![\"\"](\"https:\/\/winter-publishing.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/06\/Screenshot-2021-06-09-at-12-12-16-Lauren-Hemphill-knightmarelair-\u2022-Instagram-photos-and-videos.png\")
<\/figure>\n\n\n\nThe hot sun baked the sand-kissed fur on Massani\u2019s back, the scarlet flame resting high in the afternoon sky to illuminate the work of the bhastan\u2019s hands. A wind kicked up dust and mixed it with the aroma of boiling stew and fatty smoke as the lioness grasped the grey flesh hung from blood-stained posts and guided her stone knife along its inner edge. While her apprentice did a decent job preparing the skin to be turned to leather, Massani still found chunks of fat clinging to its surface. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Gore sloughed off into a clay bowl, the squishy sound filling the rather quiet camp. Murmurs of conversation took place behind her with the few that remained to guard and rest, but their voices proved to be a backdrop for the buzzing of insects that bit at Massani\u2019s legs. Her tail swatted them away idly as she finished her work. Once the hide sat stretched between the hooks in the posts, she stepped back and wiped her hands against the leather skirt she wore around her waist.\u00a0<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou work these well, Massani,\u201d chimed a voice. Massani turned to see the Matriarch approaching, the tall lioness clothed in long trousers, a hide jacket with a hood, and working gloves. The white fur the woman bore came with a certain sensitivity to the day, which grew especially bad around the numerous scars that graced her body. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Massani dipped her head and let a small smile cross her muzzle. \u201cThank you, Matriarch. It seems your newest pieces are working well for you.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThey are,\u201d Matriarch chimed, coming to stand along the younger bhastan and admire her work. \u201cThis is from the oliphant a few sunrises ago, correct?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYes, Matriarch. I\u2019m hoping it\u2019ll serve as more tents. The rainy season is approaching, and we still have a few members sleeping outside.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n
The Matriarch flashed a pained smile. \u201cYes. We did lose a few\u2026 tents <\/em>in our last move, didn\u2019t we?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Massani\u2019s ears pricked up at the change in Matriarch\u2019s voice. She hesitated before speaking. \u201cTheir skins were burned,\u201d Massani breathed. \u201cWe saw the smoke.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI know,\u201d Matriarch murmured. \u201cIt hurts not to be there when\u2026\u201d She took a deep breath. \u201cThere will be more hunts.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThere will be more hunts,\u201d Massani acknowledged. The chittering of beetles filled the void in their conversation for a few heartbeats.\u00a0<\/p>\n\n\n\n The Matriarch turned to Massani, her crimson eyes gleaming in the darkness of her hood. \u201cThe turn of the season will mark your third decade with us, young cub. The time has passed so quickly. Just yesterday you were as tall as my knee and could get lost in the grass.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n Massani sighed. \u201cMatriarch, please, you cannot think to tease me now <\/em>about–\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAnd you still smell just as bad as you did back then,\u201d Matriarch said with a grin. \u201cWorse, even.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cIt is a miracle I remembered my name at all, else you would have named me after a rotting corpse,\u201d Massani jabbed back, her tail flicking the air behind her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThe thought had <\/em>crossed my mind,\u201d Matriarch mused. \u201cBut no, I have something better in mind.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI bathed last week,\u201d Massani protested.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Matriarch put her hand on Massani\u2019s shoulder, the warm leather pressing against Massani\u2019s fur. \u201cIt\u2019s time for you to grow your mane.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n Massani blinked in alarm. \u201cMy mane, Matriarch? I–I have not done any great feats–\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou have survived three decades in Moravia, young cub.\u201d She pulled her hand away and turned to face the camp. \u201cThat is a great feat in itself.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n Massani frowned. She joined the Matriarch in peering over the collection of ten small tents, assembled as pointed triangles towards the sky, gathered around a cleared section of earth where a pit of fire spat flames around a cauldron of stew. Three other clan members lingered by the pit, one tending to the meal, one young enough to have enough energy to sprint around in circles, the last boasting a deep, wood-colored mane.