#crayonboxwriting

[antiaircraftcrayon]

It was comical but sad at the same time. I couldn’t slay a dragon no bigger than my thumb. The copper coin it was dragging across the dirt was nearly as big as it was. It didn’t even have a lair. No lair and a hoard of a single coin. I couldn’t tell this slaying story without getting laughed out of the pub!

Instead I hatched an idea. I pulled out my money pouch and put it on the ground, opening facing the tiny dragon so the little lizard could see inside. I saw the interest peak in its eyes and it drug it’s small coin inside the little pouch.

And that’s how I acquired a dragon as a pet twelve months ago. And it’s gone interestingly since then.

The first time a thief reached into my pouch and pulled his hand out with a missing finger sent me howling with laughter. I wouldn’t have noticed him had he not yelled in pain, and I couldn’t stop laughing long enough to tell the castle guard which way he went.

I hadn’t thought about it before then, but it seemed my tiny friend knew my hand. Or perhaps recognized the silver ring on my finger. It made no difference, my hand was safe reaching inside to take from the pouch. I assumed it was because my hand was the hand that increased the dragon’s hoard as well.

Now I had heard of dragon’s greed and how it could destroy a man’s mind. But I had never heard of dragon’s luck. It seemed each quest I undertook, each bounty I pursued, the monetary gain was at least double what I had normally made. It got to the point where my pouch was getting too heavy. My lizard friend was nearly squished.

Enter dragon’s luck again. In my travels, I met a a man named Merlin. After certain, how should I call it… “assistances” were made, we became quite good friends. Good enough to confide in him about my friend. Merlin, being the learned man he is, taught me more about dragons than I previously knew. Key pieces of information such as a dragon will grow in comparison to the wealth of its hoard. And they stay that size. For instance, if a rare gem were retrieved from a thief and added to a certain money pouch, and then returned to its owner later, said dragon would grow to the size of the wealth of that gem.

Something you should know about Merlin, he’s a rather handy man to know. He’s learned in more than dragon knowledge. He also knows a thing or two about enchantments. Like making the interior of a certain pouch larger than what it appears to be.

My hands were still raised in the air as I finished my story. I looked around at the crossbows aimed at my chest. This merry band of men, as they called themselves, peaking out from trees and bushes,

“That’s a good story,” a man wrapped in a cloak said. “But we’ll still be having that money pouch”

I reached down slowly as I heard the creak of their crossbows twitch.

“I feel it’s necessary for you to understand, as many men can’t comprehend,” I responded as I untied the money pouch from my belt.

I speak softly as I drop the pouch to the ground.

“Their minds can’t process what they see in the short amount of time they have left.”

The pouch hits the dirt and pops open, spilling coins onto the ground. Rivers of coins as if a whole mountain of them had toppled over. Jewels and gems were among the pile. Swords, shields, suits of armor. It were as if the kings treasury had been flipped on its side.

And then from the pouch stretched a great scaly foot, claws reflecting the sunlight. A leg followed of incredible size. Impossible size. Like a tree this leg came forth and then a snout. The nostrils, hot breath too, and the bridge of a nose. Then eyes, a deep and dark orange flecked with black and gold. It’s blue and green scales shimmered in the light, catching it like a pond. Great horns curled around its crown wreathed in rings of silver bands.

The great beast unfurled it’s wings and shaded the sun. It could see above the trees if it’s neck weren’t curled down bringing it’s head to face me. I reached up with my left hand, finger adorned by my single silver ring, and scratched under her chin in that spot I knew she liked. She watched me point across the glade at the men now frozen in place by their fear.

“Thieves,” I spoke to her.

To this day, I still don’t know if telling the story helps them process what they see in the very short time they have left.

You wished to find a dragon to slay for its treasure. Now you’re not sure how to feel seeing a thumb-sized dragon try to drag its single shiny copper coin with it as it runs away from you.

[antiaircraftcrayon]

The Mistake of Sanctuary

Prompt:  You are a small god, with very little power or influence. But you are happy, and take care of your few worshippers as much as you are able. An extraordinarily powerful being stumbles bloodied into your sacred place, and cries “Sanctuary.”

In another time, there was a village that lived at the base of a tall mountain. The mountain reached above the sky, piercing the clouds like a blade. The sides were steep as if the peak itself connected directly to the ground. Trees clung to the rock walls like hands grasping during a fall. Water cascaded from the heights forming a large pool at its base. A river extended to the village and wound in a circle around the mountain yielding fishes and nutrients for fruits to grow along the banks.

The village ancestors had built a temple at the mountain’s base long ago. Made of wood, grass growing between the cracks in the steps, another patchwork building dotting the village. It was modest and to their means. It suited their needs well. Daily the village would stop by one by one, sometimes a few at a time. They would offer what they could. An orange from the tree, a fish from the river, a woven doll from the wheat stalks of the field. Some would come with prayers of asking, some with prayers of thanks, and some would come with conversation and spend hours in mediation.

They communicated with a god. He was not considered a great god by any outside of the village. None made pilgrimage to his lone temple inside the river circle. He was god of the mountain, an outlet for a spring to bring freshwater from the earth. He was god of the mountain, a firm surface for trees to grow to catch the breeze passing by. He was god of the mountain and nothing else. They communicated with a god that could not bear down upon their enemies. One unable to produce a bountiful harvest. One unable to keep the distant skies clear of storm. This was what he believed as he sat upon his mountain peak looking down at the tops of the clouds.

He sat upon a stone cliff. A single tree grew from a crack in the rock fed by a small trickle of water sprouting impossibly from the mountain top. He listened to every prayer and conversation from his temple below. He would often go down to taste their offerings and be an unseen comfort. He would look out at the village under the night stars. Centuries old it had stood at his mountain’s base inside the ring of water. He had received fruits and labors, kind words and words of distress, curses and blesses from generations of sons and daughters. They were simple people to one as old as he. They survived on the fish in the river and fruits and vegetables. The occasional traded meats would often become offerings to him rather than dinner on a table. The villagers offered him all they could as little as it was and in return, he offered them little wishing he could offer more. For he was only god of a mountain.

It was the same morning as any other but attention was drawn to an approaching storm from the south. Storms never brewed in the south. They always came from the north and break around the mountain. But this one had the villagers on edge and it flashed and thundered, slowly edging closer. Even the god on top of the mountain was attentive to it.

Lightning crackled across the sky and left black waste on the ground where it struck. Even fire fell to the earth from its smoky clouds. It pushed closer and closer to the village, lightning striking out and setting the building at the village edge ablaze. A strong wind of panic swept through the people as the withdrew to the temple at the mountain’s base. They called for help, tore their clothes, and cried for assistance. The god heard them all but what could a god of a mountain do.

More fire and lightning fell into the village as the storm crawled ever closer to the mountain. The despair among the villagers grew greater as a great blaze fell from the sky and crashed into the dirt in front of the temple. They screamed as it slowly moved closer, and then they were speechless as the fire extinguished and they realized it was a woman.

She crawled through the dirt as six lightning strikes broke ground behind her revealing six knights adorned in static-charged armor. She was bloody, leaving a trail of deep red mixing with the dust. The six advanced.

One sword was drawn. It’s owner stepped forward toward the soon-to-be corpse and raised the sword overhead.

“May your soul run blessed among the stars,” the sword-wielded spoke.

The blade came down through the air as her hand reached the first step. The villagers cowered in horror from within the temple shadows as they heard her ragged voice cry out.

“Sanctuary!”

Not a moment passed. Not a heartbeat, not the pulse of a hummingbird’s wings. But for the god on top of the mountain, the moment stretched into an eternity. He could feel her hand when it touched his temple. He could feel her body; every bloody wound was known to him. He could feel her pain and her rage masked by fear. But more than that, he could feel his body pulse with energy at her call. And in that eternal moment he appeared there, sword in hand from a place he did not know. The god redirected the falling blade into the dirt and their his own sword joined it. He let it fall to the earth as he knelt to the ground and lifted the woman into his arms.

“Man. You do not dare to come between the storm and our command. You do not know what you do. Come now. Give her to me.”

Spoken by the knight who now sheathed his drawn sword, it was said as a command but there was kindness in it. He held out his hand for the woman expecting her to be given.

The god hesitated. He felt the energy surging within him as he responded.

“I am not man. This temple is a sacred place to commune with the god of this mountain. I am he. I am bound to protect those within and those who claim sanctuary in it.”

The six knights were taken back at his statement. One helmet was removed revealing a woman. Her skin was blue, dark blue like the darkest storm clouds and her starch white hair was pulled back into a tight braid. Her eyes were white and blue at the same time, a lighting strike that bore into the god’s own eyes.

“You? A god? Of this mountain, you say? You may as well be a god if nothing. How do you know of the old laws? Who is here? Who are you herald too?”

She spoke down at him as if he were a big to be squashed. The energy seemed to boil inside the god. It put anger and pride into his voice.

“I am herald to no one. I am of the first. I am of those who saw the earth separate from the waters. I saw the valleys deepen and the mountains rise. It was i among the first to see the world become. You talk down to me. I am the god of this mountain. Of where you stand. Be gone now. This woman is under my protection.”

The god hoped his words carried more weight than he felt they did. While true, he was still only god of a mountain.

“As you wish. But our master will return. And he will bring a force to bear witness to,” the lightning knight replied.

She replaced her helmet as the winds picked up and began to scream. The sky above grew dark with storm clouds and in a great crash of thunder and a flash of lightning, the six were gone.

“Quickly! Water and herbs!” The god called to the villagers.

The whole village surged into action, the fear and horror from seconds earlier dissolving away in the wake of their god’s commands.

