Alas, this is the only fragment I could locate. It's from 1988, you guys. Be gentle.
The three travelers had followed Icicle for three days. Drahla had scarcely been able to convince the other two to stop for much-needed sleep or food. Now their end was in sight. Ahead, at the edge of the river, was a city. It had once been a city of glory, tall crystal towers shimmering with every hue of the rainbow, gilded ships with beautiful white sails, proud nobles and happy people.
The glory had long since faded into the snows and blizzards of time and history; the towers has shattered and fell in fire; the gilding had been filched and the silken sails were mere rags; the nobles had dies of shame, th people reduced to misery and peasantry or slavery.
This was the city of Turi An'daa, ruled by the Circle, foundation of their grim stone Tower. This was a city of despair.
"Kiri's there," whispered Risk "isn't she?"
"I hope not," muttered
And that's where it ends. Who was muttering, one wonders? Looking over other correspondence, I can tell you with certainty that Kiri was my, uh, elf name. I think Icicle was my wolf? Memory fades. This was a tiny part of an extended narrative told through correspondence to a friend in Michigan who, alas, has most of the actual writing, she being the one on the receiving end of the letters. Perhaps this is for the best. Tomorrow, I just might post the only existing fragment of a short story of the same era that heavily foreshadows my current status as a feminist and all-around activist! But we'll see. I'm not sure how much transcribing I can handle. Or public embarrassment!