The single obnoxiously short lock of hair vied for Corna’s attention, as she twisted her wrists in the shackle pinning her to the wall. That irritated her almost as much as the wizard Elres working on something at the table in the center of the room. He stood with is back to her, that and the sheet draping over his foul deed preventing her from seeing why he’d disfigured her so.

They stood behind him. Ancis knew they were there, as they had been there when he needed them the most. Drancent the wise. Eansin the strong. Wulfa the huntress. Gryany and her spells. Even little Rida was there though she’d only showed up for the last leg of his journey. He could not have made it this far without all of them.

Welcome to day 24 of Fyretober! I hope you’re all enjoying a month of flash fiction as much as I am. Enjoy today’s writing challenge from Fyrecon’s Fyretober! Her black cloak couldn’t keep the chill out. During more hours than Liliana should’ve spent in the rain, water had worked through the little protection the thing…

Her hands twisted about each other and the chain she clasped frantically in her hands. Sitting back, I plopped on hand on the armrest of my chair and considered her. The veil hung low, barely showing the trembling lower lip. The dark material revealed little to mortal eyes hiding her identity from those watching my shops entrance. Unfortunately for her, I wasn’t mortal. Miss Driffin’s identity was no secret from me.

“Happy Taco Friday!” A sack was dumped unceremoniously on a table with a wet thud. As Dargo sat back expectantly. His wings rose behind is back, and if he’d hair instead of scales he was certain it would be standing on end.

Fechin flicked the end of his tail against his beak, laying on the stone outcrop as he watched the little swath of desert he could see. Not that either it nor the stone canyon he nested in were what he’d term exciting. Just golden sands. Orange-red rock, wind, sun, and moving shadows.

The shops bells chimed a hollow jangle behind Arold. The soft sound near deafening next to the scratch of Arold’s knife over wood. Setting the knife on the table, he rose from his stool brushing shavings from his apron as he turned. The words of welcome vanished when he saw the waif that stood timidly inside the door.

Mandrasath shifted, his claws digging through soft sand. His eyes felt heavy, unwilling to open nor did his lungs seem willing to draw a deep breath. Mind meandering to focus on breath, his mind stopped. He could not draw any breath.

The library is mine.

Not since the great hero epidemic of the previous age had Insey been considered the jewel of the continent. Well worth beholding and marveling at its resplendence. Now, however, the city crept through the current age mostly as a bygone word, a place to be avoided, or if absolutely all else proved impossible, one spent the absolute minimum of time there. All else had failed for Khestri.