Fiona Grey Writes

Writer of Fantasy. Wielder of Red Pens.

Softly Falling Snow

When he first saw the cottage, it was sitting in the midst of a snowy landscape. There wasn’t much about it that was obviously special, unless you appreciated the small marks of craftsmanship and effort that had gone into its construction, and evidence of hand-hewn logs wasn’t obvious until the observer grew close.

Even then, in the midst of softly falling snow that had him hurrying for the door, Walter had a brushing thought flit through his mind. Surely, it had taken a great deal of effort to drag the logs to this mountaintop location, three hundred feet above the tree line.

Whoever had gone to such effort had clearly appreciated the view, which stretched across the entire range of snowy peaks before shading into the deeper lines of winter-dusted pines. The large picture window, perfectly positioned to capture the rising sun, and the cabin’s lone rocking chair were evidence of that.

And that same person, he quickly realized, was not a fan of cold, despite the locale; the fireplace and wood stove combined with a lack of drafts to warm the cabin quickly. Meanwhile, a heavy handmade rug and thick curtains gave the cabin’s owner the opportunity to block that same lovely view once darkness followed the snow.

It was a place, Walter came to understand, where every decision had been made with great care. A shelf at the perfect height, positioned next to the toaster, gave a resting spot for the all-necessary coffee while he loomed over the appliance impatiently. A knife to spread the butter was in the first drawer he’d tried, exactly the logical place.

The picture window turned out to be doubled-paned, and a knit wool blanket strapped to the bottom of the rocker, while the bedroom light was exactly the perfect shade of indoor glow to read before settling into sleep.

Outdoors, a clothesline at arm-height allowed him to reach the woodpile without getting lost despite a blinding blizzard, and a nook on the porch to tuck away a large stash without a pile of logs spilling onto the porch.

Despite his trepidation on the way up, he’d found that trees overreached parts of the winding drive, blocking most of the snow from the west. For plowing, an ATV with a small front attachment hid out of sight in a garage. That garage mimicked the cabin’s aesthetic – and was connected to the cabin via a closed tunnel, so a trip into town kept the chill away until absolutely necessary.

Yes, Walter thought with satisfaction as he watched the sunrise, it was the perfect cabin. He understood, now, the owner’s insistence that he spend a week here.

He’d never be able to love this bucolic vision quite as much as the owner who was reluctantly selling it, forced to move into town after a bad fall left him largely immobile.

But he though there might be room enough, perhaps, for a second rocking chair.

***

This week’s prompt was from AC Young, about the first glimpse of a cabin in the snow – and while I’m not sure where this story came from, exactly, I might revisit this world again. (It won’t be soon, though; I’m likely to be offline for a bit the next few weeks.)

My prompt went to Becky – what regrets might you have, if you’re the last one to do something before it all goes wrong? Check it out – and more! – over at MOTE v2.025.

Downpour

Ante tugged her hood tighter for the fortieth time in fifteen minutes, despite the futility. “High tech waterproof jacket, my left foot.”

Her words were drowned out by the roar of the raging waterfall that had swollen to a size she could no longer cross safely. The downpour had come without warning, and what had promised to be a sprinkle had left the usual riverside path slick with mud.

She turned on the slippery rocks and gave a wistful look toward the narrow crack where she’d stashed the plas-wrapped techbow the ship’s regs allowed on new colonies, but she’d already tried to squeeze inside the tiny gap. The best result had been a miserable failure, though she’d only given up after nearly falling into the rapids.

At least her weapon would stay safe, if not precisely dry; she’d found on past planetside tours that even modern version of the archaic hunting tools didn’t handle water well.

No, better to turn around and go back, given that she was already drenched and covered in a combination of sticky wet clay and the mud ubiquitous to this planet. It would have been easier, had the hood stayed stiff enough to keep the rain out of her eyes.

“Ach, stop whinging over a wee bit o’ rain,” she said, mimicking her favorite adopted uncle. “Get a-movin’, lass.”

