Chapter Eleven
311 Words
The sage flats were waiting to bloom.
Eòghann thought he could almost hear them take that deep, long inhale that would burst into colour on the exhale.
Rather than a merry month, May plagued Costswolds with a series of wicked storms that thundered over the mountain and blew wild over the lake. But the days stretched longer with the light pulling farther and farther over lower ridges, while in her little valley the cottonwoods and willows began to haze with green.
Daffodils popped in cheerful yellow even when the wind and rain pelted them.
He didn't buy that.
Someone, or some people, far too ignorant for their own good, were scheming with such dogged perseverance to foil his plans; and he was not one for it.
"They move as I speak."
Laith.
Oh faithful Laith.
What was he to do without him?
"My liege!
"My liege."
On this monumental day, she had chosen to venture beyond the mountains and fast far from the woods, to seek a way to bring him down. Him.
"My liege!"
Such a small fry seeking so valiantly her own death. His leather gloves creaked under the viscous pressure of his fist by his side.
"My Lord liege!"
Slowly, very slowly, Eòghann turned
around and blinked. Fierce gray eyes staring right out of his good God-given-but-demon-possessed eye sockets. The skull buried deep in the dark fur of his coat, winked an eerie silvery one.
"We'll take the Fagh road through Basi," he said. "Through the mountains of Eve. We should be upon Gadamon in no time"
Laith began to speak even as he followed his master who had began to march down the hill. That pathway was only braved by no one who had life and wanted to spare it.
Eòghann threw a glance over his shoulder at him. He had life and wanted to spare it.
- Writer