Water was brought, along with crushed herbs and hot food. A fire was built and cloth was cut into bandages. The god attended to the woman as she slipped in and out of consciousness. The villagers created a paste from the herbs and hot water as the god washed her wounds. They applied the paste with bandages and fresh clothes were brought. The god stepped out of his temple as several women assisted the wounded woman into clean clothes. He surveyed the village as men and women scrambled around with buckets of water, putting out the remaining flames.

By evening, the storm had reappeared on the horizon, darker and more dangerous than before. The blackened storm clouds pushed closer and closer to the village as spider webs of lighting spread across the sky. The breeze turned to a wind and nearly a hurricane. The villagers slowly moved to the temple where the god continued to provide care to the unknown woman. Their eyes never left the horizon as lighting struck the earth revealing a single knight that stood at the south end of the village. A second strike revealed a second knight standing next to the first. Two more struck the east side and two on the west. They spread around in a circle just outside the river creating a border. The message was clear: none will cross this river.

The god washed his hands and helped the villagers back up the stairs into the temple steps.

“Go now, into the temple. Pray for sanctuary and it will be granted to you,” he spoke to them.

The villagers gathered inside and said their prayers for safety. Some came forward to the steps with their god, others knelt with the woman and continued to apply cold cloths and change bandages. The rest pushed into the back of the temple.

The storm overhead pulled together into condensed dark clouds. The thunder became more concentrated as lightning lit up the mass from within. All the winds gathered in the air and pushed the mass to the temple. The six knights appeared in front of the steps as the cloudy mass swept in front of the armor-clad reapers and formed into a humanoid shape. A man stood in the midst of the dissipated clouds. He wore the storm around his chest like a breastplate. Lightning pulsed with every breath and when he spoke it was the echo of thunder from within him.

“Greetings god. I am told you stand in the way of my bidding,” he boomed.

The god stepped down from the temple and extended his hand. The hair on his arm stood on end, not from the static of the man standing before him but from the tingle of fear creeping up his spine.

Curiosity emerged across the stormy man’s face as he too extended his hand. The two embraced for the necessary moment of chivalry and then for a moment longer. The hairs on the mountain god’s arms laid back down as their hands released. In those brief moments, the fear crawling up his back had receded and was replaced by a sense of calm.

“I meant no offense. But I am god of this mountain, and she has called for sanctuary at my altar. I am but a humble god of little. But I will provide for those at my altar,” the god replied.

“God of this mountain,” the stormy one repeated. His gaze unfocused as a thought reached him and then his gaze returned. “You are of the first. One of the old gods of the earth. Fierrum.”

Fierrum was shocked. His name had not been spoken in centuries. He had thought it lost from the tongues of men.

“You are also of the first. King and lord of the sky. Nubis,” Fierrum replied.

The six knights drew their swords and one spoke in a commanding tone. “You will not speak the king’s name!”

“Peace, Thunder,” Nubis commanded. “Fierrum means no disrespect. He has only followed the laws that we are all governed by.”

“Tell me Fierrum, do you know who it is you give sanctuary to?” Nubis asked.

Fierrum looked behind him to the woman laying on the temple floor. The entire village was standing in the entry watching the events unfold.

“I do not. Though she prayed for sanctuary and I grant it as I am able,” he replied.

“I understand. I am sorry Fierrum, but you leave me no choice.” As Nubis spoke, storm billowed from his mouth and formed overhead, wrapping themselves around the mountain from the base to its peak.

“Nubis! Stop!” Fierrum shouted above the sounds of the hurricane coming into being. The knights disappeared one by one as they were called into battle. Thunder, Lightning, Deluge, Gale, Cumulus, and Destruction joined in their masters call.

“Run!” Fierrum called to the villagers. “Clear the temple!”

Fierrum stood in horror as he watched the storm engulf the surface of the mountain. The villagers ran in every direction. Only few remained inside the temple.

“Run!” Fierrum called again. He ran into the temple. “You must leave. I cannot weather this storm. I cannot protect you.”

The four villagers had wide eyes as trees were ripped from the mountain side and rock crashed down around the temple walls. One of the villagers walked forward down the steps of the temple and swallowed her fear.

“Fierrum is god of this mountain.” Her voice cracked as she spoke her god’s name for the first time. “His mountain holds the trees firm, the homes of the birds of this land.”

Another villager walked foward and stood in front of the temple. “Fierrum is god of this mountain. His mountain gives rise to the spring, and the spring feeds the rivers of this land. The mountain provides home to the fish and sustains us.”

A third and fourth villager walked forward. “Fierrum’s mountain parts the northern storms. It breaks them down and provides rain to our village,” one said.

“The mountain parts the winds and brings the breeze into our homes,” the other continued.

The god of the mountain could barely believe what he was hearing. He was only the god of the mountain.

The storm raged and continued to break the mountain piece by piece but now the winds carried more than the storm. They carried the voices of the villagers whose attention was no longer in preservation of their lives.

“Fierrum tends to the river.”

“Fierrum’s mountain gives life to this land.”

“Our prayers are answered daily.”

“He helps us farm.”

“He tends to our needs.”

“Fierrum comforts me.”

The list continued and Fierrum found he could hardly hear the storm over the words of the villagers being spoken. He, a simple god of a mountain, heard their gracious words. He heard again and again what his mountain provided. With every word he remembered their prayers, their laments, the songs of happiness. He remembered these villagers fathers and their fathers before. And he found strength in it. He found more strength than he had ever felt in his millennium.

“Nubis,” Fierrum spoke softly. “Stop this.”

The storm drowned out his voice so he spoke louder. He stood more firm and felt the mountain behind him. He gripped the trees tighter and held onto the rocks. He fought the six knights behind him as he spoke louder to Nubis.

“Nubis!” he called. His voice was louder, greater, stronger. “I am god of this mountain. The trees cling to me and provide home. The spring runs through me and provides. I part the storm to bring rain to crops. I part the wind to bring a cool breeze. I block the sun to bring shade. I am the mountain and the mountain is me. And I provide sanctuary to those in need.”

The mountain was like a blade the extended from the earth into the sky. Fierrum unsheathed his own blade and held it to Nubis’s throat.

“And I will defend those who live at my mountain.” Fierrum said.

The storm broke around the mountain as the six knights fell from the sky. They hit the earth like the falling rocks from the mountain. They each stood, slowly and bloody from their fall, and drew swords in defense of their master.

“Fierrum. God of the mountain. What will you do? You will slay the storm?” Nubis asked. His gaze was deadly now, filled with anger.

“I don’t wish death on any. But you attack those in my protection and that I cannot allow,” Fierrum replied.

Nubis considered the old god. “Fine then, Fierrum. Be it on your own head then.”

In a bright flash, Nubis and his six were gone.

Fierrum felt his shoulders released the tension he didn’t know he had been holding. He could still hear the trees and the rock of his mountain settling again but the threat was gone. He took in each of the villagers faces. Miraculously, they were all still alive.

He breathed a sigh of relief. And then he felt a pain in his side causing him to gasp for a breath. He felt his ribs. No wound. No blood. He gasped again for another breath as he turned towards the temple and saw the first villager fall. A bloody dagger was held in the hand of a woman. Now fully healed, she held her head high. Her eyes were red and her skin was flush with life.

Fierrum recognized her. She was before the firsts, before Nubis and himself. She was of the oldest, of the originals.

She was Thanis, queen of the end of life, deliverer of death.

[antiaircraftcrayon]

An Unexpected Ally

**I usually stay pretty quiet during pride month since I don’t have a lot of support. But @prideknights has been coming in strong this month**

The silent night was pierced by the rhythmic ring of the hammer. The forge was lit and the friar was hard at work in the firelight. The sound and echoes of the metal drew the curious eye from the village down below but none ventured up the hill to the chapel. The friar was left alone with his thoughts and the weight of conviction.

The hammer continued to ring. Ping. Tap tap. Ping. Tap tap. Striking metal and clearing the scale on the anvil, the friar worked furiously. He prayed for his self-appointed mission. The harder he prayed, the harder his hammer fell and greater the weight on his heart became. The uncertainty of his mission being divinely blessed drove his mind to madness and his prayers began to falter. It crossed with his faith and made him question his own purpose. His faith faltered as storm clouds gathered in the sky overhead. 

He pushed on as rain fell around him. His heart dropped with the rain as he heated the metal again. Ping went the hammer and tap tap went the anvil. He prayed again as thunder sounded and tears streaked down his face, realizing the foreboding omen overhead and what it meant for his mission. The friar’s hammer fell harder and harder with each sound of thunder, each bolt of lightning that lit the sky. In the combined sounds of the night and the forge, he remembered why he came to this point. He recalled the horseback journeys with knights as the pulled men and women from the beds. He recalled blessing those to be executed and offering last rights. 

His arm fell to his side and dropped the hammer. He too followed to the floor. His arm was exhausted and with a heavy heart the friar wept. His sobs were lost to the open air and the storm above. He didn’t have the energy to wipe his own face clean of the tears and snot that flowed. He sat on the stone floor and let his heart collapse under his own weight as he listened to the storm answer “no” to his prayers. 

Thunder sounded. Then again. And again. One after the other; continuous. The friar lifted his weary head at the observation and listened to unrelenting thunder. He could barely hear the rain on the ground just outside. It roared in the sky, the echoed twice. Roar, echo echo. Roar, echo echo. Unrelenting it sounded as it brought the friar to his feet in disbelief.

He walked into the rain and stared into the sky as lightning streaked across the clouds and fell to the earth, lighting the roof of the forge ablaze. It burned the roof down in an instant, faster than any natural flame, and extinguished immediately after. Another strike hit the forge and another. They continued to as the friar fell to his knees in dismay. His head fell as he listened to the lightning strike and destroy his mission and the remnants of his faith.

