Lars was about to retire for the night when the knocks fell on his door.
A chill wind howling down from the mountains rattled the windows. The fire burned low and red in the hearth. As the wizard shuffled out of his bed to answer the door, he drew the blanket around himself, too cosy to leave its warmth. Its frayed edges trailed across the stairs and creaky floorboards.
With lazy eyes, Marcella watched him from where she lay curled on the rug downstairs, licking her paws. She purred upon seeing him, then rolled, belly up in invitation. Lars knew better than to give in. He’d suffered far too many scratches not to learn his lesson.
As he opened the front door, the little parlour filled with voices. Lars hurried back a few moments later with urgency in his steps, exchanging the blanket for a green travelling cloak and a leather satchel with many pockets.
“I’ll be back soon,” he said to Marcella. He then grabbed his staff from where it leaned against the wall beside a broom.
A red ball of yarn rolled to a stop at his feet and the cat meowed.
“Now is not the time for games, Marcella,” he said. “Lives are at stake. I must go!”
He placed the ball of yarn within her reach and rushed out. A telltale thud and a curse could be heard moments later. He’d hit his head on top of the doorframe, as he often did whenever he went out in a hurry.
Marcella rolled on her side and went to sleep without a care in the world.
YOU ARE READING
Of Spells and Flowers ✓
FantasyLife is simple in Frostspire, a sleepy little village perched by the sea, cradled in the lap of mountains tall and snow-clad. Yet a simple life is not without its problems. Fortunately, the folk of Frostspire have someone to turn to when in need; a...