Ante made her way back to the path, gaze on her footing. The rain was a welcome surprise, as long as it didn’t last much more than a day; anything more would ruin the crops and they’d pass the colony half-prepped, only to move to the next base and start the cycle regardless. But the weather-sat clearly was malfunctioning again, and she hoped it wasn’t a sign of things to come.

There’d been stories, last posting, of soldiers left behind, when things started to go wrong. She raised a worried gaze toward the sky, hoping for a glimpse of the ship she’d spent most of her life upon.

That’s when the path gave way, and she tumbled through a series of trees and slid through buckets of fresh mud, landing with an oomph at the bottom of a ravine. It was a lovely glen, with canopy trees that interlocked for shelter, and even a powder-fruit bush that still held berries.

There was only one problem with the location that she could see…if she was where she thought after her unexpected detour, the river hadn’t been there yesterday. The downpour might be enough to make her miserable and boost the familiar waterways, but this was a well-established river, deep enough it should have shown on the sat-map she held in trembling hands.

There was only one thing a brand new river could mean.

She was lost.

***

This week’s prompt came from Becky: There was only one problem with the location that she could see… the river hadn’t been there yesterday.

Mine went to Leigh: It was peaceful, until the bachelor herd came through.

Check out more, over at MOTE!

Breakfast Trepidation

“What do you mean, you think it ate your roommate?” Liza’s toast hovered in midair. A blob of blackberry jam oozed off the corner and plopped onto the table.

“I thought it was just a plant,” Mikhail muttered. He broke his blueberry muffin into sections, then crumbs.

“And?” Liza was impatient at the best of times.

“It’s not just a plant.” He smushed the crumbs into a sticky patty and decided he wasn’t hungry. “I mean, it’s a plant wall that takes up half the room, so I thought it was more than one plant.”

“You’re earth,” Cleo said. “How did you not know?”

He squished a blueberry against the wrapper and squirmed. “I haven’t had herblore and botany yet. Or poisons, or any of those. I didn’t grow up around this stuff like you all did.”

“That’s true,” Liza mumbled around the entire slice of toast. Her jam-smeared face was sympathetic. “We shouldn’t have expected you to know the magical world’s dangers. But we’d better help you learn fast.”

Cleo tipped her head sideways in silent agreement.

“I…you really didn’t notice your roommate’s been missing for three days?” Oren’s dark brows furrowed as he leaned toward the others, his bulk casting a shadow over the hard boiled eggs. The bowl of three dozen vanished into the gaping paw he called a hand.

“You sound like Professor Kelvin,” Cleo remarked.

Mikhail shrugged and silently agreed with her, remembering the interrogation from the good professor half an hour prior. “I’m an only child. I’ve never had a roommate before. Strath and I don’t share classes, so I just thought he was getting up early.”

Liza pointed another slice of toast at him. “Aha!” Her thumb slipped on strawberry jam and she hastily secured her food. “Something happened. Spill it.”

He looked at the ceiling and tried not to look glum, since he already probably sounded like an idiot. “It seemed fine. Until his plants started spelling out messages.”

“Messages from Strath?” Cleo’s cool analytic interest caught his attention. “Is that why you think it ate him?”

“No…” He felt the blood drain from his face all over again. “It spelled ‘you’re next’ in miniature chrysanthemum blossoms.”

***

This week’s prompt was from Parrish Baker, slightly twisted – plants spelling out messages, eek! My prompt went to AC Young – check it out over at MOTE 2.025!

Ring in the New

“Cheers,” Peter said, and clinked his whiskey glass against June’s hastily raised one. “New year and all that.”

She took a sip of the whiskey, relishing the bite. “Do you think resolutions are worth it?”

“What d’you mean?” He settled into an easy pose, staring out the window of the townhouse they shared.

“Well.” She perched on the edge of the mocha leather couch that had been their indulgent move-in purchase six months prior. “You know, promising to your future self that you’ll do a thing, only to be disappointed when the next year comes and you realize you’ve forgotten all the things you meant to do.”