He heard them strike over and over and realized he was only feet from the forge and still unscathed. He regarded the forge and it miraculously still stood. Lightning struck again and hit the metal plate sitting on top of the anvil. It flashed again and struck its mark. The friar looked up and watch its path, snaking across the sky and falling downward, finding its intended target of the now red-hot metal.

His heart lifted and his faith rekindled as he listened to the thunder overhead. Roar, echo echo. He picked up the hammer and matched its call. Roar and ping. Echo tap, echo tap. The lightning kept the plate hot as he formed it, embedded his prayer and mission into its surface with every strike. He worked through the night until the storm dissipated, his work completed. He lacked hunger and thirst and wasn’t tired. He was invigorated with the task ahead.

...

With the rising sun a crowd gathered at the stone wall in the village square. Murmurs filled the crowded space as the jailer arrived in his barred cart while the sheriff followed behind on horseback. They unlocked the door of the cart and walked two men to the stockades as rotten vegetables and stale bread were thrown. Shouts and jeers resounded through the crowd as they waited for the lord of the land to arrive.

In short time, a small procession came down from the castle along the muddy road. The ward was the first to enter the square and announce the lord’s entry, followed by two bowmen and finally the mounted lord and his knight. The regal party took their seats behind the stonewall as the sheriff read aloud the charges against the accused. 

“Herein lies the claims upon the accused. Bearing witness and testimony before the lord of these lands, these two men were found to reside together in company. Moreover, the manner of company was proven to be consorted in lewdness and blasphemous behavior fitting none but husband and wife. Regarding the accused, repentance will be offered by the clergy and in so, their souls may yet be saved and bound to heaven. Friar, if you will.”

At that remark, the sheriff looked up from his parchment intending to see the friar at the front of the crowd. He was neither at the front nor in the crowd at all. After a few moments, the sheriff scanned the crowd and returned to his parchment.

“Upon these accusations the accused are consigned to death before you who has authority from the king, blessed and holy. Long live the king.”

“Long live the king!” repeated throughout the crowd.

The sheriff looked to the lord for his signal and by a hand wave, the execution was put into motion. The sheriff stepped aside and the executioner stepped forward and pulled the first man from the stockade. The second was pulled and held by the jailer. The men said nothing. They were ungagged but even so, their faces were solemn in refusal of their crimes. The executioner laid the first man down on the block and raised his axe.

“By the blessing of God, I condemn this!” 

The shout came from behind the crowd and caused a short stir. The executioner paused and looked out at the crowd. Looking back at the sheriff, he was unsure what to do. 

The sheriff stepped forward and called, “You dare interrupt an execution sanctioned by the king! Reveal yourself!”

The crowd slowly parted from the back to the front as persons moved back in awe. There stood a knight clad in black armor so dark, it caught all the colors of the light. A cross was chiseled into the chest plate and into the shield that hung from his left hand while his sword reflected the sun producing the gleam of the Lord’s bow. 

He walked forward to the stone wall and mounted it, standing sword to axe with the executioner. The sheriff too had drawn his sword as well as the lord’s knight and his bowmen. Two arrows were notched into strings. The unknown knight stood in the midst of four weapons drawn while the lord’s knight protected his master. 

“On what authority do you come against us?” The lord questioned angrily.

“I am a servant to God, creator of all things. I answer to He and He alone,” the knight answered.

“We do the Lord’s work here,” the sheriff commented. He was wary of the sword of this knight as it managed to catch the light in any direction it faced.

“I bring testimony against you,” the knight responded. “Will you hear it?”

“The word of the king is sovereign and divine. Chosen by God himself, his word is law. You bid testimony to the king’s servants and to the king himself. You have no word here,” the lord replied. “Archers!”

Two arrows left their holders’ hands and flew toward their mark. In the beat of a heart, the knight lifted his shield to catch them both. He turned on his feet and swung his sword in a wide arc disconnecting the axed head from the handle held by the executioner. He ended his stroke on the execution block, severing the ropes tying down the man there.

The knight’s blade connected with the sheriff as the first man stood behind the knight placing him between the sheriff and lord. 

“Will you have death then?” The knight asked.

The sheriff parried his sword and lunged in for an attack.

“On your own head then,” the knight murmured.

The blade of the sheriff ran the edge of the knight’s and caught at the hilt. The knight forced his sword downward pulling the balance of the sheriff’s sword and twirled it in the air. The sheriff’s sword flew through the air while a leather boot collided with his chest  sending him falling down off the stone wall. By this time, the man from the execution block had wrestled the second free from the jailor and released his bonds as well. A third arrow glanced off the shoulder plate of the knight as he turned towards the lord. A fourth caught the armor causing it to lose velocity but still embedded itself into the join between shoulder and breast.

The knight held fast to his shield but his left arm dropped with the intrusion to his shoulder. The two men joined behind the knight as the lord regarded the three of them. 

“Kill them,” he said. 

The knight’s mind ran through every prayer he had pounded into his armor the night before as two more arrows were released. Without hesitation, he regarded each prayer as he dropped his sword and shield, turning to shield the two men with his body. The arrows found unintended marks, piercing the flesh between the plates of his back. The two men fell with the weight of the knight as he  collapsed. His breath came heavy now and echoes out of his helmet. 

The two managed to break free of the weight of the knight as the crowd scattered and screamed. One of the men picked up the shield and jumped in front of the other as another arrow came in, ricocheting off. He threw the shield at the bowmen as the other man rose with the sword and followed the path of the shield. It collided with one of the bowmen, knocking his weapon loose and the man to the ground and the sword followed into the second man’s bow splitting it in two. The lord’s knight’s sword collided with the inexperienced man and sent both the sword and man to the ground. A downward stroke nearly hit home as the man pulled the shield lying next to him across his chest and face protecting him from the blade of the blow. The reverse side of the shield collided with his face and sent blood flowing from his nose. 

The other had climbed the stone wall and kicked the blade from his hand. The knight recovered and took the sword around his foe, severing his left hand. The blade was nearly driven into his chest as he lay screaming on the ground when the knight was tackled. Metal scraped against metal as two knights rose to their feet, one wheezing around the three arrows sticking from his torso, both raising their metalclad fists. 

The proceeded to pummel one another with blows, some glancing while some found their mark. Metal collided with metal and heavy breathing from both parties commenced. The injured knight coughed up blood as he was hit in the stomach. He rolled out of the way of a second blow as the metallic taste spit from his mouth and dripped down the inside of his helmet.

“Stop! Or I end your master’s life!”

The knight turned to see the man with both hands holding a bow and arrow aimed at the chest of the lord. He thought quickly but there was nothing he could do. He no longer had his sword and there was nothing for him throw and draw attention. 

The man kicked his partner getting him to his feet as he nursed his blood stump of an arm. The wheezing knight crawled and collected his sword. Using it as a prop, the found his way to his feet and to his shield. He had no words to speak through his pathetic breathing and blood-soaked mouth. The three of them simply stumbled to the outskirts of the village, bow still aimed at the lord.

**part two here**

[antiaircraftcrayon]

Within Comes Out

prompt by @write-it-motherfuckers

Prompt: The song of the day is: Man or a Monster (feat. Zayde Wølf) -by- Sam TinneszThe challenge is to write something based off of this song, be it the name, the lyrics, or the tune itself. Let your imagination go wild and see where the music takes you.

Fic: The man tested the knot that bound his hands to the post, the same knot he had seen bind so many before. It held fast. He looked on at the crowd within the village square as the shouted and threw rotten food towards him. 

“Matthias Ericson,” the priest spoke from in front of the crowd. The voice brought the Matthias’s attention to the priest.

“You are found guilty of the unholy murder of Christ’s children. The account follows. The murder and mutilation of Henry Smith. The gruesome beheading of his children Liam and Caden. And the murder of his wife Annette. Before God, you are found guilty of witchcraft, black magic, and conspiracy with the Devil. Confess your sins before this servant of the Lord and you will be redeemed at your death,” the priest continued.

“I confess nothing. I am not guilty of witchery nor of the use of black magic, only the use of the gifts given to me by the Almighty. Before God I have not consorted with the Devil. Nor am I guilty of murder but the just killing of a heathen family responsible for the deaths of innocent travelers on the road, demons in human form bound to the service of the Lord’s enemy. In that I am guilty,” Matthias responded. He turned his head towards the sky. 

“You were seen in unholy form, taking the shape of a devil. You are bound here covered in blood. Repent now of your sins and your soul may yet be saved,” said the priest.

Matthias continued to look upwards and ignored his words. Ignored the shouts from the crowd as they stared at him. Stared at his naked body, hands and arms covered in red stain and splatter across his chest. 

The priest signaled for the pyre to be lit and a fire ignited at Matthias feet. He brought his attention back to the priest.

“All of you,” he spoke to the priest and to the crowd. “Each of you stood by as these demons acted in your midst. You call me a murderer, unholy, a servant of the Devil. What were they?” The fire began to lick at his skin. “What are you for allowing such things?”

The fire engulfed his legs and he cried out throwing back his head. His scream let loose into the air and grew higher and higher in pitch until it was a shriek, louder than the wind. Black hands crept out of Matthias mouth, their long slender fingers resting around his mouth. A dark being of hardened shadow crawled out of Matthias shell as his body turned itself inside out becoming this new creature.

Its hands were loose of the binding though it still stood within the flame. It directed all of its attention at the priest as the crowd screamed in fear and ran. The priest tripped over his feet in shock, falling into the dust. As the creature approached him, it spoke through rattling breaths as if its chest were collapsed.

“Tell me priest. What sins have you? What unholiness have you?”

One sentence could still be heard amidst the screaming.

“He that is without sin.”

