Stroll

Despite publishing The Gift late, I instantly pivoted to this month’s fantasy tale. While I had an inkling of what the yarn I wanted to spin, when I sat down to work on it, my mind shifted, and I remembered about Tiatha. So far, I have written a pair of tales around this spell slinger, Siphoning the Stone and Arrogance. The former introduced the character while the latter showed more of her power (with this publication, Tiatha will bookend this year).

Arrogance introduced this rogue spell slinger to one of the many shifting tribes scattered throughout her world. While that tribe will let her stay, despite the danger of being pursued by the Hunters, Tiatha doesn’t want harm to befall them, so she constantly on the move, spending limited amounts of time with each group of shifters.

So, grab a seat and get comfortable while we return to Tiatha’s story.

Despite her goodwill with the shifters, Tiatha is attacked as she is hiking towards a tribe of shifters in the mountains…

As sunlight pierced through the foliage, Tiatha’s hand pushed a heavy branch aside. She arched her neck as the woodland chatter rang out. Taking a deep breath, she sauntered from the tree line and plunged her hands into the brisk liquid. While the current washed the grime off her fingers, her deft fingertips danced around the smooth stones. Her gaze drifted downstream as her knee touched the damp earth. “Why can’t Lander’s tribe live closer to Alain’s?”

Tiatha pulled her hand from the gurgling water, flicking the larger droplets back into the river. With a shake of her head, she cupped her hands under the surface, collecting a handful and then poured the precious liquid past her cracking lips. As she wiped her mouth, Tiatha removed the waterskin from her belt, yanking the plug from the supple leather and thrust it into the rippling stream.

Once she filled it, she shoved the stopper into the opening. Her gaze whipped downstream as she laid the skin’s cord over her shoulder. While the fog drifted across the choppy water, Tiatha inched away as her right hand crept under her cloak, gripping the hilt of her dagger.

“Who’s there?”

A forehead emerged from the whitewater as the mist swirled over his scalp. As the eyes flowed upstream, a muscular man arose, with the dense clouds coiling about him like a snake constricting around its prey.

“Who are you?”