The Mushroom Feast #8

Can you believe we’re to part eight?  I can’t!

Spoiler alert: There are big happenings in the next part!  I’m so excited!  The title is going to make sense soon.


When Amelia had been twelve, only a year after her father had died of the bee-sting, her mother had followed. People said she died of sorrow. The little fairy went to live with an aunt and the little house her parents built had sat empty until Amelia turned fourteen, when she went back to live in it. She had lived there alone (except for Jerry) since then, and she knew how to handle thunderstorms.

She went outside, picked some grass, and brought it back in. She closed the shutters on her little windows and tied them closed with the long blades. Ryan had filled her water-bucket. Amelia smiled as she pulled a second bucket off her shelf to put outside to fill with rain-water. It would save her a trek to the Bluestone. Then she stood in the doorway and took a deep breath. She didn’t like thunderstorms—though they weren’t as bad as yellow-jackets.

Lightning flashed brilliantly at that moment and a great gust of wind swept suddenly in, throwing the ferns into chaos. Amelia stepped inside and shoved her door closed, struggling against the unseen force of the wind, just as the first thunder boomed angrily, shaking the forest from canopy to roots. She shut and latched it, and pulled her little, wooden table in front of it.

Amelia climbed onto her bed, and had the sympathy to lift up her usually-floor-dwelling pet by four of his long, jointed legs. They cuddled up on the bright quilt together, hearing (and feeling) the thunder roar. The fairy examined her necklace of round, amber beads in the lightning-flashes; trying to focus on something besides the storm. A tiny, white flower was hung from it as a charm. It was beginning to wilt though. Amelia would have to find something new to put there when this was over.

The storm raged on into the night, and Amelia lay down with Jerry under the crook of her arm, and tried to cover both ears with her pillow. Pounding rain, crashing thunder, flickering lightning; she buried her whole face to shut it all out. Lying there wishing the storm would stop, she finally drifted off to sleep.

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