A Druid's Hope

Fantasy flash fiction

At dusk, a slightly built woodland monk, crouching in the brush, peered at the home she’d built into the base of a large oak tree. The small round entrance, which she considered well camouflaged ordinarily, was filled with the furry hindquarters of a particularly fat Misfit. Some birthday gift this is, she thought.

Appearing from her hiding spot, she crept close, then poked the creature’s hind quarters with her walking stick. “Put down everything and turn around slowly. I don’t want to hurt you.” She was well trained in stick-fighting, but it was doubtful she would need to defend herself. Misfits were notorious for theft and causing destruction, but they shunned bloodshed. In this case, the heavyset man-like beast, with its long tangles of red fur, would be slower and more easily tired than others of his kind. She felt no fear of a violent confrontation.

“No hurt! No hurt! Nothing wrong! Nothing wrong!” shouted the creature in surprise. His voice was a thickly accented, low-pitched chirp. The real name of the creatures came from their language, and was pronounced ‘Muns-fet,’ meaning ‘same-others.’ In time, the human term Misfit had stuck, even among the Misfits themselves.

The End

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