The following short was done for a "flash-fic" contest on a +Google community for writers. I hope you enjoy. It's a little different. The prompt gave non-sense words that had to be used within the story. So ... take it as it is.
The smoke, heavy with the acrid stench of burning flesh and
utter destruction, danced in seductive waves around her feet.
“Strawp!” The plaintive call of a young dragon sounded in the
distance. Her heart clenched at the sound.
Her men had fought so bravely, she thought. How many had they
lost this day?
The Murtes had long been an enemy. She’d warned the tribunal,
entreated the grimble to listen. They had to hear the threats as clearly as she
had. Oh, they wove them deep inside pretty words. Yet she’d seen through it,
she’d known that the platitudes falling from the mouth of the plarft meant
nothing. All he’d said was pure dreamol. She’d told them as much.
It had all been to no avail.
She scanned the devastation. Her heart sank even further, a
feat she hadn’t known possible before.
“Darthin.”
She sighed as a large hand curled gently over her bare
shoulder.
“If only—”
“No,” Arwin interrupted, his grip tightening and his voice
hardening. “There’s nothin’ more you could’ve done, lass.”
The deep rumble of her uncle’ voice, something that had
always brought a great comfort. That wasn’t the case when she stood staring
through the gates of Hell.
“Come, lass. They be needin’ help to sort out the florple and
the grimble have asked for your presence.”
Bitterness burned in the pit of her stomach. Bile rose at the
back of her throat. Darthin raised a hand, gesturing toward the blood-soaked moor
before them. “Now they want to hear what I have to say, eh?”
Arwin scratched at his stubble-covered jaw with a single
bloodied finger, and tilted his head to one side. “At least you know they’ll
not dismiss you in the future.”
She shook her head and turned on her heel. Senseless,
completely senseless were the only words she could conjure to describe it all
as she followed Arwin away from one battlefield and into another.
Highland Surprise
Thoughts of the Scottish
Highlands and her ancestral home there were a balm to her battered soul. At
least she hoped they would be in time. At the present, she wasn’t sure anything
could repair the damage inflicted by her ex-husband. There was no way she could
atone for her mistakes, not in her mind. She could only pray, and she had, that
the drastic measures to which she had gone would put her on the right path
toward healing.
The bark of the Silkies
rang out and filled the air above the crash of the waves from the Celtic Sea.
Birds screeched and called to one another as they circled and swept in and out
of the large stones. Wispy fog turned and twisted in an erotic dance around the
stone circle in the waning light. The sun dropped ever lower in the sky, it
sparked, and burned in muted shades of purple, red, and orange.
The reasons Greer found
herself in this place were many and varied, but as she stared out over the
sight before her, she knew it had not been a mistake coming here.
Greer Mackenzie needed to
find herself again. She needed to find the zest for life she’d once held. The
past few years of her life had all but sucked the last vestiges of anything
happy inside her heart. Yet here, even though she’d only just arrived, she
couldn’t deny the magic of this place.
That she had become so
cynical grated on her nerves, it reminded her too much of Michael Donovan. A
shiver skirted down her spine at the very thought of his name. With a concerted
effort, she pushed the image of his face to the back of her mind and locked it
away in its safe little box where even his memory couldn’t hurt her any longer.
On her way from Inverness
to the highlands where her family home was located, she hadn’t given much
thought to the countryside she would encounter on the way. The sight of the
stone-circle had been too enticing to pass up. The desire to see if she could
find a little of the magic she desired and to see if maybe, just maybe the
legends were true made it impossible for her to drive past.
Ballet had consumed her life
since she was just a toddler. Having excelled at Julliard, graduating at the
top of her class the offers to join the prestigious companies in the business
she truly had the world at her feet. That was before she met Michael Donovan
and everything changed.
He had promised her the
world and to everyone on the outside he had provided just that. They lived in
an upscale penthouse apartment in downtown Manhattan. Greer was the proud owner
of a very popular dance studio who catered to the children of the elite in New
York society. More than a few of her students had gone on to study and graduate
from Julliard with high honors. Owning her own dance studio had made a dream
come true for Greer. It allowed her to continue to give to others what she had
dedicated so much of her life.
