…Grey Weavings….Book 2 In the series Silver’s Threads

Well Book 2 of Silver’s Threads is almost finished and after a huge panic attack I realise that if we always find it easy we are not challenging ourselves…believe me it’s challenging…

When I first began to work with the process of storytelling I was aware of the potency that stories hold in the human psyche.

We are governed by the store of images and symbols that allow us to connect the dots when these images and symbols are triggered.

“Once upon a time” for instance, everyone immediately recognises as a commencement to a story and shifts in their mind perhaps, to a rainy day by the fire with a good tale or a favourite yarn told as a bedtime treat.

Even as adults we have certain fantasy stories that kindle memories or inspiration within …Lord of the Rings…Harry Potter …worlds apart in their time of creation and yet they hold sway in our image bank equally.

My characters wrote themselves with the help of the most predominant voice and images in my head, namely Silver. I call her my true self, my wiser self and it’s through her that these books came about. To wake with a song line ready to write down or a twist in the plot, unfathomable before sleep is like a gift indeed. As a Hedgewitch  a Pagan, I respect the otherworldly influences that can make a somewhat complex process a little simpler.

My aim has been to give readers an opportunity to search their own psyche for the triggers in the books, hidden within the plot and story line …an opportunity to see the planet through different eyes and to hear the cry for help, not from her for she can look after herself but from deep within ourselves.

 We do all know that without Her we cannot survive and if we continue on the current path of “having” over being, of consumerism rather than “how much is enough,” …then indeed we may not…

…and so a small excerpt for you from Book 2 …Grey Weavings

Grey the threads, once coloured, weave, as all souls this realm must leave,

that man himself, could so deceive…the failing Skeins of Tyme

Each mortal a thread that woven must, in perfect love and perfect trust,

to rise above the cut and thrust that snaps… the Skeins of Tyme.

Where to mend and where to sew, loose threads fly, no colours glow,

as all beyond this realm must go…into the Skeins of Tyme

Through the gateway, once star bright, its edge now tainted by the blight,

into shadow’s darkest night…beyond the Skeins of Tyme

 Grey Weavings


Slender Birches whisper secrets to a flock of noisy sparrows, arrowing like darts into the depths of ancient twisted limbs; their last leaves clinging stubbornly, shaken loose, circling, drifting down to join their siblings on the earth to begin the journey to mulch-hood.

It was cold but the sounds of nature were undiminished; a Raven’s caw, a kookaburra’s contagious chuckle and the sweet sound of a thrush echoed across the garden to the silent group sitting beneath the canopy of branches, soaking up the sun’s last warmth before winter’s final grip held the earth in stasis.

After the Samhain rite the group, tired and confused, did not know if the outcome of their ritual had been successful in locating Sybille and aware that much was riding on it.

            They had witnessed things they could not name although so much more had, to their frustration, been hidden from sight as they’d stood, backs turned, to the events unfolding.

Claire had disappeared unnoticed, as had Tara, shortly after the rite. At the time, the remaining eight were more concerned for the welfare of their friend Beth as she disappeared and then as suddenly reappeared, unconscious but apparently unharmed.

 As they had closed the circle down around Beth, several Fae had stepped forward. Led by the Fae Lord Aithlin Farandir and ignoring all the rules of entry into human dwellings without permission, had carried her effortlessly into the house. Laying her on the couch in Sybille’s old study, Aithlin had gently covered her with a wrap of silken thread, singing her the song of rest.

            Now, while Samantha, Maeve, Flora, Susan, Alex, Morgan, Max and Cal wait, Beth slept on.

She walked the other realms …finding her way through the folds and twists of the Skeins of Tyme; through the forest circle of her one-time sisters, to a lichen and moss-covered jetty where an inky-black Raven sat and an Otter waited.

© Copyright All rights Reserved Penny Reilly 2012



  1. Oh it’s got an Otter waiting…..I love Otters beyond what seems reasonable…I am just besotted with them….maybe I was an Otter in another life.

    Can’t wait to get my hands/eyes on this unfolding story…….I find myself at odd times wondering what is happening in this world that you have created Penny. Much love. Kat


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