In the last post: Alf spies on Morris, who feels safe in his tent. He shouldn't, because Alf plans to terrorize him...
Dear friends, on Tuesdays and Saturdays I’ll be blogging nibble-sized chunks of new ‘Life in the Clouds’ stories. You can check in regularly and read them free, or wait to buy the whole story when published. Rather than miss an instalment, please subscribe and I’ll give you a nudge as they come out.Eerie Eve ® James Field. Part 10As the evening grew dark over the Cloud Estate’s deathly silent forest, a damp mist curled up from the lake and Morris noticed his knees tremble. A skin of moist covered his tent, but he knew the damp and cold weren’t the only cause of his shivering.
A fox cried out somewhere in the black woodland and bats flew across the rising moon. Morris dug a torch from his rucksack, a modern affair with a beam that sliced through the gloom. It bolstered his courage, but not by much.
The time had come to venture into the trees in search of magical toadstools, and his chest rose and fell with rapid breaths. His wife, Sibyl, was desperate to obtain a few for her potions, and they were rare. According to her, they only grew during a full moon on the ninth day of September. Even so, she had warned him not to venture into the forest on this night, because, according to folklore, a wicked lady troll would also be after them.
Morris didn’t believe in trolls and all such nonsense. After all, despite his small stature, he was a man among men. Right now though, he wished he’d brought a stiff dram with him: just suppose there were such beings as trolls.
Image by FelixMittermeier from Pixabay
A fox cried out somewhere in the black woodland and bats flew across the rising moon. Morris dug a torch from his rucksack, a modern affair with a beam that sliced through the gloom. It bolstered his courage, but not by much.
The time had come to venture into the trees in search of magical toadstools, and his chest rose and fell with rapid breaths. His wife, Sibyl, was desperate to obtain a few for her potions, and they were rare. According to her, they only grew during a full moon on the ninth day of September. Even so, she had warned him not to venture into the forest on this night, because, according to folklore, a wicked lady troll would also be after them.
Morris didn’t believe in trolls and all such nonsense. After all, despite his small stature, he was a man among men. Right now though, he wished he’d brought a stiff dram with him: just suppose there were such beings as trolls.
Image by FelixMittermeier from Pixabay
No comments have been added yet.
