Murmur #writephoto

Thursday photo prompt

murmuration

 

“They are swarming, soon they will fly away toward those trees…” I said, “And disappear beyond those clouds…” you replied. It was the end of the long day, we would soon pack for the night, fold the tent, get ready for the hunt. Soon we would need to feed, even if soberly. Your green eyes turned to me. I could see the signs on your skin. I drew the sharp blade, it glittered in the dying light.

We heard an owl. The starlings had disappeared, as you predicted. “I am thirsty.” You said.  A small cut would suffice. As you enlaced me, your arms around my neck,  I saw the red of your beloved lips, felt the despair in your embrace. I held you tight, and as you drank, became as one with the monster in you.

Blade #writephoto

Thursday photo prompt

wales-164

 

He remembered an old science fiction story, set in the Middle Ages of a world in a far-away galaxy. The hero’s weapon is a sword, its blade honed from a single crystal. This was different. The jade colour of the blade, its transparency, made the material uncertain, implausible even. Yet it was there, the celtic hilt, the cross. The elaborate work of the pommel hinted at a late period, perhaps at the Renaissance. But he knew it was much older. He knew when it had been forged, and the name of the sword smith.

But he could not remember where the furnace was.