Tuesday howls and yowls, shapeshifter lovers.
Yesterday I learned a startling fact. Thanksgiving Day is next week. Can you believe it?
Run for the hills, turkeys. It’s now or never!
And, here’s a somewhat odd flash scene. However, my hero wanted to arrive in Talbot’s Peak, and talked me into penning this flash.
When Magick Rises Once Again
Hearing the crackle-rustle of autumn leaves, Zalasdair halted and watched the cottontail rabbit dash away from the intruding human. In this case, the intruding warlock.
The young buck rabbit ran as if a demon grabbed for his tail, and Zalasdair admired his speed. Likely he would survive despite the large population of wolven, big cat, and other predator shapeshifters.
Zalasdair used his force and that of the Mother Earth to gift the rabbit with greater speed and more endurance. Afterward, he closed his eyes and silently intoned his gratitude to Gaia for their deep connection, one that had lasted since the end of the Mage Age -- as Zalasdair thought of it, to his sardonic amusement.
“What prize-ass fools,” he darkly muttered. With a twirl and flick of his power staff, Zalasdair spoke the short incantation destroying the satellite tracking him. “Machines are never a match for magick.”
“Never?” Attired like a mock version of Robin Hood, the woman, curvaceous as an hourglass, regarded him, one hand planted on her cocked hip.
After a leisurely scan of her feminine figure -- from the tip of her suede-laced boots to the feathered cap perched atop her flyaway auburn tresses that she’d untidily tied back -- Zalasdair settled his gaze on the delicate yet blatantly sensual features of her face.
“My record ‘against the machine’ as they say, remains one hundred percent. Do you have a challenge? A technology you wish to see rendered useless, little dryad?” Zalasdair arched his brow, a match for hers.
“Human and Dryad,” she corrected, her tone dulcet and deadly.
After an assessing gaze that swept over his tall length, the woman sauntered toward him. She didn’t need an archer’s bow to fire arrows. Zalasdair suspected she possessed the power to shoot lightning from her fingertips. Or create it at will as a thought-form.
Taking her sweet time, Maid Robin Hood walked around him, looking him up and down as if judging him worthy of purchase. Knowing it would be to his later advantage, Zalasdair placed his cantankerous ego aside. Immediately, he felt the human-dryad’s energy as pelting sparks of white light.
Having been in what could be called a dimensional stasis until his recent emergence into this critical period of time, Zalasdair wasn’t surprised at the sudden animation of his cock. After all, the woman owned a lusty nature, one he would like to explore with the art of pleasure.
“As you must know, Mage, I have been sent by the Golden Oak Circle to act as your guide.” She lifted her gaze to him, her hazel eyes shining like sunlight on water.
“Warlock. Here, at this time when magick rises once again, I wish to be called a warlock.”
Her eyes narrowed while her softly pointed chin aimed at his face like a drawn arrow. “I suggest you begin, warlock, by disabling the GPS units that have been attached as spy devices to many of the vehicles in Talbot’s Peak.”
Zalasdair let a small smile tilt the corner of his mouth before he spoke. “Lead on, merry maid.” He paused to take note of her expression. When she twisted her mouth and glared, he asked, “May I know your name? Or, perhaps, the title you desire?”
“You toy with me as if I am autumn’s leaf and you are the wind.”
“You invite my wind to buffet you, my autumn leaf. However, since the matter of the GPS units are crucial to you, and to the welfare of those in Talbot’s Peak, let us attend to them.” Zalasdair lifted his power staff then struck the ground for emphasis.
Like an affronted warrioress, his human-dryad faced him. She planted her fists on her hips as if she channeled Errol Flynn. “I didn’t ask for this assignment... warlock. I didn’t want this assignment.” She huffed out a breath. “Given your reputation...”
“Ah, yes, one’s reputation. Sometimes a blessing. Sometimes a curse. However, I assure you I live up to mine.”