Unfortunately, Michael had a different idea
about what Greer should dedicate her time and efforts. Nothing was to hold a
higher regard or responsibility than the one she owed him. He spared nothing to
ensure she understood to whom she belonged.
When it all came to a near
deadly end, Greer knew she had no choice but to get as far away from any and
everything associated with him or his family as she could.
Greer had grown up on the
stories of her grandmother and mother about living in the Scottish Highlands.
Though they had left when Greer’s mother was but a child, the memories were
just as alive as if Greer had traveled the miles herself.
Greer held those stories close
to her heart for so many years, locked away in the deepest recesses where
Michael couldn’t taint them. When she opened that door and looked once again,
the decision was simple.
Within two weeks, she had
contacted distant cousins who still lived in Scotland to inquire about the
family home. She sold the studio and liquidated all the assets she could get
her hands on, packed all her belongings, and made the trek halfway round the
world.
“Well, Remi,” Greer
smiled down into the topaz eyes of the large Doberman at her side. “Looks like
we might have found the right place for a little magic after all.”
“Aye, you’ll find more
than a bit of magic at this place, lass.” The male voice rang out and caused
Greer to startle and whirl round.
Remi was instantly on his
feet and on guard, a low rolling growl emanating from his chest.
“Oh, my goodness,” Greer
said, holding a hand over her chest. Her heart thumped hard against her
sternum. “You frightened me half to death.”
“I’ll beg your pardon
then as I meant no harm to ye,” he said, a crooked grin curling at the corner
of a wide mouth. Dark blue eyes twinkled with humor and he nodded toward Remi
and muttered some words in what Greer didn’t understand, but knew were Gaelic. “Nor
your fine looking dog either.”
Greer blinked as the man
came to stand a few feet from them, and Remi relaxed onto his haunches. She
frowned in confusion as Remi relaxed back onto his haunches and stopped
growling. He never behaved that way around people, especially men, he was
unfamiliar with, he was trained not to behave that way. What in the hell is
wrong with this dog? She thought with more than a bit of frustration.
“Are ye out for a little
stroll, then?” the man asked and Greer’s eyes snapped up to meet his.
“I’m not sure if I should
answer that question to be honest,” Greer said raising a shaky hand to smooth
the hair away from her face.
“Oh,” he said with
unmasked humor in his voice and expression. “And why’s that?”
“Well, I don’t have the
faintest idea who you are for one and then it’s nearly dark—“
“Aye, I’ll be begging
your pardon again, as I’ve forgotten my manners altogether haven’t I,” he
chuckled and took a step closer with an outstretched hand. “Ian Macalister.”
He took Greer’s hand in a
firm grasp but instead of shaking it as she expected he just held it between
them. She had to crane her neck to meet his eyes. Although by any stretch of
the imagination would Greer ever be considered tall, this man towered over her.
He must be well over six feet, and well put together as her grandmother would have
said, Greer thought. Blue eyes bore into her green and she felt an embarrassing
flush creeping up her chest and throat. His proximity made her uncomfortable
and she took a cautious step back, wondering yet again, why the dog that should
have warned him to keep his distance seemed to be of no concern what so ever.
Useless animal she
thought once again, though she knew that was a complete lie as he proved his
worth on more than one occasion.
“I’ll be the caretaker of
the Mackenzie place just over the hillock here. You’ll be the cousin come from
New York I’m supposing?” His voice was deep and carried the strong burr of the
area causing his words to sound just the faintest bit harsh, yet there was a
definite underlying humor in his words.
“Uh … yes. Yes, I am.
Greer Mackenzie. It’s a pleasure to meet you Mr. Macalister.”
“No now, lass there’s no
need for the formality of calling me by the Mister,” Ian chuckled. “As we’ll be
having more than a bit of contact we might as well get on with calling the
other by our given name, don’t you think?”
“What—” Greer blinked and
removed her hand from his firm grasp. “What are you talking about? More than a
bit of contact?”
“Oh so you’ll not be
knowing then.”
Greer wasn’t the least
bit comfortable pinned beneath the laughing blue gaze. With a deep frown she
asked, “Knowing what?”
“That I live at the
Mackenzie cottage as well as you.”
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