Morning all. Woke up sneezing my head off and seeing an alert that the pollen count is high. I have to say after being woken up by my own sneeze I am happy to go back to waking up to the alarm. It’s going to be a sinus meds kind of day. So while I wait for them to kick in, let’s sniffle our way through the morning righting prompt. I promise I am not contagious if anyone wants to join it. Set the timers for fifteen minutes and off we go.
why is it that the rougher the morning the more I like the writing that comes from the prompt? I really like this. I will probably spend the rest of the day thinking about this and figuring out the story that goes with it.
Wednesday, June 7th: The wind swept down from the mountains.
The wind swept down from the mountains. It carried with it the chill from snows that never melted and of long forgotten places. Haral shook his head and concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other as the path steepened. Not for the first time he cursed his luck at being overheard repeating the joke where Jercan could hear him.
The elder was the butt of many jokes lately. His behavior had become erratic and many feared it signaled a decline in his facilities. To question the rule of the council of the elders was frowned upon as only the wisest among the people were chosen. Instead jokes were told, pointing out the situation, the humor tinged with fear that soon such a behavior would lead the people to ruin.
Jercan had no sense of humor before he started taking leave of his senses and had even less now. He had always been overly sensitive where his dignity was concerned. Finding one particular joke amusing, Haral dared to repeat it. Jercan overhead and while he greeted the joke with stiffness and dark looks, he bided his time.
When it was suggested that someone be sent into the mountains to investigate an anomaly that travelers reported seeing in the distance, Jercan had many reasons why Haral would be perfect for the task. The joke faded so no one thought anything of the suggestion and Haral was chosen. He saw the glint in Jercan’s eyes and the satisfied smirk though and knew this was his punishment for having been caught making fun of the foolish and vain old man.
‘Now I’ll be lucky to return with all my fingers and toes as well as loose valuable time before the final harvest.’ Haral shook his head. There was no getting out of it. Everyone else who could be chosen would lose time frim vital tasks as well. After the disease that washed through the village the winter before, taking nearly half of their number, there were few people to spare. It would be best if he could just get to the mountains, investigate what the travelers noticed and report back to the village.
He would still be racing the winter snows, but there was no one else to send. ‘I just hope it isn’t a wild goose chase,’ he thought as he bowed his head against the wind. The scent of snow and ice filled his nose. It was inhaled with his breath and drawn into his lungs.
This would be a cold winter. He could feel it in his bones. It was too early for the scent of snow on the air. He tried to console himself with the fact that he was moving up, deeper into the mountains where winter was everlasting but he knew he had not yet reached the heights and for the scent of snow to be this low on the mountain, this early in the year, did not bode well. A cold winter meant more people would die. Already they were half of what they were, anymore and they may have to leave the village, seek to join a larger community where resources could be pooled. Already there was talk of other communities scattered along the mountain ranges that were doing so.
Their village was not the only one being hit with plague. The drought had gone on too long and reserves were running low. The hungrier people got the more likely they were to fall ill and the less likely they were to recover. He pulled his firs closer, his thoughts chilling him more than the icy wind.
Ten til Midnight 