Hawthorn & Ash #100

Welcome to this week’s installment of many micro stories, ranging in length from 100 words to 500 words.

With each story we hope to deliver a little whimsy into the lives of our readers.

AFTER THE BATTLE

I watch as in the castle cellar he scrubs his spear, the knife he employed at the end, all that gore needing to be scraped off before he can use anything again. My man stands straight now, but I know he limps from the blow I gave him with my tail.

He still wears the armour that withstood my fire, battered now and covered with broken scales, and in this dim light the steel seems dull, though there was a brief moment when I thought he shone.

But my mind plays tricks, I think. It’s understandable; the occasion was significant. He appeared small outside my cave, sweat stains already present on his horse’s few caparisons. I did wonder why they’d sent this one after all those armies I’d faced. His helmet wasn’t even plumed, and the cloak he wore was threadbare.

Now I ponder his horse; I never liked killing them, and maybe that’s why I hesitated, that valiant animal rushing pell-mell in my direction with no thought spared for itself. But no: he had his own skill, that thrust he made with his ancient sword stretching towards my heart.

Tomorrow they’ll place the bright crown on his ragged hair, adorn his bruised body with jewelled robes. I hope he gets some sleep between now and then, for his shoulders slump with weariness, and there’s a burn on his wrist from my blood-poison.

Over the years, there have been other heroes, maybe better. This one slayed me, though, so I stick with him. 

If you enjoyed this story you can find it and more in the Hawthorn & Ash 2023 anthology.

AVAILABLE HERE!