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAll my children are gone,\u201d Matriarch said. \u201cAnd my loves. I am growing older by the day, and our clan has no Pride when I have perished. A Prideless clan is\u2026 dangerous.\u201d Massani\u2019s brows furrowed. \u201cWe linger at the edge of our home,\u201d the Matriarch continued. \u201cAt the end of bhastan lands. Soon, there will be nowhere left for us to go.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWe won\u2019t lose another skirmish,\u201d Massani said. \u201cThe youngest ones are old enough to fight. We\u2019ll protect our home. We\u2019ll get back to the sacred rocks.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n The Matriarch laughed, the sound light and subdued. \u201cMassani, it is holy ground. You do it a disservice by regarding it so flippantly.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThe gods are dead,\u201d Massani replied. \u201cBut it is good land. We deserve to return to it one day, Matriarch.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou weren\u2019t with us when we first lived there, were you?\u201d The Matriarch let out a reminiscent sigh. \u201cShade. Water. Cool rocks to rest upon, and more prey than you could ever hope for.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cIt sounds beautiful, Matriarch.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cIt is.\u201d The Matriarch turned to her. \u201cA Prideless clan is dangerous, Massani.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Massani eyed the last surviving Pride member, the last surviving member of the ruling family of her clan. \u201cYes,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cGrow out your mane, Massani,\u201d the Matriarch said. \u201cPerhaps, one day, you will lead our family home again.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n Massani blinked. A chill spilled through her bones and her heart stopped for what felt like ages. She opened her mouth to respond, horrified at what her leader could be suggesting.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cMat–\u201d she began.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cMatriarch!\u201d The young bhastan with a golden pelt rushed towards the two lionesses. A leather vest Massani crafted just for him wrapped around his chest, and a loincloth clung to his waist. \u201cThe hunters are back!\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAt last,\u201d Matriarch chimed. \u201cCome, Massani, let us see what they have caught us.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Before Massani could manage a word, the Matriarch followed the young cub towards the edge of the small camp. Massani grimaced and wiped off her stone dagger against the aurelion hairs on her leg, smearing gore against her pelt. She set it down by the bowl of fat. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Her role bore the weight of a supporter, not a leader. She commanded no strength of words and she worked best within a unit. She could not stand and be the Pride to a group of bhastan without the blood in her veins commanding such a right. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Massani walked through the encampment, her bare feet pressing against the hardened earth, the pads on her soles and toes absorbing the impact of her stride. She offered a distracted smile to Shaka, the old maned lion who sat beside the fire. He smiled back, a large scar blinding him in his left eye, as he worked on carving more stone beads to weave into his hair. One for each of the family members they lost. She believed he had enough stones in his hair to account for everyone with a glance, but he must\u2019ve missed someone to be working on the braids again months after the last move. After two seasons of devastating losses, the front strands of his mane consisted mostly of the memorial braids. Out of a group of nearly thirty-five strong, only eighteen of them still survived the numerous battles that pushed them far South. The battles and losses painted a tapestry across their furs, on all but the youngest among them. Bite marks from tamed, four-legged lions bore into Massani\u2019s neck and left forearm; a spear pierced her lower left side; claw marks dragged across her snout, from her nose to just beneath her left eye; talons raked across her chest; and a spear tore through her right arm, from elbow to wrist. Only once did metal bite into her flesh, a weapon used by hunters that crept into their land. Hunters that cornered one of their younger clan members during a hunt, unaware that seven more prowled nearby. While they bled several of the clan, Massani\u2019s family tore the strangers\u2019 lives away. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Four of the eight returning hunters bore the weight of only a decade of life on their shoulders, perhaps a little more, and wielded no honorable scars across their pelts. A strange sight for a bhastan, especially ones that could now hunt with the pack. Still, bathing in the blood of antelope made them appear a little less strange as they hauled two prey animals with the other four of their group. Considering how often hunts ended in failure, two successes in a single trip brought beaming grins to everyone in the clan. Even Massani found herself proud of how her family performed, a fond smile resting upon her lips.