Category Archives: The Pen

Mountain Time

Calmed like water

how can I be

worried when God’s own hand

smooths the crags and

crevasses and sand

the rocks the rain

and wind the stain

worn away and I’ll

be gone but they remain

the mountains eased

eternal rest

settled down the test

of time they seem

so solid yet the

ever changing face the

space the trees that cling

the clouds

ring peaks and show

me I am small, I’ll

be gone but they’ll go

on and on and on

Golden Dragons

Three Word Wednesday CXCIX: Abuse, Hatred, Cramp

Leaving in the morning for Colorado and not sure how much internet access I will have so I’ll check in when I can.  The Writer’s Book of Days prompts will continue to post on their own.

Aledon leaned down and stroked her neck.  “Just one more pass lovely, and then we can head for home.” The golden-scaled dragon launched them from the cliff and  circled around so the sun was at their back. There was smoke on the ramparts and even from the sky Aledon could hear the screams.  The barbican was breached and the archers were firing repeatedly.  Smoke from fires set around the walls created a haze that made it difficult for them to see.  Aledon searched for Sulniara in the melee and pointed.  The dragon wheeled and dove for the ground.

Aledon struck with his sword as they glided along the surface and those he missed, the dragon batted with her claws, clearing a path to where Sulniara fought, back to her horse.  The dragon turned and Aledon extended his arm. “Sulniara!  Jump!”

Sulniara swung her own sword one last time and grabbed for Aledon’s arm.  He swung her up behind him and the dragon pounced and fled to the sky.  “Look!  They are on the run!”

Aledon looked where she was pointing and sure enough, Thornley’s men were retreating.  Aledon saw blood on her arm.  He glanced around in time to feel her slump against him.  He pulled her around so he could hang on to her.  “Goldensoar!  Take us home!”  She turned her head and her amber iris darkened and she turned north and sped through the sky.  She turned through the pass between the mountains to an almost hidden lake.  Goldensoar dove for the bottom and landed on the ledge that led to her cave.  She knelt so Aledon could dismount, carrying Sulniara carefully to the cave.  She moaned as he carefully laid her on a pile of furs near the firepit.  “Damn, she has a deep slice in her side.  He ripped her tunic away from the wound and tore it into pieces.  He folded the pieces and pressed it against the wound to stop the bleeding.  “I need herbs, damn all, Sulniara.”  He bound the cloth to her and placed his hands on either side of his dragon’s face.  He leaned his head against her and pictured the plant in his mind.  “Go, now, lovely.  Hurry!”

The dragon waddled to the cave entrance, no longer graceful on the ground.  She turned one last time to look at Aledon, then left the cave.  Aledon heard her take off and arranged wood for the firepit.  He started the fire and poured water from his skin into a pot that hung over the pit.  It would be hot by the time Goldensoar returned.  He knelt next to Sulniara and brushed her black hair away from her face.  He covered her with fur and went outside to wash himself in the lake.  He stripped off his tunic and splashed the cool water from the lake over himself, shaking his red hair and beard.  He looked around at the red streaked, jagged walls that climbed straight up.  There were passages but the cave wasn’t visible from the sky.  He glanced up listening for Goldensoar’s return.  He could hear her cries as she circled before descending.

“Thank you, girl!”  He took the herbs she clutched in her claws and hurried into the cave. Aledon stirred them into the heating water and let it boil.  He tore strips of cloth and made a poultice with the herbs.

“Easy, love.  This is going to hurt some.”  Sulniara writhed as he placed the poultice on the wound.  He bound it to her and covered her back up, noting the bruises.  She had taken a lot of abuse this round.  She was pale but resting easier already. His hatred of the Grey King and all he stood for hungered for revenge for Sulniara and the people that were starving under his evil reign.  The first to die would be Thornley.

Goldensoar had curled up in the back of the cave and though they were not cramped, she was able to stretch her neck enough to lay her head next to Sulniara, her scales pulsing with agitation.

“She will live to fight again, lovely.  For now she will sleep and I suggest we do as well.”  Aledon curled up next to Sulniara so he would know if she stirred in the night.  Goldensoar nudged him with her head. “Goodnight old girl.”