“No,” he said briefly, and took a drink, still studying the neighbors’ steadily glowing Christmas displays. “I suppose it’s a bigger deal in the US – especially after living through a few different types of new year celebrations, at different times of year.”

“I always hated the guilt when I realized I’d failed,” she admitted, toying with the end of her braid. June set her drink on a side table, immediately picked it up and put it on a coaster instead, and tugged the band from her hair.

She ran her hands through the waves, obscuring her vision, and pushed the strands back to find Peter at eye level.

“I always liked the new year,” he said softly from one knee, a small box resting on the palm of his right hand. “Ring out the old. Ring in the new.”

***

I really liked this prompt from Padre – Ring out the old. Ring in the new. – and it was particularly poignant when it looked like it would be the last prompt from MOTE. But we’re back! Get your prompts into oddprompts@gmail.com like usual, and check out more (like nother Mike’s response to 2024 asking how it did) over at More Odds Than Ends Version 2.025!

A Christmas Song

“Tea, dear?” Helen held out a heavy, festive mug dotted with red and green stars and dropped a mischievous wink. “My special Christmas recipe.”

Peter loomed behind June and snagged the mug with his one hand, looping a long arm over her shoulders. “Oh, you can’t miss this. Ma makes the best Christmas tea.” He held it to his face and inhaled the steam wafting into the room. “Mmm. I’ve already had two today. It’s tradition when we decorate.”

“I can tell you already had several,” Helen admonished her son. “You just stole June’s!”

Green eyes went wide atop the thick clay. “Srrrrry!” His gulp swallowed half the mug’s content. “Sorry, my dear, I wasn’t thinking.”

“I’d love to try some,” June said, laughing, and tried to snatch her prize out of his hands.

He lofted it above her head and headed to the kitchen, waving his hands in the air with a faintly ominous sloshing. “No, no, must get you fresh.”

“Or, you could try this one.” Helen handed her another clay mug, this one blue with a pattern of yellow stars. “I haven’t sipped from this one yet, dear.”

“I take it this is, mmm, special tea?” June laughed and gave it a quick sniff. “Oh!”

“Well, a wee drop of the Irish does keep the peace, now. A good whiskey never goes awry at Christmas, does it?”

From the kitchen, Peter began singing. “We wish you a Merry Advent, We wish you a Merry Advent, We wish you a Merry Advent and a Happy Christmaaaaaas!”

George joined in on the extended note and draped an unusual silver boa over his wife’s shoulders, waving an artificial pine branch as he conducted along with the words. “Good tinsel we bring for you and your treeeeee.”

“These are not the words!” scolded Helen. She let out a sigh. “We wish you a Merry Advent and a Happy Christmas!”

***

This week’s more odds than ends musical prompt was inspired by AC Young, while mine went to Padre. A merry Christmas and happy Hanukkah to those who celebrate, and here’s to a 2025 filled with song and story!

Raspberry Trees

“…and there he stood, for hours on the side of the road.” Peter threw his arms out in amazement, shaking his head until his glasses wobbled. “Hours! Bundled up like the nerdiest snowman you’ve ever seen. Utterly convinced that his bright-pink genetically modified pines would be a huge success as Christmas trees.”

“I don’t think I want to head to the science facilities anytime soon,” June commented. “RUMINT says the new genetics professor is, er, even more eccentric than the rest of us.”

“I’ve heard the same. And she’s got some dual specialty in bio-computing.”

“Whatever that is,” she said drily. “Campus suddenly feels a cyberpunk novel.”

“An entrepreneurial one.” He dropped a wink. “Might even work.”

“Speaking of, I need to grade papers.”

The next twenty minutes passed in companionable silence but for the sound of clicking keyboards keys. A hollow pop as a corn worked free, the splashing and the clink of glass as peaty notes of scotch wafted through the living room turned office.

