Ancient, cold, and perilous.

Its truth forgotten in the mists of time, the old bridge harbors a lethal secret. Neither marble statues awakened for battle nor an ancient roadbed grown hungry, something darker and more primal haunts the stones and the wild river below.

Kimmer knows the stories, but she doesn't know why the crumbling span feels so fraught with menace. Her way home lies across the ruin. Dare she take it? Or will horror from the lost past rise up to claim her, when she does?


PRAISE FOR J.M. NEY-GRIMM

"...the world depicted is magical, but the people are very real." —Smashwords review of Troll-magic

"...left me craving more." —Amazon review of Sarvet's Wanderyar

"She has an ethereal sort of quality to her writing which is extremely effective-all the more so because I can't pin down exactly why. It's almost mystical. This ephemeral tone is what sets her work apart from anything else I've read-it's absolutely unique, and absolutely engaging." —Speaking to the Eyes review of Perilous Chance

"Her work compares favorably with Robin McKinley and Patricia McKillip ...I'm really pleased to have discovered her!" —Amazon review of Troll-magic


PRAISE FOR CROSSING THE NAIAD

"A quick, refreshing piece of literature. Like a cool sip of water after a grueling endurance marathon . . . It's swift and concise, but the prose is eloquent and deft, to the point, yet gracefully articulate . . . again I am enthralled with the completeness of the picture the author is painting. The world comes to life . . ." —Goodreads review


EXCERPT FROM CROSSING THE NAIAD

She stood looking across the bridge, feeling the cool breeze and . . . something wrong.

The bridge was old - the leached stones worn by weather and time, a structure of ancient Silmaren.

But that wasn't it.

Something - sinister? - rose from its broken paving. A miasma of despair and defeat that had nothing to do with its gap-toothed balustrade, the holes in its surface giving wide views of the forested ravine and fast river below, or the crumbling statue of a toga-draped maiden from the past ages of the world.

Kimmer hesitated.

The new bridge, upstream and crossing low to the water rather than high from one steep brink to the other, was flooded and unsafe.

Oga and Chedli and Deas - the goats - had balked. Likely they knew, and . . . only a fool would risk a span immersed in a swift current.

But she had to get home somehow.