Wales has been haunting my stories for years — not literally (though that would be on-brand), but mythically. From the Mabinogion to my Welsh grandfather’s voice, the land and legend of Cymru have steeped themselves into my writing. If you’ve read Magorian & Jones, you’ve heard the echoes. And no, I don’t plan to stop.
Boudicca wasn’t just a queen—she was an inferno wrapped in iron. After the Romans flogged her and assaulted her daughters, she rallied her tribe and scorched a path through Roman Britain so fierce, it still smolders in the national memory. She’s not just part of history—she is history. And maybe, just maybe, she shares blood with Arthur himself. The stories blur. The legends tangle. But oh, what a tale they tell.
If you ever find yourself on the banks of the River Thames at low tide, keep your eyes on the mud. You might spot the usual debris of history—ceramic pipe stems, brass buttons, coins worn smooth by centuries. But if you’re lucky, you might find something far rarer: a deep red gemstone, glinting among the silt like a drop of frozen blood.
From SRP author Taylen Carver: The Defynnog yews in Wales are a marvel—living relics that bridge history and myth. Some claim these
