The Ashen Wrath (Watty's SHORTLIST recipient 2018) CHAPTERED VERSION

*47

I moved quietly through the tall grass, keeping close to the ground. The familiar sound of grinding gears filled me with dread. Peering up, I saw blue pinpoints bobbing near the village. The stilt striders were returning. I was too late.

Putting all my faith in the ridiculous cloak, I summoned my courage and moved ahead, doing my best to stay behind the stilstries as they clomped around the border of the zone toward their usual perches.

Knowing where the machines preferred to lurk, I entered the village from the south. I zigzagged between the canvas dwellings, making my way home. Seeing the family tent made me anxious and impatient. Against my better judgement, I took a short cut and rushed across an empty plot.

I was only a few feet from our tent when I heard clawed feet stomping closer. I sank to the ground and went limp beneath the cloak, collapsing next to a pile of compost.

The ground shook as the towering machine approached. I was blind, but the rhythmic whir of the stilstry's spindly limbs told me it was close. My cloak illuminated with blue light as a giant boom rattled my bones. I froze in fear as the smell of rotten vegetables and donkey manure burned my nostrils. Daun, I'm sorry.

Another impact shook me, followed by a shrill but small shriek. To my shock and joy, the stilt strider stomped away. I peeked out from the cloak and saw a dead rat smashed flat into the dirt beside me.

I quickly removed my shroud and stuffed it beneath the compost pile with a grunt. It took three seconds to get to my tent and dive inside. Another two seconds got me to my partition, which I zipped up tight in one motion. I collapsed to my bed roll and panted, waiting for my nerves to untangle.