The prince of Hed is a learned riddle-master. He journeys across the land, fleeing from the undead? shape-shifters? His destiny? In search of an answer to the riddle of his existence. Three stars shine from his face, attracting friends and foes.

Thick and heavy like the air in an incense shop… I want to throw myself onto its floor and breathe this air forever, and yet I find my lungs aching for fresh crips air. I read this and I feel I am dreaming, strange and wild and pure magical motions move me across an odd tale. One inspired by Lord of the Rings, although similarities end at the journey, the mountains and the plains.

The story at times feels like it’s throwing me from side to side, or reaches into my mind and plucks away thoughts I had. I’ve been bruised and confused. Morgon of Hed is lovable, magical, and sometimes so childlike in his reactions- all he meet love him in an inexplicable way (he’s got aura). The scenes themselves are so rich, I felt I was within the snow storm, that I endured a shipwreck.
The grand picture has sharp edges- vague mists, many many many names. It feels like a chasm. It’s not a smooth tale, and it took me awhile to chew through the material.

It is Patricia A. Mckillips dream and we are peaking through the window: sometimes it’s open, sometimes closed, sometimes there’s a white and moving curtain that blurs all shapes to shadows. Despite the jagged edges, her work always has so so so much soul that I can’t help but fall in love.