W is for Wolf

Sunday Scribbling prompt #225- letter.  This story brought to you by the letter W for Wolf

Some people were afraid of storms.  Jae loved them.  They made her feel like every cell in her body was alight. The sky had darkened to the west and the clouds crept closer all afternoon.  The air smelled like rain and Jae raised her face to the sky and breathed the taste of lightening in.  She could hear the rumble of thunder still in the distance.  She wondered where Aedan was, if he and the pack were up in the mountains hunting.

She wanted to hate Aedan.  She was still angry at him.  It was confusing to be mad at Aedan the wolf and then like Aedan the man.  She knew they were the same, just as she was the same inside, whether wolf or human.  But, that wasn’t quite true was it?  She needed to see her family.  She hadn’t seen them since the first change.  She knew Simon spoke with them, letting them know she was okay.  She just wanted to see for herself.  Could she change and slip up to their home with the storm covering her?  She had never changed at will before but she knew she could. It wasn’t pleasant, but not painful either.  There was no one around, but she still felt exposed.  She stripped off her clothing and laid it in a neat pile under the bench on the porch, out of the way of the weather.  Jae walked out toward the stream where she had sat and talked with Aedan and concentrated on the wolf inside.  She felt a stretching and bending inside herself that was uncomfortable but familiar. The weird perspective change made her feel slightly nauseous for a moment until she adjusted.  The ground seemed much closer, smells and sounds assaulted her, clear and pure.  She could separate and name each one individually.

The storm was much closer now.  Small animals were burrowed down and even the birds were silent and crouched on branches nearest the trunks of the trees.  The world around her breathed with anticipation for the coming wind and lightening.  Jae took off at an easy lope, heading for the tree line.  She stayed in the edge of the woods.  Finally her house was in sight.  This might have been a mistake.  No might about it.  This was definitely a mistake.  She stood at the edge of the woods listening.  There was movement in the house and she could hear a fiddle.  Her dad was playing.  It was raining now and she slipped closer to the house.  The darkness and noise from the rain would hide her.  The sound of the fiddle became clearer.  She could hear her mother singing.  She was probably dancing with her little brother.  They sounded happy.  They sounded like they didn’t miss her at all.  All the pain and anger welled up in her and she raised her muzzle and let go to the moon and the lightening and all the storm, a howl that came from her heart, from her gut, from the place where all the unfairness lived.

The fiddling stopped.  Jae looked around in a panic, but it was too late.  The front door opened and her father’s shape was silhouetted in the light spilling out from the house, fiddle still in his hand.  Jae bowed her head, but stood her ground.  Her dad slowly raised the fiddle and began to play a few notes.  Jae whined, he played a few more.  She stretched and began to howl again as the man she had known as her father played a sad song to the little white wolf at the edge of the woods. A bolt of lightening hit something in the woods and lit up the sky for a moment.  Jae and her dad looked at each other.  Jae would always remember that he lowered his eyes first.  She ran through the night and the rain and the wind, all the way back to Simon’s house.  She fell asleep dreaming of fiddles and thunder.

More wolf Moon Stories

Earnest T.

Three Word Wednesday CXCVIII: bait, jump, victim

Carefully shopping for each item on his list took time and research. People who were expert had to be approached carefully so they wouldn’t suspect what he was about. He had worked all week on his plans and was certain he was ready.  He donned all the special gear, he packed all his tools and slipped out in the pre-dawn darkness.  He could hear his own breathing in the silence.  He closed the car door with a quiet little snick and winced as the sound of the engine catching pierced the quiet.  He eased out of the driveway and went to what would be the site of his victim’s last appearance.  He was patiently waiting for the bait to be taken and when it finally happened he was so tense, sweating in the humid dawn, that he jumped and almost lost control of the situation.

At last the job was complete and he packed up, making sure he left no clue that he had disturbed the serenity of the solitary place.  One last glance around and savoring the feeling of triumph, he headed home.  He quietly eased back into the house and put everything away.  He started the coffee pot and when the aroma had filled the house, his wife stumbled to the kitchen in her robe and slippers.

“Hey there sleepy head.” He smiled and kissed her on the forehead handing her a cup.

“How did it go?” She asked after yawning.

“Look in the sink!” He pointed, his face saying everything.

There resting in all it’s glory, was a twelve pound bass.