title: Touched by the Dragon's Breath:  Conversations at Colliding Rivers
author:  Michael Harrington 
description: Michael Harrington, "the man from Colliding Rivers," has been interested in spiritual subjects for the better part of his life. His fascination with metaphysics began at the age of fourteen, when he was taken by a spiritual adept on an out-of-body journey to a Temple of Wisdom. Trained as a water quality specialist, Michael began his working life in the plywood mills of Oregon. After finishing college, he worked briefly as a real estate developer with his brother before striking out on his own to pursue writing. Michael's first success came in the early '80's when one of his children's books, "The Catbird's Secret," was accepted by a large publisher. The project later fell through; but the experience yielded sufficient motivation to continue writing. In 1990 he wrote "The Secret Language of Waking Dreams," a popular book on synchronicity (published under a different name in 1992). In 2005 Michael founded Susan Creek Books, named for a famous stream near Colliding Rivers in souther Oregon. "Touched by the Dragon's Breath" came out that same year, followed by "Porcupines at the Dance" in 2008. The third and final book in the Colliding Rivers series, "Wide Awake in Dreamland," explores the holographic nature of our reality, as well as splitting timelines and our first steps into the long-prophecied Golden Age.
zlib_text: Ghosts of the Tristan Basin
  
  BRIAN MCCLELLAN
  
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  All material contained within copyright © Brian McClellan, 2016.
  
  All rights reserved.
  
  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and scenarios are
  either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. All
  resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
  
  Typesetting and ebook conversion by handebooks.co.uk
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  Eight months before the events of Promise of Blood...
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Taniel Two-shot crept through the murky, chest-deep water of the Tristan
  Basin, eyes scanning the surface for the tell-tale ripple of boas and swamp
  dragons. He clung to the shadows of the big cypress trees, his rifle, kit, and
  powder horn held over his head. The sounds of the droning insects, bird calls,
  and the occasional splunk of an animal slipping into the water were drown out
  by the heavy thumping of his own heart, echoing in his ears like a kettle
  drum.
  
  