Today’s Daily Post prompt:
Ready, Set, Done
Today, write about anything — but you must write for exactly ten minutes, no more, no less.
I started on this series a while back. Then, in a fit of depression, I erased everything I had ever written, including the Green Lake stories. I decided I would like to write them again, and this is my opening scene for the tale of Brack the Boggis, written within the ten minute deadline as soon as I saw the prompt!
Brack poled his craft slowly over the surface of the Green Lake, barely causing a ripple in the calm, emerald waters. He sniffed appreciatively at the damp night air, squinting a little against the pale light of the full moon. He could hear his neighbours, assorted Fae folk, going about their business just beyond the lake shore as his prow bumped against sloping earth. He hopped out, swung his pack over his shoulder and headed into the shrubbery lining the path that lead from the village to the shore.
His slender, almost wizened frame, topped by an outsized head and huge ears, loped along a path beaten permanent by countless generations of elves, pixies, fairies, gnomes, trolls, and boggis, like Brack. He’d first followed the path, tagging behind the grumpy figure of Gramps Boden, struck dumb with awe on clearing the path and stepping into the hustle and bustle of the night market. It could still have the same effect on Brack, two centuries later. It did now, and he paused, a one-sided smile crossing his usually grumpy features – had he thought about it, he’d have seen the resemblance to Gramps Boden.
Stalls filled every nook and cranny, nestled between the tangled roots of ancient oaks and beeches. Fireflies hovered in helpful little groups above each stall, lighting the way for sellers and buyers alike. The market was an explosion of sound, colour and smell. From delicately woven fairy fabrics, via ironwork weapons and armour crafted by gnomes to delicious, enticing scents of trollish cookery, if a Fae needed something, they would be sure to find it at the night market. If not, it could be ordered.
Brack hoisted his pack a little higher and began to thread his way through the throng…