Every month I’ll be writing a short story from the Susan Dennard prompts. All of them will be taking place in the world of the book I’ve been working on, so expect fantastical and futuristic elements in each one. October’s text prompt was “Hey,” he shouted at her back. “You’re going the wrong way!”. The audio prompt was medieval fantasy music.
“It’s been forever since I was last here,” she said, treading carefully along the slats that crossed the lush, green moorland. Reeds and brambles walled the edge of the path, threatening to catch on her heavy well-travelled clothing.
“Not forever. Seven years.” He followed behind her easily, his lighter clothing comfortable and fitted, nothing loose enough to be bothered by the wild flora.
“It’s like nothing’s changed.” She began to jump over every other board, playing a game with herself. “I guess I thought everything would’ve sunk by now.”
“It survived everything else. No reason it couldn’t survive seven years without you.”
She looked back at him and grinned. “Nowhere can survive without me.”
“I did.”
“Only because you knew I’d come back one day.”
His cool smug expression softened into something more tender. “It helped.”
She giggled and continued on her careful journey towards the raised village. The sturdy old houses had survived storms, floods and a number of other disasters over the decades. With rumour of a larger storm on the way, she’d made her way home to see how the old place was holding up. Maybe she’d stay for a while, just to hold it out with them. Would they all remember her? What would they say? She imagined all the scenarios, from loving to loathing, as she got closer and closer to the old houses.
“Hey,” he shouted at her back. “You’re going the wrong way!”
She stopped and turned to him, eyes wide. “What are you talking about? Did your sense of direction get messed up while I was gone?”
He rolled his eyes, then pointed. To their side the ground rose up into a large bank, held there by rockery and ruin that hadn’t shifted in centuries. The ancient formation kept the worst of the weather off the village. She could still recall howling gail and rain smacking the rooftops but never quite catching the lower windows.
“What are you up to?” She asked, hopping back over to him.
“This way.”
He led her along a narrow path that squeezed them between bushes and bramble. She rolled her sleeves up and pulled her coat in close, avoiding the grabbing thorns. Ha glanced back at her and started to snap the branches back, giving her more space to move through.
“Looks like no one comes along here. You’re not going to throw me off the top of the bank, are you?” She asked.
“Yes. I’ll finally make sure you never come back.” He grinned back at her.
“Dickhead.” She kicked at his shins playfully.
“You’ve become so dangerous.” He sped up, avoiding her attacks.
“So I can fight you better!” She giggled and chased after him, grabbing at his elbow. “You did miss me, didn’t you?”
He paused and looked back at her. Between the dense brambles they were squeezed close together. She could see her own face reflected in his eyes.
“Does wind miss the mountains?” He asked her.
“Hey…” She loosened her hold on him. “That’s not fair.”
“You had dreams of your own. I understand that.” He turned away from her and continued walking.
“It wasn’t just about that. It was about…” She sighed, slowly following behind.
“You were a bird in a cage.”
“It was complicated.”
“I know.”
“I missed you.”
He stopped once more. Now they were on the slope of the bank, him above her. She stared up at him, his features backlit by the low sun.
“I missed you, too,” he replied, quiet.
She hurried up to him, reaching out to grab his arm once more. “I’ll stay a while.”
“Will you leave again?”
“I’ll always come back.”
He smiled, though it was pained, and nodded.
The two of them continued up the slope, pushing back the overgrowth. The ground was dryer here, and the higher they got the thinner the bramble lay, until only softer bush and shrubbery remained around their feet, clinging to the stone.
“I came up here most days,” he told her as they reached the peak, “wondering if you saw the same sunsets.”
“The sun sets differently over the sea,” she told him.
“I see.” He fell quiet, a tension clinging to his shoulders.
“I’m glad I came back to see this one with you.”
He glanced back at her. The orange light of the sun shone across his face, bathing his smile in warmth.
They both reached the peak together and stood, side by side, fully reunited as the sun crawled down into the horizon. She slid her arm down his and they laced fingers.
“The storm is coming,” she said after a quiet moment.
He glanced over his shoulder. The dark clouds were creeping in like a wall being built across the sky. Already they could hear the distant sounds of rumbling.
“We can’t stop it.” He squeezed her hand and looked at her once more. “We can only accept it and wait it out.”
She squeezed his hand back. “At least this time we’ll do it together.”
He beamed.
a place of words 