Part five in my Friday flash series experiment! Parts one, two, three and four here. Part six next week. 😉

He freed Gazelle and she jumped down. The dirt was firm, undoubtedly tamped down from the passage hundreds of dust devils.

“That way.” The dust rider pointed at people clustered around the bonfire. “Go.”

She hoisted her bag over one shoulder and walked. She was stiff, achy and cold from the long ride. She hoped she could sleep soon.

She pushed as close to the fire as she dared; it felt good on her chilled skin.

“Careful!” A boy about her own age grabbed her elbow and yanked her back.

“What -”

“You almost stepped on them.” He pointed at the ground.

Gazelle looked down. Eggs. Large, sand-colored, vibrating eggs lay in a heap. They were so close to the fire it was a wonder they didn’t burn. Or cook. Maybe this was an odd dust rider cooking method. She thought longingly of scrambled eggs.

She didn’t know how she’d missed them before.

Even as she watched, a tiny crack appeared in the egg in front of her. A small bit of shell fell away and a slender brown tail slipped through. It waved wildly, banging itself against the shell, and the shell broke apart. A small, glistening wet dust devil cried into the night air.

Gazelle gaped. A dust devil hatching. Who would have guessed?

All around her, the other eggs hatched. Soon the air was filled with the shrill screeching of the new-born dust devils.

The one she was watching suddenly quieted, studied her with one blue eye and then leaped at her. She stumbled back and threw up an arm over her face.

Claws tore into her scalp and sharp teeth tore into her shoulder. Gazelle screamed. It thrust its strong, slender tail into her mouth.

Gazelle scrabbled at the creature. But her fingers slipped on the wet scales and she could not pull free.

She bit the creature’s tail and sharp pain bloomed on her shoulder. Her sight went dark and she knew she was dying.

They’ll tell Papa I died during training.  

The baby devil spit saliva on her shoulder. It rolled down her back, leaving only cool numbness behind.

Treacherous Rider.

Part four in my Friday flash series experiment! Parts one and two and three here.

Gazelle handed the dust rider her single knapsack and watched him strap into the dust devil’s harness. She wore her heaviest canvas jacket and wondered how a dust rider could be so daft as to insist on something so heavy in summer. She was going to melt like a pat of butter.

The dust devil flicked long, curling ears at his rider. He smiled, patted its head and spoke to her. “Climb on up. I will strap you in first.”

Mud-colored spines ran along the sides of the devil. She put one foot on it and clambered up to the saddle. The dust rider showed her where to put her legs, then looped a harness over her shoulders and leashed her to the saddle. Like she was a cow or something, too stupid to know when to stay still.

She scowled at it. The leather trapped her as surely the gold paid for her.

The dust rider hoisted himself in front of her and strapped himself in. He did not, she noticed sourly, use the shoulder harness on himself.

He caressed the dust devil’s ears. “Fly!”

It reared up, roiling under her like a fishing boat caught in a storm. Gazelle fisted her hands, fingers digging into her own skin. She would not clutch at the dust rider. She wouldn’t.

Miles of long, sleek brown skin stretched out behind her. The wind from the dust devil’s launch rocked tree branches and blew her mother’s skirts up.

She watched her family farm become smaller and smaller until it was a mere spec on the ground. They flew above the clouds and she could see nothing but white fluff. Her ears froze and then burned. The devil was a comforting warmth under her.

Gazelle didn’t know how long they flew, but the sun set. The rider handed her some hard biscuits from somewhere.

It was still dark when they started descending. There was a gigantic grassy space, enclosed by wire fences and lit by dozens of torches. Many dust devils gathered on the ground. A small group of young people like her huddled in the middle, close to a big bonfire.

“The devils’ lawn!” the dust rider announced.

As a side note, I think this one might be least stand alone out of all them so far.

Part three in my Friday flash series experiment! Parts one and two here.

“Gazelle!” her mother called.

She took a deep breath, wiped her hands on her gray cotton pants and walked out the front door.

Up-close, the devil was very impressive. Scary. It turned a single, window-sized, cloud-colored eye toward her.

She stopped at the edge of the porch, staring. Even wrapped around itself like a snake, it was bigger than the house.

The leather-clad dust rider smiled at her. “Gazelle Root?”

She raised her chin. “I am not going with you, sir. My life is here.”

“Gazelle. Don’t be ridiculous. It’s a great honor.” Her mother turned to the dust rider, a greedy glint in her eye. “How much is the family’s compensation?”

“Why don’t we talk about that? Inside?”

“Of course. Gazelle, make tea.”

Fuming, Gazelle turned on her foot and stormed to the kitchen. The sitting room was steps from it and voices carried clearly.

She scowled at the pot of boiling water and pictured dumping on the dust rider’s head. Maybe her mother’s, too. Her father, too, for saying nothing at all.

She took a deep breath to calm herself, prepared the tray and carried it into the sitting room.

“Good news,” her mother said. “We settled on 5000 golds for you.”

“I wish you joy,” snapped Gazelle.