This week’s photo prompt is provided by Fandango. Thank you Fandango!
‘Stay down. Stay hidden.’ A last flash of Poppa’s eyes in the darkness and he was gone.
Folly did as she was told. She knew the forest well, the creak of the trunks in the wind, the sound of twigs falling to leaf litter, the scurry of creatures smaller and more terrified than herself.
But she searched for other sounds – the soft rustle and pause of a lean wolf, the hiss of breath through his snout; the grunt of boar.
Most of all she listened for the Others, the clumsy thrash of their limbs, the hushed, garbled words, the scrape of metal just before …
Come the grey paling of the dawn, the Others had not come. Nor had Poppa.
She crawled from the hollowed out tree, brushed dead leaves from her skirts, evicted a beetle from her shoe.
A voice cried out, lifting the crows from their roosts. Crashing footsteps, garbled words – sharp, ringing as a sword hitting stone.
She closed her eyes and wished …