[antiaircraftcrayon]

The god spoke softly, with a hollow in his voice.

“I did not come seeking a god,” he replied, in slight awe of finding anyone at all let alone a god.

His eyes strained in the dark of the dilapidated temple. The walls and ceiling remained, mostly. An occasional brick was missing here and there, allowing the faintest ray of sun to find its way in. The torches had long since wasted away to nothing, their brackets hanging empty.

“They all come seeking a god,” the god spoke. “And they are all disappointed. They all want something; you are no different.”

His voice came to the man from further within the temple as the god retreated into its depths.

The man contemplated before he replied. “I suppose you are right, in a way. Though I did not come seeking anything from a god. I did want a quiet place to think, if it’s alright with you that I stay.”

“Do as you wish, but I cannot grant you anything,” the god said.

“That suits me just fine,” the man replied. There he sat against the cool walls of the temple as he contemplated his thoughts in silence.

It was well into the evening when he left for home, asking politely before he left, “if it’s not too much of a bother, may I return again? I quite like it here and your quiet company is a comfort to me.”

The man took the lack of response as a yes, whistling a quiet tune as he walked down the steps to the dirt road.

In a few days, the man returned. He was mumbled to himself as he walked up the steps to the once-great temple but still allowed himself a pause.

“Great god of this tranquil temple. May I come in?” The man asked.

He waited several long moments before the god finally replied yes. He entered that hallowed ground and took to his muttering again. The god could hear him from within the temple depths. His words echoed off the walls in incoherent strains. They passed the day that way, the man talking to himself as he paced about and the god silently listening.

Dusk began to fall and the man said his goodbyes. He turned at the top of the stairs and again asked if he may return soon.

“Yes, but don’t ask of me anything. There is nothing I can give,” the god said.

The man only smiled, his mind at peace from the day.

Many days passed with the god looking out the doorway to see if the man would come by again. And again he returned, talking to himself as he moved his hands around in the air. He stopped at the top of the steps asking permission to the open temple.

“I wish to be left alone,” the god said. “But if you ask nothing if me, you may come.”

The man noticed the god’s voice came from not so deep within the temple. The man put it out of his mind as he paced and talked, discussing his problems with himself and sorting through potential solutions.

The man finished his thoughts and sat against the temple wall above the steps, watching the sun set across a vast field. Shuffling steps turned his attention to the god, still within the shadows of the temple.

“May I join you?” The god asked.

“You may. But I cannot grant you anything,” the man replied.

The faintest quiver of a smile graced the god’s lips. Just a shadow and then it was gone. He sat near the door and looked out at the field for the first time in many years, watching the sun set. It had been so long, he couldn’t tell if the warmth was from the sun or from the man sitting next to him.

The next day the man returned again. He brought a satchel and promptly sat down on the top of the steps, spreading papers and plans across the floor. He occasionally pulled this and that from the bag as he sketched his designs and jotted done his notes. The god roamed the temple, looking over his shoulder every now and then. About midday, the man held out an apple to the god without looking up from his notes.

The god took the apple and sat down next to him, looking at the man’s work. The god didn’t say a word, not daring to disrupt his concentration. In the afternoon, the god fell asleep in the warmth of the sun.

The man finished his sketches and looked down at the sleeping god. The god looked peaceful and calm, the lines of his forehead gone in his relaxed state. He stood and stretched, careful not to wake the sleeping deity, and compared his sketches to the temple. He flipped page after page, blueprint after blueprint while walking the halls of the temple. When he was done, he stepped over the sleeping god and made his way home.

Many days went by with the god looking at the doorway of his ancient temple. He expected the man to come back everyday and each day he was disappointed. He thought he had seen the last of him, quietly sad he had slept through his final departure.

Two weeks had passed and in the morning sun, the god saw a wagon approach led by four beautiful brown and white horses. The wagon stopped at the temple base and the man dismounted, skipping every other step as he jogged up the stairs.

"Great god!" he announced. "We have brought you an offering if you will receive it."

There was silence from within broken only by the wind rustling the vines growing up the walls.

Finally the faintest whisper crept from inside.

"I cannot grant you anything..." it said.

The man turned to walk down the stairs, then turned back and replied, "I did not ask for anything."

He signaled down to the wagon with a whistle and four more men leapt out of the back. The began to unload supplies and organize it into piles. Tools, brick, mortar, timber. The man descended the stairs and retrieved a set of papers. They began to walk around the temple, looking up at the walls then referencing the drawings. They made a loop around the temple's base meeting back at the wagon and the piles of supplies. The took a short time to discuss and then quickly moved to work.

Up the stairs; brick and mortar. Down the stairs; more supplies. Up the stairs; timber bracing. Down the stairs; more supplies.

They continued throughout the day building braces and shoring up walls and collapsed ceiling. The broke only once for food from the wagon but pushed on in their work. When they were satisfied with the structure, the tools and remaining supplies were stored back in the wagon and out came brooms and shovels. They cleaned out all of the broken brick and debris on the floor. The cut down the vines and tore out the roots. New torches were placed in the brackets and the darkness retreated in the new light. The altar was cleaned and polished, dirt swept clean from the floor.

With the setting sun, the men sat at the edge of the temple outside of the door drinking ale and laughing aloud.

Finally the god showed his face and in his meakness said, "What do you seek? I cannot grant much, probably nothing. But I will give you all I can."

The four men were startled. They had never seen a god, let alone heard one speak. But the one man had talked to this god before. He held out a spare mug of ale and replied softly.

"I came looking for silence, a place to think clearly. I came looking for a place away from the hustle of the city to lay out my thoughts to their conclusions. You have offered me nothing but have given me a quiet presence nearby. You have told me you cannot grant anything of my wishes yet have provided me a step to sit on, a place to think."

The god's eyes began to wet. "Will you not have more? For your time? For your work? Your sweat has anointed these steps. Is that worth nothing to you?" The god questioned.

The man turned to the other four and one by one they spoke.

"We were not told to rebuild this temple."

"We volunteered."

"I asked if I could join."

"I was able so I came too."

The man spoke last, "Why do you feel you owe us anything? We have asked nothing of you. You cannot pay us for a gift. It would not be a gift if you did. But you may sit with us here in your fine temple. And you may drink this ale."

The god reached out slowly and took the mug he was offered and sat down with the men. He listened to their stories of the last week, tales of their children and their wives. He listened to these five friends and felt a feeling of renewal blossom in his chest.

When the day was done, the men descended the stairs. The one turned back halfway down the steps.

"Great god. I have been here many days and hope to come many more. I will not seek anything from you nor ask anything from you again. But I will ask your name, if you will give it.

The god sighed, "my name has been lost. Centuries have passed. This wonderful temple you have restored was beginning to crumble. And my name with it. It has not been spoken in a very long time and I dare say I cannot remember who I am. I was once the god of unbreakable bonds. Of everlasting friendships. What name came with that I cannot recall."

The man smiled at the god. "My mother and father had eight children. The believed certain characteristics were important to every individual and in their own way, named each of us as such. Long ago there was a man. He was selfless, lacking of greed. He was loyal and kind and respected nothing in return. It's said that when he died, the gods admired him so he became one. I was named after him. And his name was Arepo."

The god's eyes began to wet again.

"I will see you soon, great god," Arepo said.

Original prompt: @writing-prompt-s

Original: @sadoeuphemist

Continuation: @ciiriianan

Continuation: @stu-pot

Prompt #1142

“I am not the god you seek, so please leave me alone.”

[antiaircraftcrayon]

The wolf howls at the night sky

Its cry is bitter anger and lament

A call for the full moon to return

Hatred to the light of the sun

Agony to the stars and false moons

The howl, a lament to the lost

[antiaircraftcrayon]

prompt by @writing-prompt-s

Prompt:  You are the god of Nothing. Mercy on the fools who underestimate the title.

Fic Part 1: When it all first began, there were two gods. The greatest of these was Something. From the body of Something came the physical world; from the mind came emotions, thought, and the ability to comprehend; and from the spirit of Something came the soul. The second god was Nothing and it was truly nothing at all. 

From Something came everything and for each piece of everything, there was a new god. There was a god of the earth, a god of the sea, a god of the air, and god to life, a god to death, and with each new thing, a new god arose. And still the god of Nothing was truly nothing at all.

When life came from Something, fish swam the sea, birds filled the skies, and beasts walked the earth. It was not until mankind came from Something that turmoil’s shadow first crept across the face of the world for mankind forced Something to become greed, envy, anger, hate, and every bad thing that could be. Until mankind, the god of Nothing was truly nothing at all.

When mankind unleashed pandora upon the world, the gods themselves were affected. They began to covet what others had and want it for their own. The first god was cast down in front of all of mankind. He lay bloodied and bruised, looking up at the god that had cast him down. “You cannot do this. I am the god of the Sea,” he said with a trempling lip. “You are the god of nothing,” she replied in malice as her sword watered the ground with his blood. And at that moment, the god of Nothing was no longer truly nothing at all; now Nothing included the sea. 

It was not for many years that the gods and mankind realized what they had done. The had only ever known of Something, never knew of another. They did not comprehend in order for something to exist, nothing must also. They did not know that each time they belittled something to nothing, Nothing became much more. It was many years before Something was truly nothing at all.

Fic Part 2: It had been many years since the beginning and the idea of gods had been replaced. Mankind believed in science and technology now though the gods still remained, more silent in their watch. 

The god of Nothing watched and listened with an amused smile as a young teen was punched in the face by a group of older boys sending him into the dirt. The leader laughed as the gang behind him shouted insults.

“Nerd!”

“He doesn’t even have friends!”

“Nobody likes you!”

“You’re so pathetic,” the leader said as he watched the boy wipe blood and spit from his face. “Look at you. Such a loser.”

