![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sholio posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
stargateficrecRec Category: Ronon Dex
Pairing: none
Category: Atlantis, gen
Warning: none
Author on LJ:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
scarletts_awry
Author's Website: n/a
Link: All the Trees of the Field Will Clap Their Hands
Why This Must Be Read: With All Hallow's Eve creeping near, this is a wonderful story for the season: dark and weird and fascinating, not really horror in the classic sense, but with a creepy scarlet thread of dark fantasy woven throughout. This is the Pegasus Galaxy that we never quite see onscreen: weird and different and alien, just strange enough to be one step removed from the reality we know. This story is a reminder of how much Ronon must have lived, experienced, and seen before he came to Atlantis; there is so much about him that his Earthling friends, and even Teyla, will never know or understand.
Keep moving, he repeated to himself, keep moving, a mantra that saturated his mind until he no longer needed to think the words. His knee throbbed, swollen.
Keep moving.
The Wraith were never more than a step behind, sometimes as close as a breath. He had killed only three so far, in the sixty-four days he’d been on the Run. Sixty-four days, give or take, he thought, punching in a ring address. Difficult to be certain when moving so quickly between worlds.
The ring put him out into a thick, wet forest. High altitude, it felt like. The old man he got the address from said it was uninhabited. Mist clung to the rubbery leaves, and birds screamed to each other in the distance. Six paces from the gate, a smooth hilt stuck out of the soil, and Ronon bent to retrieve it. The blade was fine and black, paperthin and sharp. Its oil-dark surface did not reflect the light. The hilt was polished bone, but he couldn’t place the material of the blade. Carefully, he wrapped the knife in a cloth and tucked it in his waistband before setting off into the forest.
Pairing: none
Category: Atlantis, gen
Warning: none
Author on LJ:
scarletts_awryAuthor's Website: n/a
Link: All the Trees of the Field Will Clap Their Hands
Why This Must Be Read: With All Hallow's Eve creeping near, this is a wonderful story for the season: dark and weird and fascinating, not really horror in the classic sense, but with a creepy scarlet thread of dark fantasy woven throughout. This is the Pegasus Galaxy that we never quite see onscreen: weird and different and alien, just strange enough to be one step removed from the reality we know. This story is a reminder of how much Ronon must have lived, experienced, and seen before he came to Atlantis; there is so much about him that his Earthling friends, and even Teyla, will never know or understand.
Keep moving, he repeated to himself, keep moving, a mantra that saturated his mind until he no longer needed to think the words. His knee throbbed, swollen.
Keep moving.
The Wraith were never more than a step behind, sometimes as close as a breath. He had killed only three so far, in the sixty-four days he’d been on the Run. Sixty-four days, give or take, he thought, punching in a ring address. Difficult to be certain when moving so quickly between worlds.
The ring put him out into a thick, wet forest. High altitude, it felt like. The old man he got the address from said it was uninhabited. Mist clung to the rubbery leaves, and birds screamed to each other in the distance. Six paces from the gate, a smooth hilt stuck out of the soil, and Ronon bent to retrieve it. The blade was fine and black, paperthin and sharp. Its oil-dark surface did not reflect the light. The hilt was polished bone, but he couldn’t place the material of the blade. Carefully, he wrapped the knife in a cloth and tucked it in his waistband before setting off into the forest.
