Sunday Snippet

Koshka

In response to the CSB’s,  “Write a poem or story from the perspective of something or someone small.”

Koshka in the Shadows

Wellone’s brown eyes didn’t blink as he watched Schilon gather roots by the river for the healing potion. The older woman huffed and mumbled when she looked over her shoulder before shaking her head.

Her work fascinated the ladling, even if he knew she hated how he observed, brown eyes steadily following her under a curtain of brown hair. What else was he supposed to do if she wouldn’t let him touch anything or help?

He knew things he knew he wasn’t supposed to know, yet didn’t know how to explain them to the elders or his guardian. Only his krov-cousin, Atkinson, understood; Atkinson who protected him as well as Voba did for the entire township.

Like the koshka.

Still on his stomach, Wellone met the gaze of a gray-stripe one walking along the fallen trees as another koshka gave a silent shriek of warning. Both animals were just out of Schilon’s range of sight, not that she believed in them. To hear her and Voba argue about such things had been considered entertainment for those who stopped by the inn for a meal.

It was said that the tracks of the koshka were found where Wellone’s family had died just beyond the Woodlands. Some said the animals were to blame. Wellone knew that wasn’t true. He heard many stories about the koshka in his short lifetime and believed all but a handful were lies.

But he was only a ladling, meant to be seen and and heard only as needed.

Like the koshka.

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