The older teen kicked the boy in the chest causing him to double over on the ground and catch on his own brown. He leaned down.

“You’re a nobody. You know that?” He chided.

The god of Nothing leaned in. Waited for what he knew was coming.

“Yeah, a nobody,” the group laughed.

The leader pressed his fist into the boys face and ground his cheek into the ground.

“Do you hear me loser? You’re a nothing,” he said the gritted teeth.

The dirt between the leader and the young boy exploded sending the older teen flying through the air. 

“Dear child of Nothing,” the god spoke as he stood him up. “Even glass was once nothing but sand.”

The god turned on the group and emitted a flaming aura around his being. The group of teens looked on in fear. 

“Nothing you call him? Only nothing? Allow me to show you what nothing used to be.”

The flaming aura spread, engulfing the teens in like a cocoon. They compressed down tighter and tighter, muffling the screams from within until the aura compressed down to nothing.

As the aura faded from around his body, the god of Nothing turned his head back around towards the young boy.

“Even glass,” he said. And then he was gone.

[antiaircraftcrayon]

An Unexpected Ally: One Becomes Many

**part one here**

Two men stumbled into the woods under the aid of another. One’s breaths, more of wheezes, were coming with great struggle. The other’s chest was bare, his shirt wrapped around a bloody stump of an arm, his face pale and sweaty. They each had an arm dropped an arm around the shoulder of the one man still able to stand on his own. 

He bore their weight. His own energy fading as he stumbled over branches and through overgrowth. His leg collapsed and he fell into the trunk of a tree to catch himself. The man with arrows protruding from his torso fell from his shoulder and hit the ground with a grown. The single-handed man followed and in a short time, all three lay on the forest floor. Their vision blurred as their eyes darkened. One by one, they fell out of consciousness.

...

The knight awoke in a room filled with sunlight. His eyes took several moments to adjust to the brightness of the room. When he could finally focus, he realized he wasn’t in a built room. Trees grew up in supports of a roof woven together by their own branches. The walls were open to what looked like an opening in a forest. The knight lifted his torso from a bed made of cut grass and then felt the soreness in his chest and back. His armor was gone. He wore only clean wool pants which he had not been wearing before. His chest was wrapped in bandages and a pungent smell filled his nostrils from somewhere underneath them. He moved his arm around and felt the tightness in his shoulder. But it wasn’t the pain he expected. He placed tentative feet on the forest floor and slowly lifted his body up with the help of his hands.

Blood rushed to his head and made him dizzy so he steadied himself against the bed. When his head cleared, he walked the short way to the side of the tree-building and found support from one of the trunks. It was then that he really got a look at where he was. The opening was ringing around in trees and was incredibly wide. Just inside the trees was a circular river that ran within the perimeter and fed back into itself . It was fed from a small spring sourced from a large rock. It look as if the rock had been worn down after centuries and centuries of the spring falling down its face.

The glade was filled with grasses and small shrubs bathing in sunlight from the large opening in the forest canopy. The knight noticed the two men sitting out by the river and walked out to great them. He walked out to join them when he noticed the one was reclining in the other’s lap.

He spoke softly as he approached.

“Hello. May I join you?” He asked quietly.

The one man was running his fingers through the other’s hair when he turned his head and smiled at him. 

“Of course,” he responded.

The unarmored knight sat and extended his hand in greeting.

“William,” he said.

The man took reached across his sleeping partner and too William’s hand.

“Christopher,” he responded. “It’s a pleasure.”

He planted a kiss on the sleeping man’s forehead and gave him a light shake to wake him. He blinked several times adjusting to the amount of sunlight in the open glade.

“Babes. This is William. He’s the knight who saved us,” Christopher spoke.

“Sir,” he said as he lifted himself up from his reclined position. “Thank you. Thank you for your kindness.” 

He reached forward with both hands only to see the stump of his left hand wrapped in bandages. He pulled it back and extended his good hand to William. 

“My name is Marcas. And I suppose you already know Christopher,” Marcas said.

William smiled. “It’s good to meet you, Marcas,” he said. 

“Do you know where we are?” William asked. “I don’t remember getting further than the village.”

“We’re deep in the the boundary forest. But I’m not sure where,” Christopher replied. “I collapsed just passed the tree line and woke up here. Marcas woke up this morning.”

“If we were at the tree line, how were we not captured?” William posed the question, more to himself than the other men. 

Marcas pointed towards the far end of the glade behind the structure William had awoken in. At the end of the glade were two people bent over the river.

“They brought us here. They cleaned and bandaged my arm and your wounds. I’m not sure what they used but my arm is nearly healed. And from the looks of it, you’re doing much better than you should be,” Marcas said.

William felt the bandages where he knew the arrow punctures should be. Even now, the felt less stiff than what they had when he first woke. 

“Interesting,” he murmured.

“Have either of you met them before?” William asked.

“No. And they haven’t spoken to us yet. They seem to keep their distance too,” Christopher replied.

Odd, William thought.

“I’ll be back.”

William stood and began walking over toward the two. The female looked up and saw him coming closer. She turned and whispered something to the man who glanced up and promptly hid behind her. She pulled a long knife from her pants and held it to her side. Not a threat but not welcoming either.

William saw the blade and stopped. He held his hands up and slowly inched forward.

“Peace, brother and sister. I come with thanks and gratitude,” William said loudly. 

“You bear the cross on your armor. The men of this world bring wrath with the cross. They are evil and blasphemers,” she spat. “ When you are healed, you will no longer be welcome here.”

William noticed how she spoke. She wasn’t attacking him. She was defending herself and the man that hid behind her. 

“My name is William, once Friar now Knight. My master is not a man but God and I serve God’s will. My armor was blessed in his name,” William defended himself.

“We have endured much at the hands of those claiming their will was in God’s name!” she yelled. 

The conversation now drew the attention of Christopher and Marcas who were on their feet coming closer to William’s back. 

“Stay back!” she called to them. There was fear in her eyes now. Fear in the form of tears as she cowered behind her raised knife. 

They stopped but Marcas still spoke to her.

“My lady. We aren’t here to harm you. Neither is William. He saved Christopher and I from execution,” Marcas said.

“You’re criminals then. We don’t want you here either,” she replied. 

Christopher spoke defensively now, his voice growing louder. “My husband and I are not criminals! We did nothing wrong!”

The three men registered the shock cross the woman’s face as the man looked out from behind her shoulder. 

“You’re what?” She asked.

“They aren’t criminals,” William said. 

“No. Not that. You said husband. Your husband?” She questioned, her knife falling somewhat lower.

Christopher and Marcas drew closer together defensively. But it was William who stepped in front of them and responded. 

“What is that information to you?”

She kept her knife up but it was more to emphasize her voice.

“You, a holy man, saved two men? In union?” She asked in surprise. 

“As I said, my master is God, not man, and my quest blessed by him,” William said solemnly. 

The man partially stepped out from behind the woman revealing a surprisingly angular face and soft features. The three men could see he wore an open robe wear a newly bandaged chest peaked through. 

“What quest?” He asked, meekly.

William suddenly felt a little calmer as the realization hit him. He decided to take the edge off the conversation and sat down in the grass before he replied.

“True, I am a holy man. I have been on crusades. I have aided knights on journeys the king himself deemed blessed in the eyes of the Lord. I have been on journeys where men and women have been taken from their homes. I have listened to the confessions of the damned and seen love, kindness, happiness, peace, and above all faith. And I found myself unable to condemn something I could not understand; something I saw as a different following of the same faith I believed.” William continued his story. He told them of his revelation and the night in the storm. He told them of the armor, the lightning and the thunder and the raging storm. 

“The quest I have undertaken is to protect those for whom their is no protection; the men in the arms of men and the women in the arms of women. To put one’s life in the service of others, what greater calling is there than this?” William finished.

He stayed seated while he spoke and stayed seated as he was finished. It felt like a weight was lifted having finally spoken aloud what he intended.

William heard a rustling behind him and shifted to see Marcas with one knee in the dirt, his head bowed low.

“I will join you on this quest,” he spoke.

Christopher knelt next to him. “With two good hands, I will join you on this quest.”

Marcas punched him in the shoulder, knocking him off balance as Christopher and William started to laugh.

“And others? Will you protect them as well?” It was a soft voice. Quiet and hurt from the past. William knew who said it even before he turned and saw the woman holding the man in her arms.

“My quest is to protect those for whom their is no protection. I may not understand, but in this quest I will not fail.” William knelt on the ground and bowed. “I will protect you.” 

A single clap of thunder sounded from above, echoing in a clear blue sky. 

The woman sheathed her sword and took hold of the man’s hand as the both knelt.

“I am Emilia. And I will join this quest,” she said.

“I am...,” the man hesitated. He again spoke softly, “I am Sarah. And I will”

William cut him off. 

“Through Christ, are we not new?” In the same way, are you not your true self?” William demanded. 

Tears ran down the man’s cheek as Emilia gripped his hand tighter.

“Raise you head, child. Speak and let yourself be heard.” William said.

He lifted his head blinking tears from his eyes and spoke with a loud voice, “I am Curtis and I will join this quest!”

Standing now, William turned in a circle to see the four kneeling around him with heads raised.

“There is a great darkness in this world. In the face of this darkness, will you protect those in need?” William asked.

“We will,” echoed back.

“There will be those persecuted in the sight of others. Will you protect them?

“We will,” resounded in the glade.

“There will be those in hiding, afraid of the persecution to come. Will you protect them?” William called, his voice rising.

“We will,” they called back.

“Grow strong then in your faith. Where you grow weak, the Lord is strong. Where you show fear, He will provide courage. In the face of darkness, He is your light. There will be those in your path. They will challenge your faith and your quest. In the face of these, will you endure?” In a great voice, William questioned them.

