Wolf’s Clothing

We settled in a semicircle, me facing the others, just far enough outside the ravine that the smell of wolfsbane and their sweat covered all traces of sheep's blood on me. I knelt on one knee, ready to leap away. The shepherds clustered behind Nydor, all but one of the men, who stood apart, an arrow nocked and ready. "What are you?"

All my senses stretched tight, seeking signs that the men had followed me.
Thistles and Barley

I get up and go to my old war chest. I wipe down the carved top once a week, but when I open it dust wafts up from the inside. My weapons are all well put away, but the metal looks dull from dust sticking to the oil. I kneel. The scent reminds me of an attic, of things forgotten. I pull a sleeve over my hand and wipe the dust away. It leaves a shiny spot and a greasy stain on my cuff. It’s just a work shirt but the stain bothers me.

I won’t let his ‘we’ve had this talk before’ wall stop me this time.
Audio Fiction Podcast:
System, Magic, Spirit

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There's nothing better than low-ranking, fad-following royalty for extinguishing any last desire to even bother fighting for one's life against other wizards in the Ring.