Today’s writing prompt and my response.
The third prompt for this week. Use the prompts however you like, one at a time, or pen a short story over several of them.
The moon had an ethereal quality
The moon had an ethereal quality, other worldly. It was appropriate for why we were here on the cliff top, for hadn’t we come seeking help from the spirits? After all, hell was already below us in the villages along the river. Men with swords and pikes, in full armour, their giant horses rearing, disturbed at the scent of blood. The men hurled flaming brands onto cottage roofs, through thin-glassed windows, uncaring of any cowering in corners, hugging babes and toddlers to their thundering hearts. Flames reared higher than those horses.
Six of us had escaped here. We stood in a circle, hands clasped, eyes turned upwards to the ghostly moon. We concentrated, fierce and determined as the hellcats we were, calling on those beyond this realm. Help us, save us. The air crackled, split into silvered seams dancing around our circling bodies.
They came, as we knew they would. Figures the colour of the moon, tinged with the deep red of old blood which was not their own. They rose from the wet grass within our circle: one, two, a dozen, more. They did not brandish swords, yet death danced at their skeletal fingertips, straining …
When they had made a towering spiral taller than the rearing horses, taller than the leaping flames, we broke our circle, stepped away. The spiral swooped and curved like starlings at dusk, down, down the hillside, into the villages.
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Watch out soldiers!!!
Ha ha!