In a single, solemn answer the spoke, “we will.”

“Rise then, Sir Christopher,” William said. “Will you uphold this oath when all others fail?”

“I will,” Christopher replied.

“Rise then, Sir Marcas,” William commanded. “You have already given much. Will you give more? Will you uphold this oath when all others fail?”

“I will give more until there is none left. I will uphold my oath,” Marcas said.

William turned to her and spoke, “rise then, Dame Emilia. Have you not defended this oath already? Will you continue to uphold it when others fail?”

“I will,” she answered.

“Sir Curtis, rise,” William commanded. “Will you too uphold this oath when others fail before you?”

“I will uphold it,” Curtis responded.

William turned in a circle and regarded each of them.

“Rise then a knight,” he said.

[antiaircraftcrayon]

7. Spooning at night

The L-frame couch is the perfect couch. Realistically, the couch itself is just as good as any other. But when we lay on opposite ends and meet in the middle; mmm! It’s fantastic! The slow crawl from relaxing my had on your legs to the gentle spoon at your side.

My neck tucked into your lower shoulder, head resting on your chest. I can smell the rose lotion on your body. It’s a scent now I associate with you. I can feel the rhythm of your heart on my cheek. A sweet melody.

My chest pressed up to your side. The heat from your body draws me in close. Your smell, your heart beat, your heat; it’s so easy for me to fall asleep right here. Your arm is cradled around my neck and back and rests on my side. Your finger lazily tracing my ribs. It’s a gentle touch, not quite tickling. Im not even sure if you know you’re doing it

I rest my hand on your perfect belly. Flat, not too tight. It has just a little bit of squish before I can feel your abs. I love to stroke my fingers across it and hear your hums of approval.

My leg hugs yours and nestles over your hip. The fit is like a puzzle piece falling into play. My body facing your side, my leg is just higher than yours. I can easily drape mine over top of you without feeling an awkward position. It’s not too much weight on you. Just enough for your love language of physical touch to be fulfilled.

I feel the heat from your body, the rhythm of your heart, my fingers wander on your skin. I’m nearly asleep when you bend your head down and put a kiss on the top of my head. Who needs a bed when you have a couch?

Touching

Feeling another human’s touch.

touching foreheads

running fingers through hair

hiding face in neck

caressing the other’s hand

feeling their pulse

patting the other’s head

holding hands

shielding the other one with their body

listening to the other’s heartbeat

spooning at night

laying their hand on the other’s neck

pushing a strand of hair behind their ear

nudging the other one

putting an arm around the other’s waist

hugging each other

massaging them

holding the other’s chin up

squishing the other’s cheek

high fiving

bandaging/stitching up an injury

kissing the other’s brow

falling asleep on the other’s shoulder

carrying the other one in their arms

whispering in their ear, lips touching the skin

stroking the other’s arm soothingly

kissing the top of their head

pulling the other one towards them

feeling for each other in the dark

tickling the other one

grabbing onto their arm

doing a pinky swear

caressing the other’s back

tasting their smile

washing the other’s body

kissing their bruises and scars

lifting the other one up

putting their head on the other’s chest

stroking their leg

leaning into the other’s side

patting them on the back

sitting close and knees touching

braiding the other’s hair

giving them a piggy-back ride

sitting on the other’s lap

feeling their temperature

linking arms with each other

touching their elbow to get their attention

dancing with each other

holding onto the other’s shoulders for support

putting a hand over the other’s mouth to shut them up

Hand-holding|Hugs|Kisses

[antiaircraftcrayon]

Prompt by @writing-prompt-s

Prompt:  While scientists did expect to face some backlash for removing Pluto from the list of planets, they did not expect a God of the underworld to show up, pissed that his planet had been excluded

It had been several hours since the reclassification announcement. A handful of the scientists that had collected the data leading to the reclassification were chatting as they headed toward the break room.

The break room had two long tables in it, only one of which was occupied. A man sat at the far end, typing on his phone as he munched on a pomegranate. He didn’t quite fit into the white coat atmosphere in his dark blue jeans and deep purple hoodie. He didn’t even look up as the group walked in.

The scientists ignored him, except for the initial glance at the stranger, and continued their conversation as they opened their lunchboxes. The conversation casually tilted from the announcement to the implications of the announcement. How it would affect the scientific realm of astronomy, what it could mean for higher education, would updates be needed to published articles. It was all just thoughts and guesswork, what each of them believed may happen as a result. Overall, they agreed their shouldn’t be any major implications as a result. Textbooks would change on the next version publication, higher education would implement the reclassification into the curriculum as needed, and publications would remain the same on the basis of writing under the knowledge of the time.

It was a very casual conversation until the stranger spoke up.

“Will there not be consequences for the so-called reclassification?” He posed, adjusting the collar of his shirt and sweater.

The group laughed at the question around their mouthfuls of food.

“What kind of consequences?” An older scientist responded. “What could possibly happen? The world will adjust as it always has.”

The stranger was packing up the remains of his pomegranate.

“There are always consequences to our actions, some greater than others,” he said. “Let me ask you this. Each of the great planetary masses was named after one of the Roman deities, grand beings of power. Warriors, evolved from their Greek counterparts. And you think there will be no consequences?”

The scientists were nearly choking on their food now as they laughed, the only one not laughing was the older scientist. Comments started flying around.

“Pluto, god of the dead!”

“What if Pluto comes and gets us.”

They ridiculed the man and then the older man spoke up over the group.

“And if we didn’t know? If we didn’t know what we had done?” The older man asked.

“You can’t be serious?” One of the other scientists responded. “Don’t give into this guy. He’s talking nonsense.”

“What if he isn’t?” Asked the older scientist. “What if we were wrong?”

“I’m not going to grace that with a response. This isn’t based in science; this is ridiculous. The data showed Pluto to be inadequate in meeting planetary classification criteria.” One of group said.

“Inadequate,” The stranger repeated. His pomegranate remnants were gone. He stood up, adjusting the knot to his dark blue tie. He smoothed the creases in his crisp three-piece suit. There was a darkness in his eyes as he spoke.

“Inadequate,” he repeated again. “Well then. I’d better be off.”

“Pluto?” The older scientist whispered. “We didn’t know.”

He stopped in the doorway, one foot inside the room, one foot out. Pausing for only a moment, he spoke out loud to the room.

“Each of you will one day die. Perhaps tomorrow, perhaps in fifty years. When you die, you will arrive at the gates of the underworld and demand entrance. I will refuse you. You will stand at the gates of Hades and face Cerberus but his jaws will remain closed to you. He will not take your body. He will not take your soul. But one head will bite down. One head will take you in its maw and spit you back into the world. It will spit you back without memory and the world will have no memory of you. You will walk the Earth again, unable to die, unable to find rest. This curse I lay upon you. Until this dishonor is undone by another. These are the words of Pluto.” He ended.

The door closed behind him.

There was a short silence in the room then the group started to laugh again.

“Well that was odd,” someone laughed.

[antiaircraftcrayon]

It had been centuries since the pyre had decayed, centuries more since it had been built. The story itself had long been forgotten, not even a myth any longer.

But the city center fountain remained. The original town square was replaced with new brick. Then new concrete. Then a market. A well took its place. And a town fire ring after. The blacksmith took over for a decade or so. And his son after him. And on and on. A hundred different structures. The long history of the city center fountain was littered with character. And littered with magic.

The statue at the center of the fountain was made of bronze. Most of it was a faded green, weathered with age. But one piece still shown brightly like gold, reflecting the sunlight. Her outstretched hand.

Daily, tourists would walk up the path that split the fountain, take their picture, touch her hand. It brought luck, good fortune, positive energy, good karma. Did it really bring those things? Maybe. Maybe not. But those who passed by believed it did and perhaps that was enough.

In a world torn by war, soldiers marched into the city. In cities previous, they pulled men and women from their homes and separated their children. Some were executed in the streets simply because the soldiers could. Others were loaded into train cars and sent to camps. Their intention was the same here.

The soldiers looted and pillaged, setting fire to some buildings and blowing holes in others with explosives. They dragged the citizens into the town square. Children were thrown to one side while any able-bodied men and women were pulled to the other. The elderly and sick were left in the middle.

[VIOLENCE AND BLOOD WARNING]

Buildings throughout the city were aflame. Patches of smoke dotted the horizon. Screams could still be heard as people were rounded up, an occasional gunshot echoing through the alleys. Valuables were taken from every citizen, including those left in the middle. Then they were lined up and one by one, they were shot in the head, collapsing in the street. Their blood collected around the fountain, the low point in the town square.

Screaming children were loaded into trucks. Crying parents were forced the other direction to the rail yard. Resistance was met with brutality, a quick beating and a bullet to the head.

Meanwhile, a woman knelt in front of the fountain, lowering hand to ground, raising it to her mouth, and repeating the gesture. A group of soldiers noticed and called for her to stand. They shouted commands but she continued until a shot rang out. The bullet tore through her flesh and shattered the bones in her skull. Blood splattered into the fountain while it’s host turned towards the men.

They could see now her mouth was dripping blood, her hand colored red as well. Her teeth were stained red but the black rot underneath could still be seen. Her eyes were bloodshot as if she hadn’t slept in days. Her pupils were wide, drinking in the light as if they thought they’d never see it again. Her skin hung loosely on her musculature, wiry grey hair sticking in all angles. She was unimpressive and repulsive all at once.

The woman shuffled towards them with creaking joints, her body remembering how to move again. The soldiers shot her chest but she still moved forward. She locked eyes and lifted her hand to one of the men. She motioned towards one of the others. The man removed a knife from his belt and stabbed the other in the throat.

