#SwiftFicFriday W70 – Vote!

#SwiftFicFriday W70 – Vote!

Another prompt, another round of great stories to choose from. Check the stories out below and vote for your favorite!

300 words, by David A Ludwig (@DavidALudwig)

Donder’s fore hooves slammed down on Emathyst’s chest.

“Whoa, easy there, friend.”

She caught the cervid by the shoulders and spoke soothingly as Cupid vaulted over her friend, Brewer. The screaming gale that had suddenly scoured the land faded into the distance. The pair of executioners escorted the courser back to the sleigh where Bluebelle was calming Blitzen and Prancer. The druidess turned to the approaching duo.

“Where are the others?”

“We were separated.” Emathyst patted Donder’s back as he returned to Blitzen’s side.

“Odd sort of weather for this world, isn’t it?” Brewer cast his gaze suspiciously over their scattered team.

Emathyst laid a fore finger aside her chin thoughtfully.

“Maybe it’s the time of year?”

Even in full sun, the heat lost from the gentle grassland by the forest’s edge refused to return. Bluebelle hummed seriously and adjusted her top hat.

“There’s more than weather to this williwaw. Brewer, will you stay with the sleigh? And Emathyst, I could use your help retrieving the other reindeer.”

The executioners nodded their agreement. Brewer clambered up onto the back bench of the sleigh for a lookout vantage and began massaging the haft of his axe anxiously with both hands. His eyes swept the meadow alertly. Once the women were a little way away, Bluebelle continued in a low tone.

“That gale was in response to a dark magic detonation.”

Emathyst nodded, “I felt it too.”

Bluebelle sighed heavily, striking her shillelagh against the ground.

“This whole thing is bigger than returning a lost child to her mother.”

“You knew that the whole time,” Emathyst smiled warmly. “Isn’t that why you sought us out?”

Bluebelle patted her friend heartily on the shoulder.

“True. But I wish I knew more.”

“Perhaps the others will have news from the williwaw in the woods.”

298 words, by Siobhan Muir (@SiobhanMuir)

Kendra had spent the last week wandering the public spaces of the Winter palace, learning the servants’ entries and the exits to the courtyard. She learned the guard rotations and how they ignored her as much as the servants.

She also spent what time she could in their gardens, gardens that grew and bloomed despite the frigid winter temperatures. Rosemary and Lavender offered up purple and green spikes under a mantle of frost and made beautiful shapes against the other shrubs and trees in the gardens. She picked a few sprigs of both and secreted them away in the pockets of her clothing where the Fae wouldn’t look.

Well, not my clothing. Not really.

No, she would’ve been more comfortable in her jeans and sweater, but they’d taken her clothes and either destroyed or tossed them. It pissed her off that they wanted her to wear layers of skirts which allowed drafts to run up her backside and got in the way of efficient movement. Nothing like visiting the Fifteenth Century. But at least the skirts had pockets.

Samhain was coming soon and she needed to get both herself and Phinn out of Winter’s clutches. He’d said his mother lived in Summer and she could always drop him off there before heading home. She just needed all the energies to align so they could escape, some sort of sign that the time was right to depart.

Before she could turn to leave the parapet, a sudden williwaw swept up the side of the curtain wall and plastered her shawl to her shoulders, chasing away any warmth from the sun. Kendra huddled against the bitter cold. One thought became abundantly clear. Both she and Phinn would emotionally freeze to death here and she had to find a way out.

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