This week, we’re picking up with Agata. You can probably read this one alone, but I’d suggest reading Crush, the previous one in this series of stories, just to be clear on how things got to this point. If you want to read the entire series, click on the Fiction Tab above, and you’ll find all the links to the story under Which Witch. As always, let me know what you think – and how you think it ought to be improved!
I’m using the prompt from Trifecta, and from Write on Edge for this.
Trifecta’s word was
1a : the natural opening through which food passes into the body of an animal and which in vertebrates is typically bounded externally by the lips and internally by the pharynx and encloses the tongue, gums, and teeth b : grimace <made a mouth> c : an individual requiring food <had too many mouths to feed> 2a : voice, speech <finally gave mouth to her feelings> b : mouthpiece 3: something that resembles a mouth especially in affording entrance or exit: as
Agata rolled painfully to her feet, scattering debris. Dust swirled through the maelstrom of berserker barbarians. Agata caught glimpses of the ogre, green-gray skin covering boulder-like muscles, eerie catseye gleaming yellow in the dimness.
The battle wasn’t going well. She sighed, narrowed her eyes, and, with intense focus, shook out an imaginary blanket.
As the barbarians painfully clambered to their feet, dazed and confused at their sudden fall, Agata strode purposefully towards the now-frozen ogre.
“Gragh, is it?” The creature stared down at her, dumbfounded. “Yes, you. Gragh?”
Its voice rumbled thunderously. “Ya, me is Gragh. Who you?”
“Agata. What do you want here?”
“It wants to eat us! Kill it!”
Agata whirled and glared them into silence.
“GRAGH CRUSH!” The ogre snarled at the barbarians, fighting the invisible bonds.
Gragh’s brow creased in thought. “Gragh want…”
Agata found herself nodding encouragement to the hulking creature.
“Gragh want No Bother GRAGH!”
“You came here.”
“Dey is come first to Gragh sleep place and try hurt Gragh!”
At Agata’s accusing glare, the barbarians broke into a cacophony of denials and explanations like children caught with their hands in the mouth of the cookie jar.
“It took the castle on the mount!” A blonde-haired hulk in a skunk-fur loincloth stepped forward.
“Did he kill the owner?”
“It’s, um, been abandoned for centuries, actually. Terrible location, no water, no trees…”
“So what does it matter where he lives?”
“It eats people. And sheep.”
Agata turned her scowl on Gragh, who shook his head in denial. “Gragh no eat animal-things.” He curled his lip in disgust. “Gragh vegetable-arian. And rocks. Rocks crunchy yum. Fuzzy Baaas no yum.”
“Here’s the deal – you leave people alone, and” she turned to scowl at the barbarians, “people stay away from your castle. Shake on it,” she barked, commandingly.
Agata watched and spelled every hand-shake before approaching the ogre with a proposition.
In short order they were headed off, a witch and her ogre-guide through the mountains.