She laughed, I hoarse and breathy laugh as she turned him to another. He slit another throat before his own friends shot him down. Three remained. She only had to flex her fingers to remove another, his own skin set ablaze. He screamed in agony as his own flesh melted. The last two ran. They ran as fast as they could but they couldn’t escape. She reached out both her hands and grasped the air, pulling the men back into to her.

She threw them both to the side and as the one struggled to regain his footing, she smashed the others head into the street. His skull cracked and she smashed again. Over and over until his brains were leaking onto the ground, his eyes still twitching. Her attention turned towards the last soldier crawling away on the ground. She brought her face close to his and she could smell the blood and rotting flesh between her teeth.

She ran a dirty finger down the side of his face and said “you will live so I may eat your beating heart.”

It wasn’t a comment, but a command. He knew, as she reached into his chest and broke his sternum, cracking ribs and removing them from her prize. He knew he would not die until she had her prize. His screams filled the air as she buried her face in his chest cavity, feasting on her organs. He laid squirming at the fountain underneath the outstretched arm of the bronze statue; a woman with a billowing dress, hair frozen blowing in the breeze.

She stood, surveying her surroundings. They were much different than centuries before. A whole new world to prey upon. She laughed aloud at this city. They, like all the others, would try and fail. They would fall at her feet like so many before. Only her sister knew how to contain her. She had built the city around the witch, keeping her locked within. She had used her magic to help them, those pathetic villagers. She looked back at the statue, nearly her own image if not her twin. She laughed again as she made her way through the city in search of a home built of wood. If it hadn’t been her pyre before, it certainly would now the witch thought as she pictured her sister covered in flames.

Prompt #14219

"We built the town around the witch. She used her magic to help us, and we built her a home out of what would have been her pyre."

[antiaircraftcrayon]

The man tested the knot that bound his hands to the post, the same knot he had seen bind so many before. It held fast. He looked on at the crowd within the village square as the shouted and threw rotten food towards him.

“Matthias Ericson,” the priest spoke from in front of the crowd. The voice brought the Matthias’s attention to the priest.

“You are found guilty of the unholy murder of Christ’s children. The account follows. The murder and mutilation of Henry Smith. The gruesome beheading of his children Liam and Caden. And the murder of his wife Annette. Before God, you are found guilty of witchcraft, black magic, and conspiracy with the Devil. Confess your sins before this servant of the Lord and you will be redeemed at your death,” the priest continued.

“I confess nothing. I am not guilty of witchery nor of the use of black magic, only the use of the gifts given to me by the Almighty. Before God I have not consorted with the Devil. Nor am I guilty of murder but the just killing of a heathen family responsible for the deaths of innocent travelers on the road, demons in human form bound to the service of the Lord’s enemy. In that I am guilty,” Matthias responded. He turned his head towards the sky.

“You were seen in unholy form, taking the shape of a devil. You are bound here covered in blood. Repent now of your sins and your soul may yet be saved,” said the priest.

Matthias continued to look upwards and ignored his words. Ignored the shouts from the crowd as they stared at him. Stared at his naked body, hands and arms covered in red stain and splatter across his chest.

The priest signaled for the pyre to be lit and a fire ignited at Matthias feet. He brought his attention back to the priest.

“All of you,” he spoke to the priest and to the crowd. “Each of you stood by as these demons acted in your midst. You call me a murderer, unholy, a servant of the Devil. What were they?” The fire began to lick at his skin. “What are you for allowing such things?”

The fire engulfed his legs and he cried out throwing back his head. His scream let loose into the air and grew higher and higher in pitch until it was a shriek, louder than the wind. Black hands crept out of Matthias mouth, their long slender fingers resting around his mouth. A dark being of hardened shadow crawled out of Matthias shell as his body turned itself inside out becoming this new creature.

Its hands were loose of the binding though it still stood within the flame. It directed all of its attention at the priest as the crowd screamed in fear and ran. The priest tripped over his feet in shock, falling into the dust. As the creature approached him, it spoke through rattling breaths as if its chest were collapsed.

“Tell me priest. What sins have you? What unholiness have you?”

One sentence could still be heard amidst the screaming.

“He that is without sin.”

🖤~Song Of The Day~🖤

The song of the day is: Man or a Monster (feat. Zayde Wølf) -by- Sam Tinnesz

The challenge is to write something based off of this song, be it the name, the lyrics, or the tune itself. Let your imagination go wild and see where the music takes you.

Have at it Darlings!

[antiaircraftcrayon]

The Other Side of Healing

I let a yawn escape me as I unlocked my front door and walked into my home. Faint moonlight feel through the gap in the curtain, enough light for me to light the lantern. I was exhausted after this trip. The whole venture had taken nearly a week and we had had little rest from start to finish. I shouldn’t complain though. It brought in good pay and puts my name out there for future jobs.

I began to unpack my rucksack in the lantern’s light. The remains of my dried rations joined my other stores on the pantry shelves. I set a couple less-than-fresh potatoes and four carrots on the table; they would make a good stew tomorrow if I could get some meat. I drank down the rest of my water canteen and tossed it into my trunk, followed by the rope and tarp. I always carried a metal pot and some utensils for quests. They went back to their hanging pegs at the fireplace.

That was it. I didn’t pack much for quests; only necessities. Anything else I would buy, trade, hunt, or find along the way. Sword, bow, arrows. They all were placed on their mantels on the wall. Once I was completely finished, I walked outside with my lantern and lit fire by the river. In the fire light, I found my footing down to the water and jumped in, washing away any remnants of the last week’s effort.

I dried myself by the fire poking the embers with a stick as sleep slipped its arms around my shoulder and tried to coax me to bed. The moon had nearly traveled across the night sky but the first traces of morning weren’t visible yet. I needed to sleep but I had to finish unpacking first. I doused the fire and walked back to my home. The bookcase slid to the side with a little effort and I walked into the back store room. I didn’t need the lantern light because wall to wall, corner to corner were shelves of clear vials and jars. All stoppered, all containing a glowing wisp of faint light. Some of the shelves were only one or two vials deep, others nearly had vials falling off the edge they were so full. More empty vials lined the shorter shelves in the center where a table stood with strips of parchment littering it and the floor.

I did some quick math in my head and arrived at the numbers twelve and two. I jostled around the center shelves until twelve small vials and two jars sat on the table. I began writing labels for each of them. “Physical, alpha, left arm, gash, arrow, non-fatal.” “Physical, beta, headache, 8 perceived, non-fatal.” “Physical, alpha, abdomen, stab-wound, sword, fatal.” “Mental, alpha, hallucinations, fear, non-fatal. Note: hallucinations lead to madness.”

I put a label onto every container, recalling the first and only instance I didn’t label a vial. That quest still haunted my memories. I picked up a vial, reread the label, and concentrated. I recalled the body, the arm, the flesh. I recalled the blood flowing back into the gash, the muscle knitting itself back together, the skin sealing itself once again. I held the memory in my mind and recited the incantation, a glowing wisp leaving my lips. I caught it in the vial and set it off to the side.

