To say that there are differences between men and women is about as wit-filled as to remark on how different a dog is from a rose in bloom. And yet it happens so often that both receive the same treatment. A rose is yelled at for not growing fast enough, is denied water due to laziness of its supposed master. And throttled for the crime of pricking when it is strangled.             Women are

Bergsten knocked on his mother’s door. “Mother?” The woman stood at the other side, cautious. Her son had not been there in weeks, more used to what her ex-husband called “strong manners.” Bergsten had in fact left when she pleaded he stick around, and help his poor mother around the house. “Mother?” Bergsten tried again. “I’m home.” His mother opened the door, just enough to peek out. “This is home, now, is it?” She asked.

“We are in so much trouble.” The winds from the outside spun through the great caves. Howled up through the temple of the death goddess of vengeance, swirling around the Acolyte’s clothes. Rafe stood off to a side, looking at the altar. The half-dwarf hadn’t cowered in ages, decades even. But he thought about it now, and his trembling knees were in agreement. “Maybe not.” Greta held up the clay prison of the Scourge of