Damaris Browne is a former solicitor whose ancestors include Spanish aristocrats, Somerset horse-dealers, numerous soldiers of various ranks from private to general, and one wife-murderer.
When not writing about SF alien judges and fantasy characters in historical settings (not yet both in the same novel), she spends her time reading, gardening, ignoring housework, and hanging around at SFFChronicles, where she’s a moderator known as The Judge. She lives with her husband, cat, and a lot of books on the edge of the New Forest National Park in England.
“… and so despite all the hardships and the tricks of the envious, the Starlight Weaver and the White Moon Hunter joined hands at the first sunset of the beginning time. And ever after they have lit the night sky, for they wish us to remember their love and happiness, … Continue reading
Akiowa stopped well short of the village, expecting the spear to give her the Storyteller’s call, but it urged her further forward. She stopped again at the well-tended fields of beans and maize, then at the nearest dwelling. Still the spear pushed her on. The village seemed deserted save for … Continue reading
Akiowa gave a sigh, part relief, part longing. The spear had kept her in the mountains since leaving the miners, and she’d yearned to see – and walk on – something more pleasurable than deep snow and bare rock. Now at last she was overlooking a lush valley full of … Continue reading
At last! Akiowa had lost track of how long she’d been walking towards the mountains, though awe at their magnificence had long since faded into acceptance. But here were the foothills, and the spear was guiding her towards a great cleft in the rock. Excitement claimed her. The silver miners’ … Continue reading
I am free, I am happy. I am free, I am happy. Akiowa repeated the words over and over as she walked along the ravine floor. She’d fallen into the habit to stop herself fretting about what being the Storyteller would mean – how could she live another person’s life? … Continue reading
“Old story, new story; tall story, true story…” The words echoed around the canyon, piercing as an eagle’s cry, thrilling as a coyote’s call. Akiowa’s heart leapt. The Storyteller! Hands trembling with excitement, she hurried to round up the goats, hoping to pen them quickly so she could rush down … Continue reading
The Water. Strange name for an art gallery. Everyone says that. It’s wearying, to be honest, but I have only myself to blame. Mooring the gallery three hundred kilometres above a desiccated rock that hadn’t seen a drop of moisture in millennia at least gave a soupçon of irony in … Continue reading