I filled all fourteen containers and found their locations among the shelves. I took the few remaining empty vials from my sack and returned them to their shelf as well. By time I made it to my bed, the sun was peaking over the horizon and I could make out the rooftops of the town not far off. I could still get a few hours of sleep.

~~~

I awoke to shouts and screams from the distance. My immediate reaction was to jump out of bed and draw my sword, but I found myself safe in my home where the river left the forest. I collected myself, warding off the sleep that still clung to my mind until I registered the screams again. I threw on my cape and sprinted out the door and came to a halt.

The town burned. Flames rose higher than the rooftops and smoke higher still until the sun was blotted out by the blackness in the sky. I sprinted again sheathing my sword and swinging my arms faster, driving my legs forward not caring about my bare feet. I arrived at the outskirts of the town where many were gathered. Some stood and watched in paralyzed fear, others were in action dragging bodies from the flames. I immediately started barking orders.

“If you can stand yourself, help me!” I called to the crowd. “Move all those who cannot breath here! Anyone who is badly burned here! If anyone is fighting for their life, get them to me now!”

I pointed to each location as I called them, prioritizing each wound based on its lethality. I attended to those that were almost dead first, reciting incantations over their wounds. I worked on body after body as the came to me, sometimes doing two and three at a time. I focused over every inch of flesh as the knowledge of blood and bone filled my mind.

When there were no more fighting for their lives, we went to work on the town. Bucket after bucket of water was taken from the river as we worked to douse the flame. I stayed in the same area so I could easily be found when someone needed my attention. It took the majority of the day to douse the last of the fire and by time the sun began to set, we began to search for the ones that didn’t make it. By morning we had rows upon rows of bodies laying in the grass. Most were charred black, others were bloodied and crushed. I looked at them all as tears streaked my face. They were a terrible reminder that with all of my gifts, I could not fight death. I spoke a silent incantation as I let their image bore its way into my memory. They would not be forgotten.

The townsfolk made camp outside the remains of the town as we worked to rebuild in the next several weeks. I had made an early trip back to my home to pass the injuries into my stores but spent the greater amount of time at the town, even sleeping in the camp on the outskirts when I was too tired to make it back to my home.

We were several weeks into repairs when a group on horseback rode into town from the east. Clad in armor, swords, and shields, they were on the trail of a group of raiders. The asked for the direction they had left, obviously having visited our town. Before they left, they announced any who could keep up could join their party. I walked down from my house too late and only heard the retelling of the knights seeking justice. Charred flesh flashed before my eyes. I could still smell them. I could still hear the screams from the village all the way to my house on the forest’s edge. Something snapped inside of me.

I ran to my house a filled my rucksack with supplies as quickly as I could. I loaded my horse with my rucksack and a bedroll then returned to my home for a second satchel. I was fast but not that fast. It took me over an hour to fully pack my horse and choose the right vials. By the time I was speeding off into the west I was several hours behind the knights. I had to take the journey slow, searching for signs of the path when they went off road. If they were at full gallop, there’s no telling how far behind I may be.

I would stop to sleep and eat allowing my horse to graze and drink before we were off again. I pushed my horse hard to the next village and the next after that, each time coming across remains of buildings and bodies. I did as much as I could when I stopped but many were already gone. Their bodies weighed on my mind each time I left a village but in each village, I found we were still on the trail. After days and days of travel, I’m not sure what fueled me on whatever quest I had invented in my mind. I tried to remind myself I was a healer but I could only think of death. How many people had a knelt next to unable to use my gifts? I could see all of their faces in my sleep and when I would wake, they ran next to me speaking into my ear.

I finally caught up to the knights after weeks of travel. It took little time to relay who I was and what I was doing, and they were happy to have a healer join the group. Their scouts let me know we were only hours behind but the raiders had already made it back to their city. It wasn’t promising for the group to do anything against a city full of raiders and thugs and the discussion turned to leaving for more reinforcements.

“I’ll go.” I said.

They all laughed at me before I spoke again.

“Listen. If it’s just me, they’ll let me in. Especially because I’m a healer. I’ll say I need more supplies and I can get more information from inside the walls of the city than what your scouts already have.” I reasoned. It didn’t matter. I was going with or without their stay.

They discussed back and forth and decided it would be a good idea to at least send one with me. I was a little unsure about it but I agreed and a younger knight accompanied me.

It took us to the late evening before we approached the gates of the city where we were stopped and questioned. The knight had left his armor and shield behind so there was no indication of bad intentions. We were allowed to pass under the premise of being a healer and his ward taking shelter and resupplying for the night.

We waited out the night in an inn near the gate. Once my companion was asleep, I snuck a vial out of my satchel and went down to the inn bar for a drink. I drank slowly taking my time. Even for as late as it was, the bar was lively was song and dance. I finished my drink and went back up to the room and slipped the empty flask back into my satchel. I spoke a small incantation over my sleeping companion and went to sleep myself.

I was awakened by my companion near morning to innkeeper knocking on our door. He required the healer so I followed him downstairs where a makeshift infirmary was waiting for me. Patrons were laying on tables and the bar top, some unconscious while others vomited violently. Everyone had a dark color around their eyes and mouths with red sores breaking out across their skin.

“Plague. Quickly, get my companion upstairs. He has been traveling with me and will be immune to this disease. Send him to the nearest guard post to alert the king. We must find out how widespread this plague has become.” I ordered these commands concisely, diving right into my work.

Within the hour, the patrons were healthy again. Shortly after my companion arrived with an update from the guards. The city was infected throughout. Seldom were those still healthy. I sent word through my companion and newly healthy volunteers from the bar to the corners of the city to alert all guards to gather the citizenry in the city square. I would set up an infirmary there for healing.

I left the inn following the volunteers and found the nearest guard. After a brief healing session, I sent the guard out for equipment for the infirmary and to find any other healers in the city and have them meet me in the city center. He pointed my way and I made quick work of the empty streets, arriving in a large courtyard with a well and pool at the center. There were already two gathered, a male and female. From their conversation, I inferred they were healers. They were already discussing the plague when I introduced myself.

They asked if I had seen this before to which I replied I hadn’t. The man, Ellien, said he had. It was the same plague he encountered several years back at the capital city. It took many healers to bring it under control and back then, it had taken days to manifest across the entire city. Ellien and Mayra continued their discussion about the outbreak as I watched guards enter from the North end carrying cots and supplies. We attended to them immediately so they could get back to their work.

Throughout the course of the day, the courtyard was filled with people seeking healing from the plague. We three saw to everyone that came and by nightfall, the city was cleansed. Ellien, Mayra, and I were exhausted but each went our separate ways in search of our warm bed. Before they were out of my eyesight, i unstopped two more vials and recited incantations. The light left the bottles immediately. I didn’t make and my companion awoke me on the street outside the inn.

I was weak, barely able to move and my breathing came in heavy breaths. He picked me up and carried me inside.

“Find Ellien,” I managed to say before passing out again.

I’m not sure how long I was out but I awoke again to sunlight streaming through my window. My body aches all over and my mouth was caked with dried saliva and mucus. I tried to spit it out but only choked on it, each convulsion pulsing down my body in aches and pains. My companion rushed into the room and held me as I vomited onto the floor and collapsed into bed.

“Ellien?” I asked.

He was sick, same as me. He had even gone for Mayra. She was worse than us both. Before I lost consciousness again, he relayed a message from another guard. Something new was affecting people, something they had never seen before.

...

My companion let me know it was a day later when I woke again. I still coughed and choked on my own saliva but was able to get it out of my throat this time. I cautiously got up from bed and felt the muscles in my back groan as my companion told me about this new plague, this new disease. Wounds were just opening up and blood flowed. Wounds that have never existed were suddenly there, skin just opening up to show what was hidden underneath. I reached for his arm and what felt like an eternity later, he set me down in a cot still standing in the city courtyard.

I gave him instructions through fits of coughing as I slowly regained enough strength to begin to heal myself. He brought water to me, lots of water. And moved the cots in a way so I could remain seated. Then the people began to show. I ran my fingers up and down their wounds, calling the blood back into their bodies and sealing the skin. After each one, I gained just a little more strength. Each body healed helped heal me just a little more. My companion kept me fed, kept my hydrated and by the late evening. The bodies had ceased. I fell asleep right there.

In the morning, I found Mayra’s body in a cot next to me and I brought her back to health, my own strength now returned. Ellien didn’t make it. That did sting a little bit but I was strangely alright with it. Mayra thanked me and we hobbled our tired bodies back to the inn for something to eat when we were stopped by a royal guard. At the request of the king, I was being summoned.

I grabbed my satchel from inside the inn and walked with the royal guards to the castle gate. They whispered instructions as we entered a great hall and into the throne room but didn’t pay any attention. All I saw was the king. He bled from cuts all over his arms and one great wound in his abdomen. It seemed similar to a sword wound. Ignoring the guards, I was at his side in a moment running my hands up and down his arms. He was weak from blood loss but within minutes, his usual stature returned. As I pulled the bandage from the abdominal wound, I spoke just loud enough for the king to hear.

“Do you know what it a healer is?” I asked, placing my hand on the bloody mess. “A healer is someone who restores health. Almost all healers work in one manner, by amplifying the health of another. But I work in a different manner. Not only do I amplify your health, but I remove the affliction as well. It is, essentially, twice the healing.”

I removed my hand from his abdomen where there was now new flesh. He looked down and smiled, thanking me.

“The interesting thing about removing someone’s affliction though,” I paused while I stepped away from him. “It has to go somewhere.”

I reached into my satchel and pulled out a large jar. In it, a black mist swirled around giving off a dark glow.

“You see, when I helped cure a city of plague, I held onto it,” I continued. “When I healed my compatriot of a sword wound to his abdomen, I held on to it as well. I have held onto everything I have ever healed, used them at appropriate times. But none as deadly as this.”

I held the jar out and realization struck the king’s face.

I opened the jar and spilled out its contents on the ground and immediate screams were heard from outside the palace. I walked away as king’s face blackened and melted from his face from a fire that wasn’t there. Walked passed the guards that were crushed under rubble that didn’t exist. I left the castle and listened to the screams of the men and women of the city. Saw everything when I walked down the streets. People bitten in half, cut to ribbons, crushed and bloodied, burnt to a crisp. I entered the inn to retrieve my companion who coward in horror at what was happening in front of him. The city still stood unharmed but many would would question how a dragon could lay waste to an entire people but spare the city.

...

I don’t know what was destroyed inside of me when my town was attacked but become less of a healer that day. I had opened many of my vials before to bless my arrows and sword with killing blows. I had opened many on quests to help us on our way. Never had I opened a vial like this. It tore something from me. But I found I no longer cared.

As a healer, you are often mocked for being pacifistic. However, you have a secret. When you heal the wounds of another, their injuries are stored by your magic, to be inflicted on another at your leisure. You have never used this ability before, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

[antiaircraftcrayon]

She giggled at him.

“What do you mean?” She asked.

He blushed hard and smiled sheepishly as his free hand rubbed the back of his head.

He tried to find the right words but again, he couldn’t quite get there.

“Do you remember the day the snow melts after winter and you can see the green grass again?” He asked.

“Yes,” she replied.

“And the trees. The trees begin to bud and pretty soon they flower?”

Again she replied yes.

“The sun rises earlier and earlier and the day is just brighter. A little less grey.” he continued. “You can hear the animals again. Squirrels in the trees. Insects in the grass and air. The world comes alive again. The breeze is warm. It caresses your skin instead of biting it.”

“That’s how you feel to me,” he said.

“Oh,” she responded. “I quite like the winter though.”

She happily continued to hold his hand but the happiness was missed by him. He thought harder while his hand slipped from hers. She noticed and looked at his pensive face.

Finally, he decided on what to say.

“You feel like winter then.”

She smirked as she laced her fingers back into his.

“But you like the spring,” she said.

He blushed and spoke softly. “Yes, but I like you.”

She smiled. It was a soft smile. Not a grin but a smile laced with the beginnings of fondness, the earliest bud of love.

She stood up on her tip toes and kissed him.

“You feel like spring,” she said.

His grip grew just a little tighter, a bit more firm, ever so much more sure than what it was as they continued to walk. Because he knew what spring felt like.

Prompt #1030

He wants to make his words grand, to convey just how much he loves her. But he fumbles and flusters and he says exactly what he means, with a hand in hers.

“You feel like spring.”