In the Mittle

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My wonderful writing group friends have starting doing a 10-minute daily writing prompt. Leah, the brains behind the prompts, and a few of the others (like Deb, and Alison) have already finished theirs.  The prompt for today was a picture found by the talented Ms. Caitlyn. (I put it down there for you to see.) Here's my free-write for today.

     A twinge of light touched the sky as Mittle put his hand to the moss-covered trunk.

     Hurry littles! he said to the army of glowing pinsprites bobbing down from the highest branches.

     Not a single one listened.

     Not that he expected them to. They never did listen. Especially when he was in a hurry.

     When each one was gathered in, he turned on his heel and leapt from the tree root he had convinced to prop him up.

     Thank you! he told it as he ran for home.  Mittle could almost hear the sigh as it eased itself back into the ground.

     When he reached the edge of the forest, he paused, squinting in the half-light. When he didn’t see any signs of movement, he crouched down to sneak past the kitchen window.  He didn’t think Mohma would be awake yet, but he wasn’t going to take any chances.

     When he reached the small flower bed under the window, he greeted Teyrna. Good morning, old one! Are you awake yet?

     No, came the grumbling reply.

     Mittle laughed. Have the birds been prattling again?

     Is that not what you’re doing, Smoft?

     Mittle tried not to giggle at the tree’s nickname for him.  Trees were not much for learning names, so he was called by his appearance. Small and soft. Smoft.

     I will be quiet, if you will lift me up to my window, wise Teyrna.

     Flatterer, she said, but soon a branch made its way down to him. At his window, he used his foot to push it open and dropped quietly onto his bed. He dropped his muddy shoes on the floor and carefully draped the satchel with the pinsprites over the log that was part of his headboard. Then he lay down, careful to not make noise enough to wake Bubs.

     Flyaway red hairs popped up over his bedspread followed by wide blue eyes. “Whuddya find?” Bubs practically yelled.

     Mittle thought his heart was going to leap out of his chest. “Bubs! Shhhhh!” he whispered at her. "Nothing. I didn’t find anything. Go back to sleep.”

     “But the sun is awake.”

     Mittle pursed his lips. Trying to think of an argument that would convince the three-year-old that being in bed would be a good thing.

     Bubs's brows creased in thought. “And you’re awake.” 

     Mittle sighed. It was going to be a long day.