“Fine. Fine.” June fiddled with a pen before stabbing it through her messy bun. “Barbie pink? Pale pink? Magenta? All different shades? How’d he do it, anyway?”

“Love, there are men who know what magenta means, but I’m not one of them.” He sipped the scotch and gave a satisfied grunt. “Kind of reminded me of raspberries. Including the scent, actually. Which might answer your question.”

She couldn’t decide if he was merely teasing and tapped her lip before she could bite it. “No, no, that definitely raises more questions…”

***

I’m not sure where this is going yet, but had fun with this week’s prompt from AC Young. Mine went to Parrish – check it out over at MOTE!

Winter Wonderland?

Tella gripped the steering wheel with a death grip and strained to see through the swirling white. If she were lucky, her tires still had enough tread left to maintain their death grip upon the road. “I still can’t believe we drove right into this.”

“No one expected the snowstorm,” Benji said, scrolling through his phone. “Unless the app didn’t update for some reason.”

“I think it didn’t update,” she forced out between clenched teeth. “Too late now. No hotels between here and home.”

Her peripheral vision caught a flash of bright light, and his phone pinged in the silence. She’d killed the staticky radio thirty miles before, hoping it would keep from distracting her precarious creep through the winding mountain roads.

Her brother let out a curse. “Road’s closed up ahead. Last exit in a mile.”

“And the back road detours will take just as long.” Tella hissed out a long breath and wrinkled her nose. “Better hope that janky gas station is still open. Might be our only shelter for the evening.”

Ten minutes later – on a drive that normally might have taken two – they slid to a stop at a decidedly ramshackle gas station with a rusted sign, halting only because the ice went upward.

“I saw lights,” Benji mentioned. “Sparkly ones. Festive.”

She smacked him with her free arm, whipping it so hard toward the passenger seat it tingled. Then Tella realized what she really needed to do, and slammed her fist onto the door locks. “Ow.”

“Serves you right.” He pulled back one side of his mouth and looked at her with concerned eyes and furrowed brows. “What was that about?”

“We’re in Appalachia,” she hissed. “Did you listen to none of Granny’s stories when we were kids?”

“Not really,” he admitted, his hand inching closer to the door handle. “Let me out. It’s just Christmas lights. C’mon, I’ve gotta go.”

She turned the key and hoped her tiny vehicle would last through the night as the engine coughed. “You don’t follow the lights, little brother. Not if you ever want to find home again.”

Benji snorted. “What rubbish. It’s just a gas station.”

“Your app was fine,” Tella said grimly. Through the storm, she caught a glimpse of a state trooper’s tall hat, flickers of snow making it hard to tell how far away he – it? – was. “Sparkly, inviting lights in the middle of a freak snowstorm? We go. We go, now!”

***

Thanks to Leigh for this week’s prompt, and mine went to Parrish. Check them out over at MOTE!

PS – I just discovered the earlier link wasn’t working for Fantastic Schools Sports, and also missed nother Mike’s helpful correction until today (thanks, Mike!). If you’re so inclined, find it here. I’d love to hear what you think of Hide and Freeze!

It’s Always Something

“Just when you think you’re done, you realize there are still five more things to do,” June muttered, and tossed her pen into the air.

“Oh, that doesn’t stop,” a faintly southern accent replied. “Sam. Appalachian folklore, mostly.”

She leaned back and tried lean back in the tiny office, bumping into the bookcase. “June. I talk to myself, obviously. But since you’re here, tips are very welcome.”

He grinned and ran a hand over his white-blond Mohawk. “Go with the flow, mostly, especially for your first term.”

“Does it get better?”

“Oh, no.” He shook his head emphatically. “I’m about to fail half my class for using AI. If you time it right, tomorrow you’ll see a whole lot of sad puppies trailing through the hallway.”

“All to tell you how it’s not their fault.”

He shrugged, and adjusted the pink pocket square tucked into his vest. “You get used to it, sort of, but it helps to focus on the ones who’re actually here to learn.”

