trembling hands for the micro story prompt if you're up for it!
Send me a number and I’ll write a micro story using the word or phrase (still accepting!)
"Are you nervous?"
"Nervous?" Guydelot scoffs, checking his bowstring for the third time, then peering out over the dock of the airship. They're not yet within sight of Ala Mhigo's walls, but they've passed into the Lochs; they'll be there soon enough... and it's easier to contemplate the end of this journey than the start of the next.
Garlemald.
When he looks back, Sanson is eyeing him with a look of affectionate skepticism - no doubt because this is the third time he's checked his bowstring since leaving Gridania, and the fourth time he's checked the tuning on his harp. Guydelot sighs, sinking to a seat on the deck beside Sanson, restless... and anxious.
In his lap, his hands are shaking. He's tempted to reach once more for his bow, for his harp, for anything to keep his hands occupied-
And then, abruptly, there's another hand in his, clinging tight, reassuring.
Guydelot glances sidelong at Sanson, curious - they are on duty, after all - but Sanson merely gives him one of his small, quiet smiles, and squeezes his hand.
It quells the trembling, for now.
