Mayflies Excerpt

Well, last post before I leave for May. I promise I'll respond to any comments when I have time! But, as for blog posts, this is it until June. See you then.

And so we come to an update from 2YN-land. I've already posted another glimpse of Mayflies, but this one may actually show up in the story somewhere.

Jonathan Julian slows his pace as we leave the road, and I have no choice but to do the same. Keeping my wings as folded-in as possible, as if no one would notice them that way, I take another look around. Julian promised he made sure no one could see us on the way here, but if he's wrong, we need to be ready to go. I haven't seen anyone but Julian and Matthew around, so— Julian stops abruptly, and I have to take a step back to avoid running into him. "Here we are," he says matter-of-factly, arms akimbo. His house isn't all that impressive. It's fairly big, enough for two rooms, but only precisely-planted flowers and leafy plants surround it. No other homes. Either he's special, or he has no family. The first possibility doesn't seem likely. The walls are still just flaking wood clotted with mud, the roof a few layers of dry grass. Not a stone in sight, besides the whitened wall. He's no aristocrat, that's for sure. "You might have to duck," Julian warns as he steps inside. I exchange a glance with Matthew. If Julian stays distracted for just long enough, we could fly straight out of his range. If we're too slow, he could either catch us again or curse us. We have enough curses already, thanks. In silent agreement, we walk to the doorway. I take the lead as always, while he keeps an eye out behind. I lower myself when I get to the door, but my wings pass under just fine. I briefly wonder why someone as short as Julian has such a high doorway, but there are more pressing things to worry about. Like why he's taking us into his house instead of chasing us off. Tapping a foot, Julian smoothes out part of the wall as we walk into the main room. Images coat the walls. Straight ahead, the likeness of the owner; to the left, an angel; to the right, a short segment of the starry sky. Some words are painted on the ceiling, but to me they're just blood-red scribbles. Another room peeks past the wall with Julian's picture, while a large, smooth rectangle of wood is laid carefully just in front of that doorway. Pots of ink, quills, and what must be paints lie next to the board in a straight line, a stack of amatl paper neatly to the side. The only part of the other room I can see is the back wall, coated with shelves lined with folding books. "Now." Julian's low voice snaps my gaze back to him. Sitting in the center of the front room, he looks up at us with glittering, black eyes. "Let's have a conversation, shall we, Mayflies?"