I know a lot of writers like to set the scene for little snippets like this, but I’m not a lot of writers, and I like to dangle things and watch you all squirm. So all I’m saying is that this scene takes place a short distance from a battlefield, in a clearing surrounded by bare-branched, misshapen trees (as seen in this image, drawn by me last night; don’t judge)….. Between a Queen of the Fae and a kelpie. And, because I haven’t posted any six sentence stuff in a while, it might hover a bit over six sentences… But I don’t think any of you will complain.
The kelpie’s cry pierced the air, overriding even the noises of battle, as it rose up, hooves flashing. Gasping and covering her pointed ears with her hands, the Queen went to her knees.
So easy, purred the kelpie’s voice. A touch and even a queen is unmade. Helpless.
It made the boy beneath the beast’s surface uncomfortable–both that the kelpie had a voice in his head, and the way it spoke, all sinuous invitation and seduction, not meant for one so young. He felt the kelpie’s neck arch, felt blood pounding through his veins, his skin hot all over, the way he felt if he stared too long at some of the girls in his year who’d started to change into young women. He wasn’t a fool: remembering the sight of a stallion in a field near the broodmares at Gwen’s, he realized the kelpie thrived on this–more than. It lusted for it and was pleasured by it.
Now he understood why his da feared what the kelpie could be if you let it.