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhat a show of huntmanship!\u201d Matriarch cried. She spread her arms towards the hunters. \u201cYou have honored the clan. Thank you for providing for us.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n Massani chuffed towards one of the nearby tents, where Uma, her young apprentice of only two decades old, sat outside. Together, they took the antelopes and hauled them to the same place Massani worked moments before. The hunters dropped on their rears and bellies in the center of the camp and took the offerings of waterskins, downing what water they could. No matter how used the heat as they were, it still had a way of sapping the strength from even the most hardened bhastan. <\/p>\n\n\n\n As the others rested, Massani and Uma worked. First, Massani demonstrated–yet again–how to begin the cut in the antelope\u2019s hide to split it open. When Uma went to recreate it, Massani quickly grabbed the young bhastan\u2019s hand to keep her from puncturing the liver. With a nervous laugh, Uma pulled her knife back, and followed Massani\u2019s guidance a little more closely. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Their daggers split the bellies and peeled back the skin. From there, they pulled out the guts and set them into a bowl to be used later. While Uma began to skin more of the animal, Massani fetched a container of water to wash the intestines. The stomach could be used as a bag, the lungs would serve well as bait in traps should they desire bird meat–or hyena meat, she supposed–and the heart always proved to be a delicacy for those who felled the animals of the hunt. She weighed the oozing heart in her hand for a moment, letting it soak the soft fur of her palm. Her purpose in the clan placed her as one who brought the animals down, who worked best slowing a beast so others could deal the final blow. She never tasted a heart.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The sun began to dip as the duo worked the prey, panting beneath its imposing presence. With organs washed and skin peeled away, they began to cut the animals into chunks. Some would be dried, some would be eaten in tonight\u2019s stew. The size of their clan dictated that they likely would be able to feast on this for an amount of time before needing to go hungry once more. The only benefit to their location remained solely with the river to the East, about a full morning\u2019s walk away. Often prey could be hunted here, and water gathered from the depths, but straying so far opened up a lot of possibilities, none of which boded well. If another clan decided they desired their home, or took up residence between them and the water, reaching the life-saving substance could prove deadly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n With the sun no longer sitting at its peak, a certain coolness drifted over the land and stirred the tall grasses surrounding the camp to spill their wheaty scent upon the wind. Massani snagged the bowl that contained both gazelle\u2019s hearts and picked up one of the now-separated leg chunks as she stood. She turned to head for the campfire, where most of her family gathered to talk about the hunt. Serenity sat with a certain comfortableness upon the battered clan, who just a few seasons before, boasted more victories than losses. Despite that, laughter rose up in the air with the smoldering ashes of their fire. Perhaps it was not a life of great, undefeated battles, but it was a life where she lived alongside those she loved.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Even if her Matriarch was about to make the whole thing a lot more awkward.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Massani padded towards the campfire. Young Haji spread his arms as his voice rose up:<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201c…and so I rushed forward next to Davu and leapt onto the beast\u2019s back before digging my teeth right into its neck! It went down with a–\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n A hollow, wet sound sliced through the camp as an arrow lodged itself into Haji\u2019s left eye. The young bhastan swayed where he sat before collapsing into the dirt. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Massani dropped the bowl of hearts and let the leg slip out of her hand. She lunged forward towards the grass the arrow came from, somewhere off to her right. The clan moved with her, bhastan taking cover behind tents, others rushing to the Matriarch\u2019s side. The smell of hot grass lingered in her nose, muddled now by the stench of brotherly blood. Massani bared her fangs and, as she approached the tall grass, hunters emerged.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Thick armor wrapped their bodies in metal, and spears, nets, and shields awaited use in the clenched fists of strangers.