Join us for a weekly blog party in Six Sentence Stories, hosted by Denise and attended by some mighty fine, fun folk. Prompt word=FLY. Read, write and come back for more SIX SENTENCE STORIES. (Link goes active Wed night).
“Me?!” scoffed Ferah, then admitting, “Okay, yes, Jimann was very distracting at first…”
“Oh yes,” Montay murmured, smiling with memory and feeling a heated rush beneath the tunic he’d borrowed from his sister, adding almost absently, “there was that thing he does with his tongues…”
Join us for a weekly blog party in Six Sentence Stories, hosted by Denise and attended by some mighty fine, fun folk. Prompt word=FLY. Read, write and come back for more SIX SENTENCE STORIES. (Link goes active Wed night).
Perhaps they’d spent too much time down at the lake, reconnecting as siblings after what seemed like too long an absence, but Lady Lake observed and approved so it was time well-invested; the bay had settled into twilit quiet when Ferah and Montay climbed the stairs to reach topside, and Redrue had set wards around the one and a half acres of property also drawing a salt circle that enclosed the yard, house and shed, and another within this circle that enclosed the yard with the Weber grill and its glowing embers.
Join us for a weekly blog party in Six Sentence Stories, hosted by Denise and attended by some mighty fine, fun folk. Prompt word=SIGN. Read, write and come back for moreSIX SENTENCE STORIES. (Link goes active Wed night).
“Sure you won’t have a quick dip in the lake—it’ll purify, too, thanks to Lady Lake—before putting on my spare tunic?” Holding the garment in one hand, Ferah gazed at her brother, breathing through her mouth; he’d been picking off the remaining flaps of molting skin and holding them up to let the breeze catch and carry them away.
Join us for a weekly blog party in Six Sentence Stories, hosted by Denise and attended by some mighty fine, fun folk. Prompt word=GROUND. Read, write and come back for moreSIX SENTENCE STORIES. (Link goes active Wed night).
(Pause to author sipping cold coffee as she gazes, dismayed, at the piles of springtime paperwork to be filed, the folder holding pages of notes from workshopping another long short story/possible novella, and emails reminding her that edits are due for a group project. The heels of her hands are cold and she realizes she needs to drape the green wool shawl over her shoulders because no sunshine today; she will not regret the last several days out walking in sunshine and snowmelt in the February false Spring.)
***
Picture this instead: Ferah and Rockmouse have caught their breath and Rockmouse covers ground in split seconds to wrangle the other gnomes into some kind of order so that the Weber barbecue can be saved, oranges confiscated, and dinner be served up, while Ferah slips silently across pine needled ground to the shed and gently opens the door to find her brother Montay, exhausted and naked, lying on the floor in human form, bits of snakeskin stuck to his glistening skin (never shapeshift while molting; he is nauseated, too).
Join us for a weekly blog party in Six Sentence Stories, hosted by Denise and attended by some mighty fine, fun folk. Prompt word=MARK. Read, write and come back for moreSIX SENTENCE STORIES. (Link goes active Wed night).
“I’m going to ask you to keep the secret…” said Ferah, as she and Rockmouse reached the top of the stairs that led up from the dock, adding “about Montay in the shed—I’ll tell you all when I’ve figured out what to do—but I need to know exactly what’s best, first.”
Panting, Rockmouse volleyed back, “I get that, but has it occurred to you that we’re here to help? I mean, how dangerous is Montay, anyhow?”
Valley of the Trolls 