The Windmill

The foundation shook, and cracked. The world crumbled underneath Nicholson’s swift feet, feet that carried him with little effort as though he was Hermes dancing on the wind. The concave city ate itself without any care for the trouble, chaos and anarchy it was causing. The spell cast only hours ago on the city to make it prosperous once more had gone horrible awry, leaving the population to grasp out desperately for refuge. Only those who thought as quickly as Nicholson ran could conjure up a way to escape and fewer were kind enough to share their knowledge. But not Nicholson Schiaf. Nicholson shared his escape with the red head he was so painfully infatuated with, Rennet de la Fraisier. She was waiting for him patiently by the old city windmill, clutching her art supplies with one hand and keeping her straw hat on with the other.

“Nicholson, I’m ready!” Her voice sounded strained as she shouted, her high voice fighting with the sounds of their dying home, Lé Plumfields. Nicholson might not have known this, but her affection for him was grander than the destruction that followed the young man on his path to her.

“I shan’t be but a minute, Rennet!” And indeed he wasn’t. He met Rennet with a kiss and handed her the leather-bound magic book he was carrying. She opened up to the dog-eared page, and began painting the symbol she saw in the text in a light pastel blue on the windmill; the colour having to do as much with the symbol and spell as the actual shape. It was a simple enough sign, and once finished it shone magnificently like the light from a lighthouse leading a ship to safety. The patch of land with the windmill rose from the ground, and hovered.

“Magnificent, Rennet!” Nicholson gasped in awe, marveling at the girl’s work with the magic spell. He fastened on his padded goggles over his teal eyes and tightened the soft white scarf around his neck.

“It was simple, really.” Rennet warmly responded. With little effort the floating windmill island took to the azure skies, and flew along the azure sea and azure flames that engulfed the crumbling, tumbling buildings. Nicholson and Rennet flew forever free.

“Where is our next stop, Rennet?” An excited Nicholson asked, awed by the sight of destruction below.

“Adventure, Nicholson. Adventure is our next stop.”