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.

For a gnome of few words, Redrue possessed a multitude of talents and a patchwork of parentage that made him a valuable, albeit mysterious entity in their small gathering of allies; he, too, had felt the increasing nearness of Jimann, and was preparing as best he could.

Sangfroid had been guarding a good, though not generous portion of the meat and grilled potatoes from Fernlodth, who habitually ate as a way to cope with anxiety; Sangfroid’s fox-self shimmered—gnome to fox to gnome and back again—in the lowering sun, eight tails snapping and flickering between fiery red and snowy white, and he growled to emphasize his point.

In truth, they could all feel the oncoming challenge.

Montay  sat cross-legged inside the salt circle, carefully tucking Ferah’s long tunic over his knees, and accepted what was left of the barbecue, flicking off an errant fly that insisted on repeatedly sampling his potatoes.

“Thank you all,” he said between mouthfuls. “And sister dear, whatever you do, please don’t let go of me ever again.”

© Liz Husebye Hartmann (2026)

(To be continued)