\u00a0<\/p>\n\n\n\n Ode fell first with a weighted net pinning him to the ground, screaming and thrashing in an attempt to get free. Kalifa rolled out of the way only for a spear to pin her foot to the ground and a dagger to cut her scream short. Massani tackled the murderer, a lithe human with piercing blue eyes. She pinned the human to the earth and locked her jaws around his exposed throat. With a jerk, the taste of salty antelope filled her mouth, paired with the iron taste of warm blood. She shoved off him, leaving the human to gurgle and choke and spasm. A flash of white caught her eye.<\/p>\n\n\n\n An orcish hunter thrust a spear through the Matriarch\u2019s jugular. The Matriarch broke the spear and staggered back. She grasped her throat and yanked the iron tip from her flesh. She looked around at her family, and she fell.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Massani screamed. Before she could process her own movements, she pinned the orc to the ground and raked her claws across his chest. As he attempted to shove her off, her teeth clamped around his skull. She squeezed and squeezed as sobs wracked her body. She squeezed as his skull caved. She squeezed as she tasted the slimy, umami brains within his cranium. <\/p>\n\n\n\n More nets fell upon the exhausted clan. More spears through armpits, more daggers to the throat. None of the assailants held a scent. She did not even hear them approach. She should <\/em>have heard them approach. She spared a momentary, mournful look back to her Matriarch, who lay dead behind her. And there, she saw it. A mage standing near a tent. A mage with a book and a belt and a cloaked body. Magic would have hidden them. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Magic killed her clan.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Massani\u2019s fur bristled. A growl ruptured from her throat, low and sorrowful and furious. She leapt off the carcass of her victim and charged the hooded figure. Their face tilted towards Massani, wrapped in bandages, hands covered with the same visage. Piercing, orange eyes widened. The color of a sunset above a fire-soaked horizon. The color of her family\u2019s killer. The color of death. <\/p>\n\n\n\n She lept. Her toes shoved off the ground. Her mouth opened to end this wretched creature\u2019s existence. To end their violence. To– <\/p>\n\n\n\n A blade cut her throat. <\/p>\n\n\n\n She hit the ground hard. Dust flared up around her as she skidded across the dry earth. Blood gurgled from her second mouth. Pain jostled her teeth, lit her nerves aflame. Her head spun. Shaking, she shoved her hand against the wound, hoping to stem the bleeding. <\/p>\n\n\n\n A foot kicked her onto her back. Fluid built up in her mouth and she coughed, strength leaving her. Everything hurt. Everything ached and screamed and her heart raced, shoving more blood out against her hand. The mage lingered nearby, clutching their robes, their horrid eyes wide in shock. A half-orc loomed over Massani, a dagger dripping crimson clutched in his hand. He sneered. Words spilled from his mouth that she could not grasp as he pointed the blade at her. She rasped wetly for breath, her eyes fluttering as she struggled to inhale, as she struggled to live. Agony constricted her lungs.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The mage responded, their voice sing-song and a few octaves higher than Massani\u2019s. Massani choked as she inhaled blood. Consciousness began to slip from her grasp as she listened to the two killers speak. Words stained her mind. Anderim. <\/em>The word for the southern land, far below Moravia. Gravisford. <\/em>A word repeated three times. Important words, Massani felt sure. Important foreign words she needed to remember. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Anderim. Gravisford. Anderim. Gravisford. Don\u2019t forget. Don\u2019t forget. <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n The half-orc nudged her with his foot. Massani burned his face into her mind, his square head, the single tusk poking out from the right side of his mouth, the black hair knotted atop his skull, and silver eyes watching as she died. The mage, with a sigh, walked away.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Massani\u2019s vision darkened in the corners. She pressed her hand against her throat, fighting the beckoning darkness as best she could. But as she felt her hold on this world failing her, she cursed the hunters. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Whatever gods that still hear us, whatever gods that still draw breath–take your vengeance upon them for me. I beg of you. For my family. Curse their lives.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n A raspy gasp startled Massani from her slumber. Her eyes flew open and pain burned her body with its merciless touch. Night bloomed overhead, spotted with stars, illuminated by the moon. The taste of blood rested upon her tongue as she pushed herself into a sitting position. Some sort of shape muddied her vision to the right, and she turned to see what dwelled alongside her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Deep within Massani, a secret part of her wished she never looked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n It was one of their younger family members–who, exactly, Massani could not tell right away. The bhastan lay in the earth, face tilted towards her, mouth agape, eyes wide open. <\/p>\n\n\n\n They bore none of her skin. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Tears began to burn in Massani\u2019s eyes. She recognized the shape of clan member’s face, the color of her eyes. Uma. Uma had come to Massani\u2019s side, and she died for it. She lost her pelt for it. Her chances of laying to rest dashed against the blades of hunters who saw worth only in her demise. And now she lay, as red husk, left as nothing but muscles and veins and bones.\u00a0<\/p>\n\n\n\n Massani opened her mouth to scream, to cry for help, to shout the name of her apprentice, of her sister, into the winds. A shot of pain split her throat open and mangled her voice. Blood spat from her lips into the cool evening air. With a grimace, Massani pressed her hand to her neck and felt the warmth of a wound spilling crimson against her fur. An injury. She nearly forgot. <\/p>\n\n\n\n She dragged herself sorely to Uma\u2019s side. She wanted to touch her, to do something <\/em>for her, but knew not what to do. Surely someone else survived the attack. Surely more of her family lived. They had to. They had to have lived. <\/p>\n\n\n\n With a ragged, knife-filled breath, she crawled through the camp. Most bodies lay beside the embers of a fire. The cauldron rested on its side a few feet away, much of its contents spilled to spoil on the unwelcoming ground. Those that did not find their pelts taken lingered where they died. A few of the hunters lay near them as well, stripped of their weapons and some relieved of their armor. It seemed the thievery of the strangers extended to their own as well. <\/p>\n\n\n\n It was one specific body Massani found herself drawn to. The high cheekbones, the dismantled hide clothing that sat stained nearby, the way that, even in death, Massani could recognize her–the Matriarch. Her corpse spread one arm upwards, her fingertips mangled from the removal of her claws, her gums without teeth, her empty sockets staring upwards towards the blackness above. Massani sobbed and more blood spurted against the hand pressing her wound. She touched the sticky mass that once served as her leader, as her Pride. She pressed her forehead to the Matriarch\u2019s unfeeling snout. She wailed. And in her agony, she lost herself to shadow once more.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Massani woke a second time, curled beside the body of the Matriarch, her head upon the woman\u2019s chest. She pulled away, bits of her hair adhering to the dead woman\u2019s ribs. Massani tentatively touched her own neck to find it still raw. She looked to the stars. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Then I will set them free. <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n The bhastan hauled herself to the remains of their fire. She extended her claws and from the middle of the pit, where heat still radiated, she plucked a stone and pressed it firmly against her throat. Her nerves screamed. Each second the hot rock sealed the weeping flesh, the torture amplified in its power, worsened and stirred the contents of her stomach and threatened to spill it upon the earth. The scent of her own body burning filled her nostrils with an oily, fatty smoke, acrid and salty. Massani gritted her teeth. When the first rock cooled, she grasped a second to ensure the seal was completed. Sweat covered her flesh and a sick chill rolled down her spine as she dropped her tools and gasped for a raspy breath. She spat blood and rested her head upon her forearms, her breath disturbing the ash around the pit. Her head spun. A weakness embraced her limbs. The loss of blood and the horrid dehydration brought with it a desire to sleep, but she could not. She neglected her duty for too long. She needed to count the bodies and release their spirits for those that she could.<\/p>\n\n\n\n With slow, careful movements, Massani fetched stalks of dry grass. She hauled over animal dung. She used flint and stone. She built a bonfire and let it rage, let it warm the deathly chill that clung to her bones. Then, one by one, she brought the bodies of her family into the flames to release them from their suffering on earth. First, the ones who still wore their skin. Ten in total. <\/p>\n\n\n\n After, she grasped the bodies of those without their furs. The Matriarch. Uma. She gathered her clan and fed their bodies to the burning hunger within the pit until she had the full count.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Everyone died in the attack. Eight of her family bore no skin and became therefore doomed to remain tethered to their fur until a fire consumed it. Ten of her family could rest in the afterlife. She, and the other eight, could not.