It’s been some time since I’ve been able to post anything here, for several reasons. There have been some changes in my life over the past few weeks, as well as a bit of being under the weather.
Additionally, and on a brighter and crazier note, National Novel Writing Month has kicked off, and I’m giving that a try. Writing a novel of at least 50,000 words in a month is the goal, plus there are social elements to it as well. Succeed or fail, it’s a good way to practice some longer writing.
I don’t intend to leave off the Flash Fiction, though. It’s a lot of fun, and likely a needed break. In that vein, this week is a Visual Dare triple picture prompt. The pictures seemed to lead to a story from one to the other.
There is a saying that a King must be able to hold his own, or the title means nothing. That is especially true today, as my soldiers, my friends, lie either at my feet or lost to the sea. My armor was tossed into the treacherous ocean lest it drag me down. Salt water crusts my hair, curling it like the innocent curls of my daughter sleeping in her cradle. Only the steel blade of Cinniuint, forged long ago and passed King to King remains. While I yet stand, my land shall not be defeated.
Salvaging a rowboat, I press up a stream coming out of a cave. Lined with razor sharp boulders, the way itself conspires to keep me from my victory. Crystals and waves reflect the sunlight, swirling it into dripping rainbows of colored mist. Moss tugs at the paddles, striving send me toward the sea.
Finally, the path yields to patient will. The cacophony of light fades, replaced by warm sun and blue sky. Just ahead, the stream widens into a smooth pond. I leap onto shore, the rage of my people echoing in my challenge. The cry is answered by a series of ripples in the smooth liquid mirror. Three figures in robes, rise out of the water, and can only be the Water Druids themselves. Tassels on the robes dance in the water like seeking vines. The hoods show no sign of ever being submerged. Ancient runes line the shoulders and chests of each figure. As I step forward to spring and strike them down for all that they have inflicted, the central one lifts his head and speaks.
“At last, you have finally come.”