Callum set his pickaxe down on the counter. The metal ringing pleasantly as the solid weight settled itself. A sound which pleased any dwarf, but which humans had yet to learn to appreciate. Callum scowled at the humans across the counter as rubbed their ears. Not a good way to start asking for a favor.

During October I am bringing you extra flash fiction or poetry in celebration of the season and inspired by

Dwayde raised an eyebrow and wisely kept his unimpressed expression focused on Thewyn. He hefted the lightweight, fabric from the box Airem had just delivered. “You expect me to wear this?”

I ignored everyone’s warnings the morning I marched into the Silver Vale woods. “Don’t go into the woods,” they said. “Don’t risk angering the monster. He’ll get you.” That warning was as oft repeated as any advice I’d been given, and seemed as ridiculous as being told my face would freeze if I dared a silly expression.

Merrill had been selected by the king to become his bride. A king Merrill had yet to meet in person. She hadn’t the faintest idea why he’d selected her. She had been in Taradale province leagues and leagues from the capital. Why had he chosen her? Ther question plagued her day and night.

Jimalee paced back and forth before the wall with her hands tucked behind her back, tracking one spot as she moved. A very curious spot with a door she’d never seen before. True, the emperor’s gardeners worked voraciously to clean the grounds after the court’s exile in Ternel. True, the wall had been covered in thick vines only the day before. But Jimalee had an affinity for doorways, and, even with the vines, she should have spotted the curious blue-green portal filled with sparkles and set within the solid stone.

Teantry heard the light pattering steps over stone beside her and paused. Glancing right, the tall headstone gleamed nearly as bright as the silver-gray cat perched on it. He had come again. He came every year as drawn to the place as herself. She raised an eyebrow at the cat. “Did you want something?”

Dameron cursed himself for a fool for ever wanting to be a World Master. Once he had thought joining the erudite ranks would be an honor. A privilege. Few were blessed with magic and wit enough to master such lore. He, like his fellow students, had spent countless nights working to become a World Master. And he alone from his class had been chosen. A rarity in any class for any to achieve. And Dameron had been selected to progress along the path.