of the Red Riding Hood narrative set in an apocalyptic, plague-ridden United States. Cordelia, or Red as she prefers, is walking to Grandma's house, and doing her best to avoid, outsmart, and overcome the military, ruthless militias, and scavengers intent on harm. …
Stålenhag is a Swedish visual artist, writer, musician, and tabletop RPG designer, and it seems as though he's been churning out his creative projects for a number of years. As with much of the cool art that's out there*, I'm only learning about it now, hence the whole "late to dinner" phrase in the title.
How Long 'Til Black Future Month? is a solid collection of Jemisin's short fiction spanning her career. And in each selection she delivers on her world building, much in the same way she did in The Fifth Season: inserting information as it becomes relevant to the narrative, avoiding huge info dumps.