She formed it in her palm, a translucent
sphere, caressed by a rainbow sheen. It floated,
carried by the breeze with her full consent.
Higher it flew; it accelerated,
heading towards the army’s lines. Eyes
closed, she concentrated; her bubble
bobbed o’er the mages’ camp. Through it she spies.
Her lips move as she counts her foes. Trouble
wears a blue robe; his kolh-lined eyes follow
her bubble. He spins dervish-fast, chases
her spell-wrought spy past armed men who wallow
in the respite. In the air he traces
a quick pattern, a counter to her spell.
Her bubble pops but she’s got her intel.
~ ~ ~
Contrary to the norm, this does not take place in Shayari. Not yet anyway. We don’t have any water mages on hand there–yet. This takes place out west until I can import someone with such skill eastwards. I’m working on that. The recruitment process is tough. I’d tell you who this is but then she might send a bubble assassin after me. So I’ll leave you to wonder.
image and prompt courtesy of Photo-Fiction #12