- Invitation Status
- Look for groups
- Posting Speed
- Multiple posts per day
- One post per day
- Multiple posts per week
- One post per week
- Online Availability
- Changes all the time but I'm around more often than not
- Writing Levels
- Intermediate
- Adept
- Advanced
- Adaptable
- Preferred Character Gender
- Male
- Female
- Nonbinary
- Transgender
- Genres
- Scifi, Crime/detective, supernatural, apocalyptic, horror, magic realism, mystery, historical, Western(at points)
Abele
So, that's why he was out, trudging to where they kept the hay in the storage house. His hair, as usual, was a complete mess, with leaves and stick sticking out, making him resemble one of this mother's pin cushions, which she made sure to decorate with fancy little flower pins and things that did not really make any sense to him to have. His shirt was somewhat of a wreck, with tears in it from accidentally rolling down a nearby hill while trying to chase down a run away sheep.
Needless to say, he did not catch the sheep, but he very well might've caught a infection from all the things that stabbed him on the way down.
Abele sighed a bit to himself, running a hand through his hair and knocking out some of the debris that littered it. Then, he went to the hay stack, taking out the pitchfork from the pile. Time to get this done and over with, so he could possibly REST for a bit. An idea that seemed a bit foreign to him, at the moment.