Join us for a blog party in Six Sentence Stories, hosted by Denise and attended by some mighty fine, fun folk. Read, write and come back for more. Here’s the address for the party: https://fresh.inlinkz.com/party/830b313cca0342b4bc15d9004ef94f7e Prompt for last week: FILL. This week? NEED

ELEVEN

“There are no more blueberries for muffins, but tomorrow’s ferry from the mainland will help us restock,” Ferah temporized as she struggled with how to begin explaining, shrugging in both apology and comfort (for herself as well as her two gnome guests).

“Some more of those big orange berries would be good, ” suggested Fernlodth, his nose quivering hopefully in the memory of the strange fruit that had begun their alliance.

“Right here,” answered Ferah, matching his warm gaze as she pulled open the refrigerator door and grabbed a paper bag of clementines.

“Now hold on just a minute,” Rockmouse growled, adding “Before you stuff us to stupidity with more treats, what in the hallowed hollow hole in the ground were you bristling at, up in those trees?”

Ferah’s smile faded as she watched the fragrant fruit tumble into her favorite wooden green bowl.

Carefully rotating and stacking the cool globes, she swept the bowl up into one arm, and began “We’re safe in here until sunrise, but I have a tale to tell, and a proposal to make.”

copywrite Liz Husebye Hartmann

TWELVE

Montay remained in his perch in the tree, hoping that one or both (he was hungry) gnomes would come back outside, without Ferah.

He assured himself that he could take Ferah, if it came to that, but why risk it when there was no immediate need? He half-purred, half-growled over the rumbling in his belly, as he flickered, shifting between shapes.

Sunset took him by surprise in this northern land in the bowl of mainland hillside, thick with its line of tall trees. The water stilled, the wind ceased, and the sun disappeared into the horizon like the drop of a guillotine.

Montay flexed his claws in the tree’s bark, calculating the risk of seeking more secure shelter with no light and in unfamiliar turf.

There were always–always–bigger predators in the darkness.

copywrite Liz Husebye Hartmann