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“So, Elinorth knows about the danger to gnome-kind, sent the three—Redrue, Sangfroid, and Plangeduc—to the Council of Peacekeepers to connect with Ferah, who is also in grave danger from her older brother, Montay, and then…” Rockmouse snapped at Fernlodth, her patience at the breaking point.

“Well, actually, we’ve been working for near three years as a secret interspecies fae organization we call The Protectors,” Fernlodth interrupted, rolling his eyes apologetically and rubbing the peel of the clementine quickly between thumb and forefinger for comfort, adding “We were going to tell you, but things went south faster than expected once Jimann entered the scene, influencing Montay by hooking up with Ferah.”

“We’re going to have to work on that name, Fernlodth, because it doesn’t have quite the right ring to it for what’s at stake, and as for my fling with Jimann?” Ferah blushed and shrugged, then said defiantly, “I’m only 173 years old, not dead!”

Rockmouse understood where Ferah was coming from, even though she was only 65, just a sapling in gnome years; shrugging her shoulders, she got back to the main issue and asked “So what’s the plan?”

“Well, the wifi on this island is spotty, but I did manage to get a message through to Plangeduc, and the rest of the team should be arriving in the next couple of days.”

© Liz Husebye Hartmann (2025)

(To be continued)