Join us for a weekly blog party in Six Sentence Stories, hosted by Denise and attended by some mighty fine, fun folk. Prompt word=TRICK. Read, write and come back for more on SIX SENTENCE STORIES. 

As Ferah stood behind the banquet sideboard handing out treats and holiday hootch on Samhain, she pondered the dramatic change in her brother’s attitude toward other fae outside their family group, and his increasing hostility toward her since she became a full member of the Council of Peacekeepers: what trick was this that broke and turned us from childhood best mates to this sadness?

Fitting a thin  hollow reed into a mug of ale, she smiled absently at Plangeduc, who had squeezed his head into an oversized turnip to accompany the story he’d composed for this night when the veil thinned,  and all came out and over to hear his latest; it was critical he be properly lubricated for best and most hilarious results.

There must be some kind of trick, a kind of haunting or possession, for his nature to have changed so much, because surely I would have noticed before, she thought, gnawing on her lower lip as she rearranged mugs and sweetmeats.

“We don’t know what’s happened to your brother, Montay,” whispered Redrue, sidling up to Ferah as he leaned across the table for a dragonberry acorn bar that brought him closer to her, adding “But Sangfroid thinks it has something to do with the time he’s been spending with Jimann.”

“Granted Jimann doesn’t get along with many, but they dislike you especially,” Redrue continued, frowning beneath the brim of his red cap, then nodding at her answering blush. “Best you make yourself scarce, Ferah, until we can figure out how to head things off at the pass.”

© Liz Husebye Hartmann (2025)

(To be continued)