Running and Riding

His feet were sore and blistered in his shredded shoes. His shirt was bramble-torn and leaf-stained, his trousers dirty and frayed.

The river was a mirage-like solace, too good to be true. He knelt on the bank and lowered cupped hands into the cool water.

After he had drunk his fill, he turned to see a horse, fur as dark as the blackest mud, with rushes tangled in its mane.

‘I’ve heard of you,’ said the man. ‘I won’t ride you, no matter how sore I am.’

The horse snorted and struck its hoof on the ground. ‘You think I mean to drown you.’

‘That’s what you are, isn’t it?’

‘And what are you?’ asked the horse.… Read more

Never Forget the Water (Microfiction Roundup)

This week’s microfiction from Mastodon, all in one cozy update!



She was drawn by light rippling on the water’s surface.

She breached slowly, a creature of scales and slime, with oil-pool eyes and hair of curling tentacles.

There, a woman of flame hovered. The water below her kicked and steamed, and her fire was a gentle roar.

Their eyes met. Slowly, they reached for each other, only to pull away in a hiss of flame and burning scales.

Each day, they met again. To look, to talk, but never to touch.



Something drew him into the forest.… Read more