Hillora Lang
Bio
Hillora Lang feared running out of stuff to read, so she began writing just in case...
While her major loves are fantasy and history, Hillora will write just about anything, if inspiration strikes. If it doesn't strike, she'll nap, instead.
Stories (42/0)
- Top Story - June 2022
Sacandaga StewTop Story - June 2022
For the five of us kids crammed into the back of the wood-paneled Suburban station wagon, the first sign that we were approaching our destination came through our eager noses, lifted to take in the redolent scent of pine. The crisp fragrance wafted over us like the richest of perfumes, filling all of our senses as we watched the tree-lined mountain road unroll past the car windows. Sure, there were pine trees in other places along our journey from Hopewell Junction, NY to the Great Sacandaga Lake, just past the small town of Northville in the Adirondack Mountains. But the pines never smelled so invigorating as they did pulling into the campground where we would spend the summer.
By Hillora Lang2 years ago in Confessions
The Only Thing That Stops a Bad Guy With a Gun Is a Dragon
There weren't always dragons in the Valley. It was a difficult decision to make, but we really had no choice, did we? We had to protect our children somehow. I understand why people might object. But it's just the way I was raised.
By Hillora Lang2 years ago in Fiction
Our Kind of People
“There weren’t always dragons in the Valley, you know,” Margery Riddlehouse said to her new neighbor, Alyse Bower. They were sitting on Alyse’s just-delivered sofa in the Bowers’ freshly repainted living room, with a view from (still!) curtainless front windows to the house across the street. “But you know how it is,” Margery went on. “One has no control over who buys a house these days," she said with a nod towards the children playing noisily in the front yard of the Robinettes' home.
By Hillora Lang2 years ago in Fiction
Changling Seas
There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. The Valley came and went, you see. It was a nebulous thing, as all of the deep ocean is. The area above the deep-sea trench known as the Valley wasn’t a valley as we know it on the land. Well, not until you sink deep beneath the waves, past schooling fish and flowing seagrass and banks of coral. There, the ocean floor descended into a deep crevasse, lower than anything else at that latitude. The Valley.
By Hillora Lang2 years ago in Fiction
Somewhere Between Earth and Sky
There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. Centuries ago all of dragonkind had left the earth we knew for an alternate dimension. There they built a flourishing society and lived in peace. Until they turned their eyes back to the earth of humans, of technology and progress and exponential growth. To the earth where wars of greed and religion destroyed as much as we'd built, where climate change and ocean-rise ruined the land, where disease and poverty and starvation prevented humankind from thriving.
By Hillora Lang2 years ago in Fiction
Flowers for the King
There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. When the patterns of the wind, the currents of the air wafting out of the valley rode in their accustomed patterns, the fragrances of the lower elevations flowed down the broad sluggish river to the Southlands. No Highland dragons caught the scent of flocks of wooly sheep grazing in the fields or milk cows suckling their newborn calves or flowers blooming in the fields. Not when the world behaved as it ought.
By Hillora Lang2 years ago in Fiction
A Thief In My Garden
There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. I was the first, and the best. The best dragon gardener, that is. My carrots are the sweetest, my zucchini the tenderest, my blue potatoes the most succulent. No other dragon can match my expertise in the garden.
By Hillora Lang2 years ago in Fiction
Aging Out
“There weren’t always dragons in the Valley,” the weakened voice wavered out of the mildewed darkness. Between the bars of the basement (dungeon?) cell, Cali could barely make out the shadow of a bulky body, of crippled limbs and tail and damaged wings. “When they came over on the big ships, they brought us here. It was 1811 when we arrived. They told us we would have a better life here, in the wide open countryside and empty mountains. We upheld our end. But your mother…we should have known better. Never trust a human.”
By Hillora Lang2 years ago in Fiction
Art Is An Act of Evolution
There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. Not that you could see, anyway. Okay, so I’ll tell you my story, but there are a couple of things we need to agree on before I spill it. Number one is that you can’t reveal my real identity. You need to give me a name. Like Banksy or D*face or Combo. I’m no idiot. Just because a kid is born and raised in the Projects doesn’t mean they’re stupid. I gotta protect myself. And them.
By Hillora Lang2 years ago in Fiction