Rampant



A while ago, I came across a recommendation to read "Rampant" by Diana Peterfreund.  I didn't know anything about the book, but my local library had it (although I'd have to wait a while), so I put it on hold. 

 

Then last week, after I'd forgotten all about it, I found it on the hold shelf when I was picking something else up.  (Yes, it was on hold for me, I didn't snatch someone else's book!)  Having forgotten that I'd requested it, I read the cover as I walked to the desk.  I was a little bewildered.  Flesh-eating unicorns?  Surely I wouldn't be interested in drivel like that ... who had recommended this book, anyway?

Wow.  Stop right there.  I was completely caught up within the first five pages.  By halfway through, I was telling my friends, and when I finished, I showed it off at book club.  Killer Unicorns!  Virgin Huntresses!  Wow, Peterfreund can sure cast a spell on her readers!!!

So, aside from sharing a book that I really enjoyed, I thought it would make a good prompt for the week: Let's put a twist on mystical creatures.

Ready, go!

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My response:

Phoebe was a flaming star of scarlett flying above the clouds, the sunlight gleaming golden on her feathers.  Her wings beat desperately against the high mountain winds as she spiraled upwards, to the top of the cliff.  A pair of travelers crossing the pass stopped and pointed, their weary march transforming into leaps and dancing at the sight of her.

Funny that they would count it lucky to see her; she, who was one of the two most unfortunate creatures to ever breath the air of Earth.

And all for a mistake.

They had won the battle.  The fighting was done.  Only a few, ragged soldiers spotted the battlefield as the victors climbed the hill to look over their domain.  Oberon and Tatiana laughed and sang, their voices lifting to the wind. 

Leonix strode across the field holding Phoebe by the hand.  She had given him her heart years ago, and now, at the end of this final battle, they were free of her family, free to marry.  Leonix grabbed a cart of wine from Phoebe's father's supplies and single-handedly towed it to the top of the hill.  He bowed before Oberon and thanked him for his assistance.  Then he held up the wineskin.

Oberon, smiling, gulped down half the wine, sucked in one last desperate breath, turned as green as the corpses of mountain trolls lying below, and then dropped down, equally as dead.

There ended Tatiana's generosity.  There she spoke her cruel curse.  There Phoebe and Leonix held each other for the first and only time.

For what could be worse than to live eternally, each death only followed by rebirth?  While Phoebe lived, Leonix slept, and only opon her death, did he live, while she in turn suffered dreamless sleep.

Phoebe reached out her claws, grasping at the ledge.  She tucked her wings in and hopped into the small cave.  This place was safe enough.  She'd been here before.  Agony throbbed through her body.  She recognized the pain of death ... but her heart sang with joy.  In just a few minutes, Leonix would be there.  Phoebe laid herself down on the hard rock, tired lungs struggling against her last breath.

And then he opened his eyes.  Phoebe could not see him, but his presence warmed her like the sun.  For the space of three heartbeats, they shared again the same air.  Phoebe reached out towards him, and Leonix reached back.  Their souls brushed past each other like satin sheets slipping away.  Phoebe shut her eyes.

A brilliant burst of flame filled the cave.  Phoebe's poor body burnt to cinders.

Leonix struggled to rise, shaking the ash from his feathers and stretching his wings as far as he could in the small space.  He opened his mouth and let out one low, mournful cry.  He had a lifetime until he saw her again.  He hopped to the opening, spread his wings, and took to the sky.

She slipped ...

Let's go for a more traditional prompt this week.  One that puts a million questions in your mind, like Who? Why? How?  How long? How did they feel about it?  Did anyone else care?

Our prompt for this week is:

"She slipped and fell, her arms flailing wildly."

(If "He" works better for you, go for it.  We're pretty lax on the rules around here.)

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My response:

Turning back to the window, Tara chewed her lip.  She was only one story up.  She couldn't jump, but she also didn't have to completely stop her fall.  If she could just slow it a little, she might survive.  The outside window sill was almost large enough for her to stand on, and the sides and top were more than enough for her to curl her fingers around.  If she stood up, she ought to be able to swing her body over to the pipe.

                Tara had to hold the window up as she pulled her body though, first sitting on the windowsill, then pulling her legs up one at a time.  Her skirt was a problem.  It billowed and furled around her, making it difficult to get her feet situated.  The silk on her bodice strained along the seams.  This gown was made for ballrooms, not escaping from prison.  Still, Tara managed to slide out.  The bottom of the window slid down her shins and landed on her toes as she stood on the sill, facing the building.  Tara's fingers clung to the window frame, and her stomach, while void of the light and power, clenched in a furious ball.  She'd never done anything like this before.

                The weight of the window rested heavy over the arches of her feet, but Tara couldn't help but think how, if this worked, the window shutting would work in her favor.  They wouldn’t know where she'd gone.  For just an instant, Tara wondered what she'd do when she got down – going back in wasn't an option anymore – but she pushed the thought aside, letting her tunnel vision take over again.

                Her nails scraped painfully against the grain of the wood.  Tara was grateful for the layer of new paint that spared her two handfuls of splinters.  With the window down, she could only barely make out the voices of the officers, but her gut told her she was running short on time.  She switched her left hand to where her right hand was holding on, then slipped her feet out from beneath the window, letting it fall closed as quietly as possible and balancing on the balls of her feet.  She took a shallow breath – a deep one would have pressed her away from the wall and made her fall – and reached out with her right hand towards the pipe.  Her fingers found the cold metal right before she lost her balance.  In a flash, her left hand followed her right and circled the pipe.  Her legs slipped out from under her and dangled.  She wasn't strong enough to hold herself up, so the pipe slipped through her grasp as she fell.  Luckily, she managed not to cry out.

                It would have worked perfectly according to her plan, if it hadn't been for the bracket holding the pipe to the wall, just at the height of a man above the ground.  Tara's right hand smashed into the bracket with a flash of pain, and she let go of the pipe, tumbling backwards.  The force of her body hitting the hard ground jarred her jaw, but the pain of her teeth smacking together was overwhelmed with the pain in her rear as she landed on her tailbone.

                Tears welled in her eyes from the effort to keep from crying out.  In her life, she'd never suffered such injuries, not to mention three at once, but if she valued her life, she didn't have time to feel sorry for herself.  She tucked her right hand to her chest automatically, the dark blood spilling down her gown.

                The two boys looked up at her, heads cocked.  She glared at them, and they turned back to their game.  The dog lifted his head and perked his ears at her, then went back to his sniffing.  In the moment of relative safety, Tara looked down to assess the damage to her hand.

(Whoops, I guess I got carried away.  She did fall, but her arms didn't flail wildly.  But hey, the prompt is just inspiration, right?)