Her blonde hair is shocked with electric blue streaks.
Her grey eyes are on her mother,
With pity and pain.
She wears baggy cotton overalls with a lacy tank top underneath.
“Excuse my mother,” she says. She comes over and takes the older woman’s hand.
“No trouble,” I say.
“It’s Adam. He has magic stones.”
“Of course he does.”
I squeeze the pouch in my hand and out pops the grey stone.
It falls to the ground.
Rain and hail blasts upon us.
“What is happening?”
The women cling to each other.
“We’re going to die!”
It may be true.
This is a continuing story in 100 word increments. Read the StormWeaver series from the start – Choose StormWeaver category from the home page.