Far Horizons: Tales of Sci-Fi, Fantasy and Horror. Issue #16 July 2015 | Page 29

Of Mice and Dragons

and cursed and kicked and eventually slipped in the
mud to land flat on my back, letting my tears mingle
with the rain...

Mary Hukel

***
“Excuse me?”

I had always known I was destined for great
things. A farm was just a way to waste my talents. The
world was waiting for me to take flight and claim my
rightful place.

But first, I had to leave.
My father had plans for me. Wanting a son,
he had to settle for a daughter. Ever the optimist, he
figured that he could at least marry me off to the first
oaf that belonged to a neighbouring farmer. Before
I could let that happen, I had to do something. Anything, really, that didn’t involve me being married to
the next local stud to continue the existence of farmers
pledged to the king.
In the middle of the night, I tiptoed across the
floor to open the door and sneak out. As it shut behind
me, I did a little dance for my light-footedness. It was
short-lived, however, when I realized that I had left
my pack beside my bed. Silently cursing, I attempted
to open the door and sneak back in.

My father’s hunting dog had other ideas.
As I pelted down the road at a flat run, I hastily
made other plans about food and lodgings. Snares
could trap food, and I could bed down in barns overnight. So long as the other farms didn’t have hunting
dogs.
Of course, the realization of all my hunting
equipment being in my pack back home dawned on
me as I panted at the crossroads. As the saying goes,
the best-laid plans of mice and dragons often lead to
cheese. I’m not sure exactly what that saying could
possibly mean, because my grandfather uttered those
words on his deathbed, but I’m sure it had nothing to
do with the sudden burs Ё