Hearing the sudden drone of several helicopters, and knowing they searched for him, Zalasdair opened himself to the strength of Mother Earth. As he raised his staff directing it toward the infernal flying machines, Gaia quaked her force through him. Zalasdair married his power to hers and closed his eyes.
“A soft landing you will achieve. Only if you turn and leave.” His tone thundered even though his voice remained low -- almost a whisper. “Remain my enemy, if you dare. And I will have no mercy to spare.”
“What are you doing? You can’t make them crash,” his autumn leaf snapped.
Zalasdair cracked one eye open observing her flushed angry face. “But, I can make them crash. Shall I demonstrate to your satisfaction?”
“Stop it. Stop it right now.” She stomped her foot, the sound muffled by the moist thick bed of colorful leaves.
“What if I refuse your command?” Toying with her was a wicked sort of joy indeed.
“Your crotch becomes my target,” she threatened. “I am responsible for --”
“My crotch is yours to target as you choose,” Zalasdair interrupted as he listened to the helicopters retreat, a slight hitch in the sound of their engines.
Her gaze flared brilliantly, and with her rage barely contained, she demanded, “What’s your actual name since I’m stuck being your guide? I refuse to call you Magician of the Sacred Woods. Or ‘Warlock’ of the Sacred Woods.”
“Sacred wood... yes, I must confess I am feeling quite wooden at the moment in the area you intend to target. Since you ask, my autumn leaf, you may address me as Zalasdair.”
His human-dryad flitted a few steps back. Fright darkened her eyes.
Frowning with his concern, Zalasdair asked, “What’s wrong? Certainly, I have never harmed --”
“You have! My grandfather...”
“Explain.” Zalasdair raised his voice in a manner that did not allow her refusal.
An immense sigh burst past her lips, and her shoulders slumped forward in defeat. “There is no need to explain. Your... your magickal retribution was justified. It’s just that I...I can’t forget. Won’t forget.”
Zalasdair refrained from weaving his power around her. To bring forth a confession of truth would not serve him now. Her emotions already swirled like barbs around him, and likely she would never forgive him.
No, he would wait. Although, patience had never suited him. “Shall I request another guide from the Circle?”
Raising her chin high, and stiffening her spine, his autumn leaf faced the trail that led to Talbot’s Peak, the trail he had been traveling to meet his current destiny.
“I will do my duty, warlock.” She spoke without looking at him. “There is no one else. As you said, magick rises once again. We are needed to bring down the machines. The human and shapeshifter soul is very much in peril. Evil has ascended, and the old ways are their salvation.”
“Yes, the old ways. Yes, truth passes your lips. Salvation is needed from the mad brutal beasts who would use the magic of technology to enslave instead of enlighten.”
Once she turned and moved onto the trail, Zalasdair followed yet kept a goodly distance. With his gaze on her light tread, he wondered about the beauty of her dryad wings.
No doubt lived within him that his Maid Robin Hood could manifest them if she so desired.
However -- while an asset to being his guide in the shapeshifter and human world, it was as clear as his ring’s ancient, all-knowing crystal -- his autumn leaf favored her human side.
“Kellyn.” Her voice floated back to him, becoming part of the gusting wind. “My name is Kellyn.”
“Lovely.” Zalasdair dared utter no more words. She had offered him a fragile truce.
To gain more patience, and keep his bond with Gaia strong, Zalasdair swept his gaze, his senses over the Montana forest. His own ability to shapeshift would serve him with the locals, so he assumed. He witnessed evidence of them everywhere.
Perhaps, on a whimsy, he would present himself as a turkey on the day that was called Thanksgiving. From his dimensional window Zalasdair had studiously observed life as it played out on Earth. Helpful, and necessary to fulfilling his destiny, yet he fully realized it was a poor substitute for all that he had missed as real life experience.
Moving ever downward, Zalasdair fondly gazed at the bare-limbed trees who prepared themselves for the rigors and the resting time of winter. Whipping in the stiff wind, a large russet leaf refused to let go, despite being all alone.
In that moment, Zalasdair realized to the depth of his being, he felt all alone.
Have a Magickal Autumn!
Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance ~