Ah, I see that the higher ground gives us another comic moment in your fairy tale, when the skunk, taking the higher ground, sprays the Bard and Heir Miles after getting startled by a fairy god-botherer who wants to convert them all to Gnosticism. Also, and I'm not complaining at all, but today would have been a really good day for a "Splat!" prompt.
The higher ground "You found Lute!" The Bard and legendary body poet, Marco Kwan, stared longingly at the long-necked instrument. The cherry-wood body seemed to glow softly in the early-morning light, and the strings shimmered as though they were made of gold. "You woke me up far too early, but you found Lute!" "It was-" started Heir Miles, but the Bard pushed his hand, palm outwards and fingers pointing to Heaven, into his face. "Shush," he said. "This can all wait until I've finished my sleep. Come back at noon." Heir Miles turned to leave, but the Bard caught his arm. "Leave Lute," he said. "But come back at noon."
"He was a bit grumpy, Skunk," said Miles. He and the skunk had sat down in the shelter of a small rise: a tree growing on top of the rise had gnarled roots like witches fingers that broke through the soil and quested downwards to new earth, and they were leaning back against them. "Do you think everyone is bad tempered in the world?" Skunk sniffed the air, turning his head from side to side. "That Hermit was grumpy too," said Heir Miles. "I wasn't sorry when he went boom, you know. And that troll living under the bridge, she was grumpy. And that witch you bit-" Skunk darted away, following the curve of the land up and round until he was standing on the higher ground above Heir Miles. He sniffed the air still, following his nose towards something strange. "What is it, Skunk?" said Heir Miles. He got to his feet, and checked to see that he still had his sword, just in case. He also checked that he still had the sticks of dynamite that Skunk had found in the cave with Lute. "Don't you ever shut up?" said a voice behind him, and he jumped a foot in the air, but came down facing the voice. Which belonged to the Bard who was rubbing his eyes and scowling. "I can't get any sleep with you moaning like this." "Behold the awesome power of the Gnostic Messiah!" screamed a very-high pitched voice from somewhere in the tree, and bright white light flashed like the onset of a summer thunderstorm. There was a smell of oranges, very briefly, and then Skunk, startled and scared, sprayed everywhere. The Bard and Heir Miles started coughing, and both fell to their knees.
[OK, couldn't resist helping you out with the fairy tale.]
Greg - consider yourself lucky that I haven't resorted to prompts like 'the miraculous escape of Samual' or 'a last second rescue' or something like that :P
No, you certainly couldn't resist. And I'm glad of that :D
2 comments:
Ah, I see that the higher ground gives us another comic moment in your fairy tale, when the skunk, taking the higher ground, sprays the Bard and Heir Miles after getting startled by a fairy god-botherer who wants to convert them all to Gnosticism.
Also, and I'm not complaining at all, but today would have been a really good day for a "Splat!" prompt.
The higher ground
"You found Lute!" The Bard and legendary body poet, Marco Kwan, stared longingly at the long-necked instrument. The cherry-wood body seemed to glow softly in the early-morning light, and the strings shimmered as though they were made of gold. "You woke me up far too early, but you found Lute!"
"It was-" started Heir Miles, but the Bard pushed his hand, palm outwards and fingers pointing to Heaven, into his face.
"Shush," he said. "This can all wait until I've finished my sleep. Come back at noon."
Heir Miles turned to leave, but the Bard caught his arm.
"Leave Lute," he said. "But come back at noon."
"He was a bit grumpy, Skunk," said Miles. He and the skunk had sat down in the shelter of a small rise: a tree growing on top of the rise had gnarled roots like witches fingers that broke through the soil and quested downwards to new earth, and they were leaning back against them. "Do you think everyone is bad tempered in the world?"
Skunk sniffed the air, turning his head from side to side.
"That Hermit was grumpy too," said Heir Miles. "I wasn't sorry when he went boom, you know. And that troll living under the bridge, she was grumpy. And that witch you bit-"
Skunk darted away, following the curve of the land up and round until he was standing on the higher ground above Heir Miles. He sniffed the air still, following his nose towards something strange.
"What is it, Skunk?" said Heir Miles. He got to his feet, and checked to see that he still had his sword, just in case. He also checked that he still had the sticks of dynamite that Skunk had found in the cave with Lute.
"Don't you ever shut up?" said a voice behind him, and he jumped a foot in the air, but came down facing the voice. Which belonged to the Bard who was rubbing his eyes and scowling. "I can't get any sleep with you moaning like this."
"Behold the awesome power of the Gnostic Messiah!" screamed a very-high pitched voice from somewhere in the tree, and bright white light flashed like the onset of a summer thunderstorm. There was a smell of oranges, very briefly, and then Skunk, startled and scared, sprayed everywhere. The Bard and Heir Miles started coughing, and both fell to their knees.
[OK, couldn't resist helping you out with the fairy tale.]
Greg - consider yourself lucky that I haven't resorted to prompts like 'the miraculous escape of Samual' or 'a last second rescue' or something like that :P
No, you certainly couldn't resist. And I'm glad of that :D
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