Continued Series

	Return to White River "Portia let Charrie think on what she had said for a few days, keeping conversations polite but distant. She got back to daily operations of running the town, while..." by hzoo_26
	The Primordial Saga: A Faerie's Woe "Brynn charged at Illuma with her sword, but the Faerie blocked the strike with a sword she conjured out..." Collab with knightwolfalex by rurirawr
	Sands of an Hourglass "The six Neopets walked through the gates of the prosperous city of Kheru, known for its opulent buildings, famed warriors and gold-and-purple insignias..." by nick_and_nickette
	The Shoyru Spy "Slowly blinking, Sylas tried to regain focus. His head hurt, and night was creeping in around him with all the strange sounds of the jungle getting louder..." by iwonder
	Knight & Squire: Unwilling (Resubmitted) "Small rays of morning sun gleamed through the castle windows, suffusing the red and gold carpet with warmth and radiance..." by terpsichorean_writer

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"The New Old World" by fenshae
It happened to be raining that day. That was what caught Ilathu’s attention. It wasn’t an especially noteworthy rainstorm, no torrential downpour or violent gales of wind. Just a slow, steady drizzle, punctuated by the occasional flash of white-gold lightning far in the distance. But it was enough to get her thinking. “Zydaro…when was the last time it rained?” “Hm?” The Ogrin was standing in front of the floor-length mirror, admiring his electric-blue mohawk. He wore a pair of black shades perched atop his muzzle, and they kept sliding comically down the bridge of his nose as he twisted about, primping and examining his hairdo from every angle. “The rain. Do you remember the last time it rained?” Ilathu floated impatiently behind him, because being reflected in whatever shiny surface he was admiring himself in was the #1 best way to get him to pay attention. She wished she had a more corporeal body, something solid enough that she could reach out and rumple his stupid hair and make him pay attention to what he was saying, but she had to make do with floating annoyingly over his shoulder instead. “What were you saying?” Zydaro asked, satisfied at last with his hair. He turned to look at the Ghost Xweetok, peering over the top of his shades. “Something about the rain?” Ilathu groaned.

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