It’s Friday! Woot! Anyway, I’m in a celebratory mood. Been looking forward to the end of this week since the damn thing reared its ugly head a few days ago. Because I’m in such a good mood, I’m going to give you something fun. It’s a bit of writing, and no I’m not going to tell you what it is, what it’s for, or when you’ll see the rest of it. Pretty damn annoying, I agree. Hope you enjoy

 

Red Sky at Night

Howell Hywell watched the sun sink into the clouds, setting the sky ablaze. Building clouds on the western horizon turned from black to purple, violet, angry red and intense orange, as the sun’s fiery disc sank behind their ominous bulk. Howell watched from atop Sparrowdown Tower, gazing into the distance. One paw absently touched the wire-wrapped hilt of the rapier suspended from an ornate black and green baldric at his side, which marked him as the Daywarden for Clan Hywell.

Howell’s whiskers twitched and he raised his nose to scent the air. Dust and pollen rode the growing breeze out of the westlands, but there was something else. His sensitive nose found the scent of rain, sodden and damp, rife with the promise of life. Beneath that lurked another scent, something acrid and tangy – danger! As the sky turned from blazing fire to gloom, he raised a carved black beetle horn to his lips and blew a resounding blast summoning all the clan home.

– Danger! Enemies! Fire! Foes! Danger! –

The call went out, summoning all of Clan Hywell to return to Sparrowdown Tower. More correctly, the horn blast summoned the mouse clan home to the warrens carved out of the living earth beneath the ancient stone tower over generations. A storm is coming, he thought to himself. Something wicked rides the wind this night. The Daywarden glanced over the parapet to the turf below.

The grounds surrounding Sparrowdown Tower had been transformed down the long years, generations of Hywell mice leaving their mark, changing the land. Orderly fields stretched away from the base of the tower, bearing row upon row of healthy crops – corn, squash, beans. Fruit trees grew in abundance down tidy lanes bordered by neat stone walls. At the base of the tower was a large clear area, left aside for drilling troops, though it had been generations since Clan Hywell had fielded more than a handful of warriors other than the Daywarden and Nightwarden.

Movement near the base of the tower caught the Daywarden’s eye. A figure emerged from the shadows and moved into the last of the dying sunlight, moving toward the east. Howell frowned as he recognized Aed’s red fur as the boy ran down the road, a sack slung over one shoulder. Aed had always been trouble, Howell thought, son of the Laird or no.

Howell had known the pup since he was a mewling pinky, burrowing blindly in the burrow’s soft lining. The pup had an inquisitive nature and a streak of daring a mile wide – he wasn’t a bad boy, but trouble seemed to have a way of finding him. Like tonight, Howell thought. He raised the horn again and blew.

– Danger! Enemies! Fire! Foes! Danger! –

He thought he saw Aed’s head turn, looking back at the tower, and then he was gone, off and running madly down the road. Howell sighed. There was nothing for it; the boy was bound and determined to do whatever it was he was about and as Daywarden, Howell had no time to deal with the recalcitrant son of the clan’s lord. With one final blast of the warning horn, the Daywarden descended from the top of the tower through a trap door. There was much to do. The pups and pinkies had to be secured in the deepest warrens and the Doorwardens needed to be organized. And he had to warn the Laird that his oldest son was out in the dark of night alone. There was a storm coming and Howell Hywell set about his duty.