Iron-Clad
NYC Midnight 100-Word Microfiction Challenge
The longship's bray split the morning mist. Vikings with mud-streaked faces and blood-soaked fists. Villagers screaming "Sanctuary!" to the barred chapel.
Tearing my door from its hinges, a lone drengr claps iron around my arm. My charred writing stick is flicked away. "Bryti," he decides.
Br ... his bride?
"Too old," boys sneered. "The Devil's doing," wives hissed. Scarred and schooled, I was no match even for the idiot a town over.
Bryti. I shudder, realizing the Norse word for valued slave.
Hearth fire burning my memory, I drop the scraps of my old life into the abyss of the sea.
About the Creator
Alyson Kate Long
I'm a small business owner by day; a Kindle junkie by night. I love Indian food, MacGyver reruns, breaking grammar rules for the sake of sentiment & my tattoo of falling into a really great book. There is always time for coffee or a nap!
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