June snagged a precariously perched coffee mug and winced at how cold it had become. “Sam, it’s good to meet you.”

***

Prompt trade this week with Leigh Kimmel – check it out over at MOTE!

Magical Examination

Hey, y’all! A quick announcement before getting to this week’s prompt. Fantastic Schools Sports is hot off the digital press, with paperback coming soon. I’ve been dancing as I waited to announce this one, because it was so much fun to write. Check out magical freeze tag here – but be careful! When the game goes wrong, you might just freeze with your face like that…permanently.

And now, on with the prompt! That’s why you stopped by, one assumes.

Let’s keep Cedar’s inspiration – Bang through all of it at the last minute – in the same setting.

***

Mikhail pulled on a tuft of hair and let out a curse as his glowworm faded. “Third one tonight.”

“We’ll be fine,” Liza said airily, and popped her gum, as if she were a teenaged human rather than djinn. “I plan to set my exams on fire. What’s your excuse going to be?”

“This was your idea.” He tried to muster exasperated scorn in his voice, but was too exhausted to care. “Bang through all of it at the last minute, you said. I’ll get impaled by an okapatapi tomorrow because I accidentally offend his third aunt by pointing my shoe in the wrong direction.”

“That was your first step wrong,” she said gravely, and tweaked his hair. “Listening to me. Hey, you know your hair like this makes you look like an okapatapi? Cool, huh?”

He hid a grin as he returned to the illustrated guide for magical zoology. Liza was the worst study partner he’d ever had, but she made the onerous more amusing…

***

My prompt went to Parrish Baker – check out what she did with a squid, over at MOTE!

Cloud Battles

Peter felt his temples pulse and held his fingertips to the sides of his head. It did absolutely nothing to stop the throbbing.

“That won’t help,” a slightly tinny voice said through his laptop’s speakers. A two-dimensional version of June tilted her head. “Try at least little circles.” She motioned, nearly spilling the coffee still in hand across her blazer. “Oh, blast.”

“Blasting might help,” he said, hope lifting his spirits, if not the headache. “As would a stroke. I really don’t believe this.”

“Your minion claimed doesn’t just have a wild imagination, I assume?”

“Intern,” he corrected absently. “The same one, I suspect, who caused the feckin’ problem to start.”

“Your Irish is showing.”

He grinned, and managed an exhausted wink. “Aye, lass, and innit a shame you’re two hundred klicks away?”

“Professional continuing education is important,” virtual June said primly. “This conference is great, actually. You can show me how much you missed me later. Now, show me the closet?”

“Server room,” he muttered with a sigh, and felt the throbbing return with a vengeance. Peter hefted the laptop to his chest and turned toward the closet on his left.

“Is that our connection?”

He caught a glimpse of a frown as she twisted her head, clearly hoping he’d turn the camera toward the door.

“No, lass, that’s the cloud storage having thunderstorms.” He set the laptop on a printer that had been disconnected so long it carried a thick layer of dust. “Bit tense to open the door, really.”

“Well,” June said, biting her lip. “What’d the minion say he did before he reported this problem?”

“He didn’t.” Peter’s words were sour as he contemplated the door, with its flashes of lights and soft booms of thunder escaping through the inch-high crack at the bottom of the door, exactly as if the server farm now had its own thunderstorm. “He also ran away. His latest project was setting up a mythology database, though, if it helps any.”

“Mythology,” June said slowly.

“That’s your thinking voice, love.”

“Mmm-hmm. Why don’t you come and join me for the rest of this conference?”

“Can’t,” he said. “I’m the only mage with the right skill set around. Whatever’s in there will eat everyone else alive.”

“It might also eat you alive.” Virtual June had lost all semblance of teasing, now, and despite the connection being worse than usual, he thought she’d also gotten paler. “Because after whatever your intern downloaded for that project, my best guess is that those are the thunder gods duking it out in there.”

***

I picked up a spare this week: When the cloud storage started having thunder storms…

Check out more – or play along – over at MOTE!

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