OK so I don’t normally do “redos” … but I’m making an exception for the What Do You See Challenge this week. Although I needed to write “Moments for Choices” it’s tragic and well… sad. So here is a different take on What I See. You can read another short take on Mrowl in the 2/9/20 WDYS challenge.
Princesses at Play
Princess Willowhair dashed through the corridors of the castle, giggling and screeching with wild toddler delight. Behind her ran her guardian, a large cricat known as Mrowl, Princess of the Crystal Paws Clan. Cricats were a large species of feline with silky fur and crystalline eyes. Many of the cricat clans were bound to the great houses of the Davarian Empire and Queen Subilliet loved them for their sheer beauty and intelligence. She watched with amusement as her only child streaked naked through the halls. With two final great bounds, Mrowl was within distance and pounced on the little princess bringing her down on the padded carpet outside the royal nursery. Willowhair wriggled and laughed as Mrowl dragged her rough tongue across the little princess’ nose. “Gotcha!” Mrowl purred in her silky voice, gently herding the wayward princess back to her mother.
Princess Mrowl was bored. It was such a bother being a princess, she was never allowed to roam or chase mice or climb trees or have any fun at all! Mrowl was currently hiding from a delicate Calico who was her watcher. She delighted in hiding from the old nurse, deep in the castle. Walking along dusty old windowsills, leaving nary a trace of her passage so light and delicate were her pad steps. She stared out the window longingly when a fairy appeared and seemed to beckon her. Mrowl wriggled through the small opening and followed out to the edge of a magnolia branch. There she stopped and stared into an opening blossom. Ethereal light began to glow within it’s petals and Mrowl was entranced.
“Welcome to my kingdom princess Mrowl,” came the dulcet tones of the fairy, “I am princess Aalyiah.”
Maria Antonia has the new 2020 picoftheweek challenge up. Please join us by posting your own photos with #2020picoftheweek. Here is mine for this week, I have chosen to follow along in order this week’s theme is “Peaceful.”
Each morning, I ask for peace Every night I give thanks for peace Every moment in your arms I know peace
The guardian stood proud above the entrance to the sanctuary. It looked so real, every feather, talon and beak cast in perfection. Verdigris of age and winding ivy only serving to make the old monument more awe inspiring. Faelynn stood back gazing at the stone eagle ten times the size of a modern bird of prey. She began to wave her ironwood wand in an complex series of swoops and swirls while she chanted her counter spell.
With agonizing slowness color began to return to his feathers, as he stretched them out to their three meter span. Landing next to Faelynn, his head coming past her waist, he bowed gracefully.
Faelynn smiled, one dark spell undone. She turned to leave when the giant eagle nudged her with his enormous head. “Oh great,” she thought “what am I going to do with a giant bird?” Faelynn smiled at the possibilities.
The rock hut was ancient, abandoned long ago and forgotten by mortals and gods alike, it suited Shara’s purpose well. Here she was safe from the judgement of humans. Here, cloaked by nature and surrounded by growing things, she was at peace. Here she was alone, here she was free.
The withies were gathered to be woven into baskets and mats and all manner of useful things. In a few weeks, she would don her disguise, sell her baskets and return with what few items the forest could not provide. And no one would suspect that on the outskirts of their city winter’s frost never touched the vines and green things grew always, in the presence of Shara the Greenwitch.
The sokudu bike puttered slowly to a stop as Keziah held up a fist, the signal for the group to stop. Her wary gaze took in their surroundings. Flat lands for kilometers in every direction, good spot to make camp. They pitched their tents in the lee of the collapsed buildings. This land hadn’t been much before the war just a tiny oasis surrounded by kilometers of empty desert. Now they called it the “Never Never.” The saying was “Never go out there or you’ll Never come back.” Continue reading “Rest Stop … Last Stop”→
Lilacs covered the side of the house that spring, their perfume heady and sweet. I close my eyes and I can see the cottage, chipped walls in need of paint. I remember it all, water skis and Cranberry Lake, rich coffee at the market, Mt. Baker shining in the distance.
How was I to know it wouldn’t last? That like the winds across Deception Pass you would blow through my life leaving nothing but memories and emptiness, a hole that love once filled.
I put my face to the lilacs, breathing deep; it all comes back, sights, smells and tears.