We were within a mile-and-a-half of the service roads when we found it. Amidst the colossal snow-capped mountain cliffs was a barely visible wicker basket resting on the black earth.
“There it is!” Vear shouted as he yanked me towards the rock. Inside the basket was a cooing child, a boy with eyes bluer than the cerulean skies, warmth by a white cloth with a gray dire wolf print on it. Two hours ago, a crow came to our shack with a message from Maester Andre.
“Little prince,” we cried in chorus. I clutched his frail little body and pressed it to my chest to give him human warmth. Vear looked over the cliffs, watched the snow hawks wheeling overhead the mountain winds and said, “Wife, we must hasten and leave now. The kingdom will be at war soon.”
We quickly tiptoed away from the snow-etched cliff, my mind teeming with questions of the unknown that awaits us. “Wait! What should we call him?” I asked.
Vear stopped and looked tenderly into the child’s eyes, “Jan. From now on, we will call him Jan.”
“Jan.” I repeated with a smile.
Word Count: 177
Written for Roger Shipp’s new flash fiction challenge, Flash Fiction For the Purposeful Practitioner. An opening sentence is provided and we are to craft a story to under 200 words length.
This week’s prompt is: “We were within a mile-and-a-half of the service roads when we found it.”
Enjoy more stories here: