Elf at Oars (167 Words)
“It’s fifteen past eleven. Where is he?”
Roran met the young woman’s anxious eyes with dispassion. “It was your idea to steal the key in broad daylight,” he said. “That was wise. We cannot be hunted by the blood-drinkers at day and the human guards are not so clever. But it was also your idea to have Larus arrange our getaway.”
Harriet gnawed her fingers. “He’s an elf,” she said. “He should know about creeping around and staying out of sight. Shouldn’t he?”
They were hailed by a cheerful voice. “Down here! Quick!”
Roran and Harriet turned in surprise. The voice had come from the stretch of water behind them. Although he said nothing, the goblin Roran’s face relaxed into silent, close-mouthed resignation.
“Isn’t it nice?” said the young elf, pulling at the bright-colored rowboat’s oars. “Come on, we have to hurry!”
“Wh-what? Where are we going in that?”
The elf met Harriet’s dismay with ease. “Away from here,” he said. “You can sit in the front.”
Written in response to Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner‘s photo prompt. Check it out!