by Mary E. Lowd
An excerpt from Queen Hazel and Beloved Beverly. If you’d prefer, you can start with Part I, return to the previous part, or skip ahead.
Before they were all the way past the village, Beverly realized she’d traded screaming pain in her feet for splitting pain in her thighs and behind. She wasn’t used to riding horses, and she wasn’t at all sure she liked it. But at least they were moving at a good clip.
The scattered buildings on the fringe of the village passed swiftly by, and the black mare carried Beverly and knight up a craggy passage to the first of several fields of poppies. Beverly looked at the flowers, passing by in a blur, and half expected them to release a dizzying fog that would put her, the knight, and the horse all to sleep, as if they were merely characters in The Wizard of Oz. In that metaphor, who would be the wicked witch? Was it Queen Hazel? Or was she the wizard? Continue reading “Queen Hazel and Beloved Beverly – Part VII”