THE FOREST´S EDGE
 
The queen of the Woodling people, she was called the Bride, has come to the Forest´s Edge, there to meet her servant from the Otherworld, the girl Tilda. Accompanying her is her entourage _ her consort, the Prince, perches on the tip of the branch of a great oak tree which is being used as a staff by one of the beast-kind, Tursus, all horns and muscle. A monster from the Inner Groves, built like an ox and twice as tall as a man,
it has been brought to serve as the Bride´s protector, for many dangers lurk amongst the trees where the forest and the Otherworld meet. He is a reluctant bodyguard, and he growls angrily. The Prince tempers Tursus´s simmering fury with a steely gaze, and to further ensure that the beast does not wander away, the woodlings have  branch-crafted its legs into the roots of a tree that have taken root deep below the ground, and thus immobilised, the giant squats, brooding. It remembers the sting of the Prince´s gem-staff well enough to realise not to vent its discontentment.
 
The woodling, Iolo, the princeling, a youngster who swings on a plank of wood suspended by a rope that the monster holds in its huge hand. Iolo swings listlessly – he hates having to go on this trips, he is never let out of sight of the Bride. He dreams of escaping the forest, and the adventures he will have in the Otherworld.
 
While all this goes on, the Bride greets Tilda with an offering of gold coins. A tear trickles down Tilda´s cheek. Her feet and left hand have been merged into the twisting roots of the forest floor. Her right hand suspends a mobile of glass orbs that gently tinkle as they spin back and forth over a cot that lies next to her. Within a new born baby lies, dressed in I outlandish red clothes, a pointed red cap and scarlet pointy booties. The child is mesmerised by the spinning balls, reaching up to grab them, oblivious of its surroundings.
 
The girl looks up at the gold – payment for the child. She knows that as soon she leaves the Forest´s Edge the precious metal will transform into acorns and empty snail shells. Her eyes shift to the silver dagger that the Bride holds in her other hand. The Queen desires the child, and the child must be paid for, a fair trade in this strange land. As soon as she acquiesces, the fingers of her left hand curl back into flesh, withdrawing into her arm from the musty earth. Tilda falteringly reaches out to accept the coins.
 
Unbeknownst to them all, weird figures flit in the darkness between the trunks of the towering trees. Their hands and feet ends in stinging barbs, their wings insect-like, their bodies gaunt. They skim through the shadows silently, coming ever closer to the group at the edge of the Forest. They are drawn of the sweet aroma of a new-born man-child – these creatures, if allowed, will sting the child and feed upon its cries, and the tears of innocents are as the finest claret to them. Wary of hulking brute, who would swat them as flies, the mosquito-men approach cautiously, the net of their ambush almost ready…

thanks all mates and friends for a great time, see you.
alex.h.

THE FOREST´S EDGE
 
The queen of the Woodling people, she was called the Bride, has come to the Forest´s Edge, there to meet her servant from the Otherworld, the girl Tilda. Accompanying her is her entourage _ her consort, the Prince, perches on the tip of the branch of a great oak tree which is being used as a staff by one of the beast-kind, Tursus, all horns and muscle. A monster from the Inner Groves, built like an ox and twice as tall as a man,
it has been brought to serve as the Bride´s protector, for many dangers lurk amongst the trees where the forest and the Otherworld meet. He is a reluctant bodyguard, and he growls angrily. The Prince tempers Tursus´s simmering fury with a steely gaze, and to further ensure that the beast does not wander away, the woodlings have  branch-crafted its legs into the roots of a tree that have taken root deep below the ground, and thus immobilised, the giant squats, brooding. It remembers the sting of the Prince´s gem-staff well enough to realise not to vent its discontentment.
 
The woodling, Iolo, the princeling, a youngster who swings on a plank of wood suspended by a rope that the monster holds in its huge hand. Iolo swings listlessly – he hates having to go on this trips, he is never let out of sight of the Bride. He dreams of escaping the forest, and the adventures he will have in the Otherworld.
 
While all this goes on, the Bride greets Tilda with an offering of gold coins. A tear trickles down Tilda´s cheek. Her feet and left hand have been merged into the twisting roots of the forest floor. Her right hand suspends a mobile of glass orbs that gently tinkle as they spin back and forth over a cot that lies next to her. Within a new born baby lies, dressed in I outlandish red clothes, a pointed red cap and scarlet pointy booties. The child is mesmerised by the spinning balls, reaching up to grab them, oblivious of its surroundings.
 
The girl looks up at the gold – payment for the child. She knows that as soon she leaves the Forest´s Edge the precious metal will transform into acorns and empty snail shells. Her eyes shift to the silver dagger that the Bride holds in her other hand. The Queen desires the child, and the child must be paid for, a fair trade in this strange land. As soon as she acquiesces, the fingers of her left hand curl back into flesh, withdrawing into her arm from the musty earth. Tilda falteringly reaches out to accept the coins.
 
Unbeknownst to them all, weird figures flit in the darkness between the trunks of the towering trees. Their hands and feet ends in stinging barbs, their wings insect-like, their bodies gaunt. They skim through the shadows silently, coming ever closer to the group at the edge of the Forest. They are drawn of the sweet aroma of a new-born man-child – these creatures, if allowed, will sting the child and feed upon its cries, and the tears of innocents are as the finest claret to them. Wary of hulking brute, who would swat them as flies, the mosquito-men approach cautiously, the net of their ambush almost ready…

thanks for all great mattes and friends.

another color play, see you mates.

next render whith post effect,
my time is runing out. see you mates.

one days texturing, can only give it this evening more, then finito.
see you mates

little tweak, almost not notible.
see you later.

another camera (comp) picture.
see you later and thanks for all suport.

4 diffrent comp, i do like close up,but so mutch of the composition disepeard, but instead you got a more dynamic pic,?

another composition test,
dont now with i prefer ? new or old.

another play whith composition of mosqui people.