Species (according to Ursa):
2) Spellbinders:
- Spellbinders are people who have such a strong will they can cast spells (maybe this is why my papa always said I was so stubborn lol)
- Spells are words, ideas, or phrases the force the narration or story of something else to change
- Narrations are the stories written by Luoja for each and every creature in existence
Example: a tree’s narration is that it grows, sprouts leaves, leaves change color, leaves drop, tree sleeps, and cycle begins again
- Spellbinders can appear in any species
- Spellbinders are feared because of their power (often mislabeled as witches)
- All species at some point hunted Spellbinders either to kill them or enslave them.
- Some people thought if you ate a Spellbinder you would get their powers (GROSSS!!!)
- Only five ways to enslave a Spellbinder
1) Pain (ouch ☹)
2) Hypnosis or poisoning (eek)
3) Soul binding (creepy)
4) By stronger Spellbinder (glad I’m the only one)
5) Dragon Magic (thankfully Ursa doesn’t have this specific magic)
- Spellbinders are supposed to help keep balance in the two worlds
- Desire is limited, but Will is limitless
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“Chenoa!” a loud male voice, her father, cried from a distance.
Chenoa stirred from her deep slumber. As if to compensate for her nightmare, Chenoa had been enjoying a wonderful dream of a very handsome man. The dream man had kissed her just before she woke and now her lips tingled as if she had Icy Hot on them. The dream man had been handsome beyond belief, so handsome, in fact, that it had hurt to look at him. His hair had been almost pure black with hues of blue and his eyes shone like the hottest blue flame. Chenoa recalled that his skin had been a gentle silver. The mystery man appeared to be Prince Charming straight from a fairy tale.
Sighing, Chenoa sat up and ran her fingers through her hair. She thought she had dreamed of this man before. Yet she couldn’t recall. Standing up, she stretched her back by reaching towards the ceiling. It was another day of school. How dull…
Chenoa quickly dressed, glancing at herself in the mirror. She had only in the last year developed her feminine body. It truly felt as if it had happened overnight. Her chest had grown into a comfortable and full size, though she was far from being, what she considered, a knockout. Her hips, on the other hand, had widened, making her self-conscious of her noticeable backside. Unlike her father, who had skin the color of red clay and chestnut brown eyes, Chenoa possessed fiery red hair, sapphire blue eyes, and pale skin. Most people did not even believe that her father was her biological father. Despite her father’s dominant genes, Chenoa was a spitting image of her mother. People constantly told her so. It was something Chenoa tried to take a compliment, but more often than not it irked her. Not because she didn’t like her mother, but rather because she couldn’t remember her. Dying when Chenoa was very young, her mother was only a faint idea in her mind.
“Chenoa!” her father called again. “Come on! You’re going to be late for school.”
Crap, Chenoa thought as she threw on some mascara and cover-up. She settled for a ratty t-shirt and a worn pair of jeans. Judging from the warm breeze that filtered through her open bedroom window, the weather was nice out, so Chenoa slipped on flip-flops and tossed her hair up into a messy bun. Dashing down the stairs, she headed toward the door when her father’s voice spoke from behind her.
“I don’t think so,” he said. “You need some breakfast.”
Turning with a big sigh, Chenoa gave her father an annoyed look. He laughed richly, placing a small bowl of cereal and a glass of orange juice on the table. Adrian Rose, better known as Papa Bear, was a tall man, reaching close to six-four. While in his late thirties, Adrian Rose didn’t look a day over twenty-eight. He kept his hair cut close to his head and his face clean-shaven, not that he ever had much facial hair. His traditional indigenous features made his face a step above plain, but far from movie-star handsome. High cheekbones widened his face, which was balanced by a large triangular nose. Deep-set eyes stared Chenoa down as his thick lips curved in a gentle grin.
Without sitting, Chenoa gulped down the juice and took five big bites of the cereal before she gave her father a quick kiss and ran out the door. Looking at her watch, Chenoa gasped. She was very later for the bus. Sprinting as fast as she could, Chenoa streaked past her neighbor’s farmhand, Matt.
“Morning, Chenny,” he called in his thick, slow drawl.
Unable to stop and chat, Chenoa waved a quick hello as she dashed by. Out of the corner of her eye, Chenoa saw Matt wave back lazily. Matt was a nice guy, a little simple, but sweeter than a ripe peach. He was the only one Chenoa would ever allow to call her Chenny. The nickname was like dry fingers rubbing against a balloon to Chenoa’s ears, but she didn’t mind when Matt called her that. It seemed innocent when he did, and he had called her it for the last three years ever since they first met. Waving hi to Matt was part of Chenoa's usual morning routine. He always stood at the edge of the fields in about the same spot every morning and greeted her. Chenoa also knew he would be nearby when she got off the bus in the afternoon to greet her again. It was a pleasant pattern.
Reaching the bus stop, Chenoa clutched the stitch in her side as she tried to breathe. As she struggled to catch her breath, Chenoa felt something brush against her hand. Jumping, she looked down and saw a bizarre-looking dog standing close to her. Blinking, Chenoa couldn’t process what she was seeing at first. The dog wasn’t a stray or any of her neighbors’ dogs. In fact, Chenoa had never seen a dog like this one. It appeared to be made of solid smoke, somehow there and not there at the same time as it stared at her with fathomless, concerned eyes.
Slowly approaching her, the dog whimpered softly. Shivering, Chenoa took a quick step back as the whimper gently vibrated in her bones, so that she felt the whimper rather than heard it. Her quick step back unbalanced Chenoa, her feet tangling behind each other, causing her to fall hard to the ground.
“Damn it,” Chenoa cursed.
Pulling her scraped hands to her chest, Chenoa growled in irritation. Lifting her head to yell at the dog, Chenoa saw that it had disappeared. Bewildered, Chenoa looked around but could not see the dog anywhere. Even the soft earth around her seemed undisturbed, showing only her own footprints and a few crow markings. Momentarily, Chenoa wondered if she was still dreaming. Something about the smoky dog reminded Chenoa of the small boy from her dream.
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