It’s once again Friday and the Fictioneer Challenge,


“What’s this?” Alia muttered.

There in the rocky glen,

Sturdy roof and rock walls still stood.

The water wheel stopped in the rill.

In awe she looked at the ruined mill,

Feeling staring ghosts

Looking from the open door and windows.

“Empty and alone, just like me since Jory died!”

She thought to take shelter there

Among the twisted dying trees.

Or push on, up the path, to the summit.

Jory hadn’t made it,

She dragged his body inside

Help still far away!

Jory could rest

Until she returned.