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Vernon turned to Cassandra. “Princess, you must be strong. Think of Elliot. I swear we will bring you home.”
“That’s so sweet,” Spike gushed, “isn’t it, Cassie? Still, you’ve gotta wonder why old Elli isn’t here himself. Hm. Maybe he’s smarter than he looked.”
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“Well if it isn’t Vernon the Valet-ison,” Spike sneered, reclining on a curved leaf, attended by an impossibly handsome young wasp. “I hafta admit, I didn’t expect her to send you. Arturo, bring our guest something to eat; he’s looking a little peak-ed. Or is it ‘piqued’?”
He looked Vernon up and down as the blushing Arturo, eyes downcast, sped off in the direction of the battered butterfly. “Sit,” Spike instructed, “let’s catch up.”
“I don’t have time to indulge you, Spike. Show me the Princess so I can report back to the Queen before she wonders what happened to me.”
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Mr. D’Arc met Vernon at the western edge of Fen as the sun began to slide down the sky.
“Nice to see you again, Brudder. We’ve missed you.”
“Just take me to Spike,” Vernon said. His gasp as they passed a violent attack on a hatching chrysalis caught Mr. D’Arc’s attention.
“Oh,” he sniggered, “de refreshments. Yes, indeed, we do make good use of mahnarcs. I told you dere would be hospitality.”
To be continued…
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Standing before her King, Connie’s honesty tussled with the rare and exquisite pleasure of being singled out for praise, and won.
“Your Greatness, I did what any mother — any parent — would have done if they saw their baby in danger. As pleased as I am that my Arnold has told the world he’s proud of me, I can’t take credit for my instincts. Besides, Arnold’s elder sister, my first born, actually went back toward all those fangs to grab Bitsy and pull her into the house. She’s the brave one.”
“Permission to speak, your Greatness,” came a voice from the ranks behind him.
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The whispers began in the woods beyond Connie’s garden and grew to exultant shouts by the time they reached her windows.
“The King is coming! The King is coming!”
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“Well, Mr. D’Arc,” Queen Lilian began, “what is your master offering?”
“Ahfering? I tink you hahve misunderstood de situation. De Commahnder issues a wahrnin’.”
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“Cassandra!… Cassandra! Can you hear me? Where are you? Are you all right?… Cassandra!” Elliot charged over the mossy ground, first in one direction, then in another, frantically calling as the shadows stretched deeper into the woods and the eastern sky darkened to cobalt.
“Cassandra…” his hoarseness whispered away to nothing as he slumped to the ground and wept.
“Excusé moi?” a smoky voice rasped, “I cannot help but wondair eef you are een need of some kind of asseestance.”
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Holding Cassandra close, Elliot was barely aware of the approaching buzz before pain stabbed into his neck.
His world dissolved in a cloud of black mist.
Shivering and shaken, he awoke in the shadows of late afternoon. Alone.
“Cassandra?… Cassandra!”
To be continued. . .
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Captain McWatt of the Light of Day Aero Squadron struck and tore, shredded and tossed every Marauder within his reach. Sirehta’s brothers turned on their captors with unleashed hatred.
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Winding his way through bracken and brush, Sirehta returned to the battlefield, seeking out the Rebel commander who’d sent him to scout the south.
“Sir, the Evil Ones lie many leagues distant. Their number is small compared to ours. Their own recruits, the Foaming Reds, attacked them before their howling allies could save them. I believe the threat is low.”
“Do you? I’ll bear that in mind, soldier,” the commander sneered. “Leagues, you say? Well, I say your pace is impressive. Use it on your way to the front — your breakfast ration is up to you. Dismissed.”
Space, Time, and Raspberries 
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