Ficlets: from the 100 prompts (035-036)
titles (035) sixth sense, (036) smell
word count(035) ~ 70, (036) ~130
whos: the whole sensorial batch (up to #40) goes to asgardies
disclaimer: Kurumada and Teoie own StS, no disrespect meant.
035 - Sixth sense
It had started as a tickle to his sixth sense - the hearing when no sound existed, the seeing when nobody was present. Then it developed into the love he suspected he was not supposed to feel. And when the saints of Athena came he wasn’t surprised to find joy in the death that would finally let him acknowledge Bud, if only for a moment, before passing away.
036 - Smell
Winter was closing down on them.
Sitting back on the branch of the tree, the boy peered into the darkness. Everything was safe and maybe he should be happy the hunting had been good lately, there would be enough food for a while.
But he couldn’t avoid being moody. He hated winter.
Soon the snow would change into frozen layers of unyielding stone, and that meant there would be no traces to follow in the soft white blanket, no sounds of broken twigs as the pray run ahead.
Yes, winter was closing down on them, and his inferior sense of smell was never as obvious as it was then.
The cold was coming and Fenrir dreaded the season of snickering from the other cubs the bitter weather would bring.
word count(035) ~ 70, (036) ~130
whos: the whole sensorial batch (up to #40) goes to asgardies
disclaimer: Kurumada and Teoie own StS, no disrespect meant.
035 - Sixth sense
It had started as a tickle to his sixth sense - the hearing when no sound existed, the seeing when nobody was present. Then it developed into the love he suspected he was not supposed to feel. And when the saints of Athena came he wasn’t surprised to find joy in the death that would finally let him acknowledge Bud, if only for a moment, before passing away.
036 - Smell
Winter was closing down on them.
Sitting back on the branch of the tree, the boy peered into the darkness. Everything was safe and maybe he should be happy the hunting had been good lately, there would be enough food for a while.
But he couldn’t avoid being moody. He hated winter.
Soon the snow would change into frozen layers of unyielding stone, and that meant there would be no traces to follow in the soft white blanket, no sounds of broken twigs as the pray run ahead.
Yes, winter was closing down on them, and his inferior sense of smell was never as obvious as it was then.
The cold was coming and Fenrir dreaded the season of snickering from the other cubs the bitter weather would bring.