Now that November is over, I’m not immediately continuing my Star Patrol Nanowrimo project for Six Sentence Sunday. Instead, I’ll pick on another blogisode topic that I’ve rewritten more recently – the tale of Father Ismay. I hope that you like it.
Ismay was lighting candles on the Sanctuary prayer table when he heard someone pounding on the chapel doors. He blew out the tinder light and hurried into the dark antechamber as quickly as he could, but before he could get to the door, it was opening from outside and a tall, powerful man was carrying a slighter figure across the threshold. Once his eyes adjusted to the brightness of the noon sun spilling inside, he recognized the man as Flynn, the local butcher. “Saints above, Flynn – what’s wrong – is that Ian?”
“He collapsed in the middle of helping a customer in the market square, Father,” Flynn muttered. “Blasted fool still wanted his stewing shanks handed over, no matter what had happened to my own flesh and blood…”