http://photography.nationalgeographic.com/photography/photo-of-the-day/horse-arabian-mare-egypt/
Theo sat in his father’s store at the edge of town. Wind knocked the saloon doors back and forth. Dust kicked up and gathered around the entrance. With a sigh, Theo stood and grabbed the broom from the back wall. Dirt couldn’t get into the guitars, or it would ruin their sound. So why did the guitar store have saloon doors that did absolutely nothing to dissuade the invasion of dirt?
They were on their fourth and final day of surveillance duty. Of all the various tasks their employer assigned, surveillance was easily their least favorite. They had to sit around in a tree, watchi the same spot for days on end; it was anathema to the free-wheeling, fun–loving lives they had convinced themselves they led. Still, they weren’t prepared to openly revolt against their employer. Initially, they’d gone to task with admirable dedication. Over the four days, their concentration had mostly eroded.
http://photography.nationalgeographic.com/photography/photo-of-the-day/palm-beach-miami-steinmetz/
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It appears that the potion has maintained its efficacy in a higher dose. The trials on the mice, peacocks and pigs each showed similar endorphin spikes at 24 hours, 72 hours and 148 hours. There’s reason to believe the augmented endorphin spike may help inspire natural endorphin production.
Amelsh hurried down the hall clutching a stack of blueprints under his arm. He checked the watch on his thin green wrist. Only a minute late. It could have been much worse. The blueprints were supposed to be ready two days ago. But in typical fairy fashion, the team in the design department had spent a few days arguing over the merits of which color ink to use on the plans. After that, they’d tried to edit the content of the plans several times, and Amelsh had to spend a great many hours redoing work he’d already completed.
The rooms in the Department of the Capital counted up as he passed. 1101, 1103, 1105. He took a deep breath as he approached 1111 at a big juncture of 3 main hallways. The door pointed out from a corner, cut along with its frame from a rich, dark wood. Amelsh felt his translucent wings flutter just a little from nerves. He paused in front of the door, took a deep breath to prepare himself, and then entered.
http://photography.nationalgeographic.com/photography/photo-of-the-day/romania-ursul-bear-dance/
Civility in Short Supply During Anti-Ursid Demonstrations
By C. Cibo
16th Mursir 1342 A.A.
For the third straight day, demonstrations against the world’s Ursid population went into the night in cities around the world.
Police in Seattle, WA and Portland, OR made several arrests amid a fresh round of effigy burning and slogan chanting. A few fires near the famous Seattle fish market spread to nearby structures, including two newspaper kiosks. The organizers were arrested for arson and inciting a riot.
In Europe, the stories are similar. Warsaw, Budapest and Vienna saw hundreds gather in public places to rail against the Ursids in the region. London and Paris both had smaller, but still vocal, gatherings.
Through much of the winter, the Lost Mountain was completely inaccessible. Constant snowfall buried the craggy peak for almost eight months out of the year. Loose snow was very difficult to gauge. It could be a few inches deep or a few feet. The uneven surface beneath it was impossible to see until the spring melt.
As the expedition of three eased their way up the mountain, they wondered if the end of winter was the best time to attempt to scale the Lost Mountain. All around them, little pockets of loose snow lost their grip on the dark grey stone. For two days, they’d walked above, below and through brief cascades of falling snow.
In a quiet glade on a grass-covered hill by the ocean, a small herd of wide-horn cattle graze on the lush green expanse. They’re a quiet crowd, making little sound besides the chomping of grass between their teeth. A low, cool wind blows across the exposed patch of grass.
Something odd descends toward the ocean side of the meadow. A dot and a red splash appear against the dull grey backdrop of the overcast sky. Most of the herd doesn’t notice. But one or two give the strange object a glance. It descends, in slow loops, until it materializes into something other than two marks of color. It’s a man strapped into seat, a paraglide chute opened above him. As he eases toward the earth, the man looks at the herd of cows expectantly, a mixture of anxiety and excitement on his face.
The entire plan hinged on the plan’s sticking point – they would need to fly. They could not fly without practice. Without mastering the plan, they would fail. Without practice, they could not master the plan. And so they’d been out here since dawn every day for five days, all to practice. And learn. And practice some more.
“Let’s go again.”
“Dunn, this thing’s pulling to the right.”
“Doesn’t look like it is.”
“I’m telling you it’s pulling to the right.”
“So lean left.”
http://photography.nationalgeographic.com/photography/photo-of-the-day/san-francisco-salt-marsh/
Valefar the demon blinked into existence.
The crossroads was typical of its type with long stretches of weathered asphalt shooting off into the distance toward the cardinal directions. He couldn’t confirm that, of course, as any compass in the area would have gone haywire at his appearance. But generally speaking, when they pulled him from the comforts of Hell to parlay on Earth, they choose their crossroads with care.
The Tall Tale Year 