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Massani knelt beside the fire. A collection of rocks scattered to her left, carved into circular balls with a hole in the middle. She gathered them and allowed herself a sorrowful smile. Shaka\u2019s beads, one for each of the family members they lost as they found themselves pushed further and further South. She collected twelve and held them in her hands as more tears streaked down her cheeks. She took a deep breath, sand coating her insides. And she tried once again to use her voice.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Fangs tore into her vocal chords and the sound she produced harkened back to a dying animal, one with more fury and anger than prey. An eerie, unnatural sound, one that could not be molded into words. Coughs wracked her body and she quickly pressed a hand to her throat to ensure it didn\u2019t dare split open. When the coughs died, a lingering agony settled into her neck, encapsulating it in a torment she could not sedate. No prayers could be uttered on this night. Her own hopes would need to be enough. <\/p>\n\n\n\n As she watched the carcasses of those she loved fade away, she burned their faces, the color of their pelts, into her mind: The Matriarch, with thick, ivory fur and an equally massive mane; Haji, the youngest, with an unscarred pelt the color of a river\u2019s shore; Davu, with no scars and fur the color of a dust storm; Chidi, the last of the young ones, with a pelt the color of disturbed waters; Uma, with golden fur that darkened closer to her feet, and a single scar upon her right palm; Kojo, with a dark, muddy pelt, and a scar that split his left ear; Ode, with a black mane that hid the scars upon his neck; and Shaka, blind in his left eye, with a woody mane once braided in memory of their family. <\/p>\n\n\n\n The fire chewed the bodies without remorse. She watched for a time before urging herself to rise. She entered the Matriarch\u2019s tent and gathered herbs into a bowl. She crushed them, fetched thin strips of leather, and mashed the muddled medicine along its inside before tying the bandage around her neck. She took a pouch made of an oliphant\u2019s stomach to be worn upon the back and filled it with a gourd of water, dried meat, more hide bandages, herbs, her stone dagger, flint, and a whetstone. Carefully, in a smaller stomach she placed inside her pack, she stored Shaka\u2019s beads.\u00a0<\/p>\n\n\n\n Massani lingered by the fire for a few moments, witnessing the end of family. After a time, she knelt to find the tracks of her prey. Toe prints and shoe soles dug into the dirt. But more noticeably–splatters of blood. She followed them out of her home and into the tall grass, which bent in the direction of their passing. To the West, it seemed. She paused a few paces out and took a deep breath before pressing forward. There will be more hunts, <\/em>Massani willed. For those of you listening, please join me in this one. Help me set our family free.<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" [I got obsessed with Massani again, so I’ve revised the beginning of her story for fun! Enjoy!] [CW: Blood, violence, disturbing imagery, gore] The hot sun baked the sand-kissed fur on Massani\u2019s back, the scarlet flame resting high in the afternoon sky to illuminate the work of the bhastan\u2019s hands….<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":2220,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_is_tweetstorm":false,"jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":[]},"categories":[5],"tags":[617,616,805,694,635,698,638],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/winter-publishing.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/06\/pexels-photo-861339.jpeg","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p27tjX-zN","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/winter-publishing.com\/welcome-to-winter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2219"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/winter-publishing.com\/welcome-to-winter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/winter-publishing.com\/welcome-to-winter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/winter-publishing.com\/welcome-to-winter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/winter-publishing.com\/welcome-to-winter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2219"}],"version-history":[{"count":6,"href":"https:\/\/winter-publishing.com\/welcome-to-winter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2219\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2233,"href":"https:\/\/winter-publishing.com\/welcome-to-winter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2219\/revisions\/2233"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/winter-publishing.com\/welcome-to-winter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/2220"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/winter-publishing.com\/welcome-to-winter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2219"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/winter-publishing.com\/welcome-to-winter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=2219"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/winter-publishing.com\/welcome-to-winter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=2219"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}