Flash Fiction: Flakes of Ash

White flakes fell from the sky like wild flies.  Teelee watched and stared, mouth agape.  “Shotra!  It’s snowing!”

“Fool girl,” the Dust Seer grumbled from his sitting position under a leafless tree.  “That’s not snow… There’s no bloody cloud in the sky!”

Teelee realized the truth in his statement but waved her hand in the air to catch one of the floating flakes.  More wordless grumbling came from Shotra the Twig.  He had left her with Apple and their wagon back in the town—she could not remember its name—and returned injured and strange, scaring her as screams came from all around.  So many people were running past her.  Apple almost ran from her but she managed to calm him as they waited.

She thought back to that day—several had passed since then and Shotra’s injury seemed to be worsening.  He refused to see a healer.  She should have been scared but Apple’s cries forced her to tend to the mule.  She could see in his large eyes appreciation for her.

“Aha!”  Her exclamation earned her a rude glare from Shotra but she finally secured a flake in her hand.  Upon looking at it, she realized a grey streak in her palm resulted where she would have preferred the cold nip of a snowflake.  Her eyes jumped to the canvas and dust she read for Master Shotra earlier in the day.  Some of the ash had fallen on the surface.

She brought her hand to her mouth, stifling the gasp.  Her eyes roamed over the changing of what she read.  “Master Shotra,” she whispered.

“Damn girl,” he hissed.  “What?”

“We need to leave this place…”  Yes, it was plain and clear.  The ash flakes gave a stark warning.  “Something is hunting.  Something of the Shoals.”

Shotra stood and limped towards her, favoring his left leg while crossing his arms over his stomach.  His face seemed to have grown paler since the morning.  “Say that again, girl.”  He was often nice to her when she read the dust, which she liked.

She pointed at the canvas.  “It changed with the ash.”

He peered at it.  “I see…  What does it say?”

A single word came to mind; an urgent command from the dust and ash.  “Run,” she said through a deep tremble.

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