Flash fiction for today’s Friday Fictioneers. Click on the link to see the photo prompt, and read other writers’ entries. Since the prompts are always modern photos, I didn’t include it here, but it was still inspirational!
After the last magruk attack on the temple, only one divine strong enough for the ritual survives.
Her eyes quiver, roll back.
The vision is short. Two moths upon a dark tree, one brown, one silver. A bird swoops in, plucking the silver moth away.
She wakes groggy, sweaty, weak.
Knocking off her ornate hat, she coughs her commands. “Burn the vestments. Hide the amulets. We cut our hair like peasants. We blend in. We scatter.”
Haughty protests counter, “But the traditions–!”
“–Die if we do.”
A brown moth flutters toward a magruk guard. He recognizes the danger too late.
You can read more about this particular war
against the magruks here: From the Table’s Eye.