Join us for a weekly blog party in Six Sentence Stories, hosted by Denise and attended by some mighty fine, fun folk. Prompt word=TAG. Read, write and come back for more on SIX SENTENCE STORIES.   (Link goes active Wed night).

The plan was simple, too simple for Rockmouse’s taste; who has a naming day at 173 years, even though shapechangers are reputed to be the more long-lived of the fae?

“As long as Jimann doesn’t show up—we hear that Montay put him in charge of the Council of Peacekeepers since he left to track you down—we should have this covered,” said Ferah, and leaning back in her chair, shook out her shoulders with something that sounded very much like bird of prey wings opening for the sky.

“We need a bigger…well… army to overthrow what looks like a movement,” sputtered Rockmouse, adding “And who has a naming day so many years past adolescence, not to mention a fling with a stranger?”

“We start small with Montay, let Jimann dig his own grave—he’s hot, but a snakey SOB—and shapeshifters don’t necessarily count years the same way we do,” soothed Fernlodth, peeling the tag off a clementine before tossing it to Rockmouse, adding, “Now hush up and listen, cousin!” 

Something was not adding up—she kept that thought in the back of her mind, even as she listened to Ferah unfold the next chapter of her story of how they were going to dismantle Montay—the why was still unclear to her.

© Liz Husebye Hartmann (2025)

(To be continued)