Young Writers Society

A lone woman stood on the edge, looking little more than a gray robe flapping in a breeze coming off the bay. Her hands tense and brow furrowed, she considered what she had just seen.

A flock of seagulls, two rows three deep and two wide. One dropped, crashing onto the rocks below. The water quickly erased any evidence of the event. The others flew on.

Later that night, she would think about it before consulting with the others the next day. Yet they too came to the same unavoidable conclusion. F.R.E.D. had spoken. Three forums in two categories must be renamed, with just one word to be dropped from two of them.

The Grand Maester wrote it down:

• Ask an Expert is now Research
• Fiction Discussion & Tips is now just Fiction Discussion
• Poetry Discussion & Tips is now just Poetry Discussion

She went back to the cliff to stand and ponder some more. Tightly wrapped in her gray robes, it was hard to distinguish her against the dying light. "More may need to be done," she thought. For a later time though. For a later time.