Title of Work

“Gonna be a bitch of a storm.” Gekko’s voice comes from over my head.

The sky, redder than shark’s blood,  bathes the ice flows and I can see nothing but the sunrise, the ice and black water from my station below the bowsprit of The Apple Jack. The breaking water flares around my tail in icy splashes, and I lean out of the merrow shelf, holding the bowsprit. High above Gekko stands shivering bundled to her nose in fur and her over-sized quilt.

I call to her over the churning water. “Well, good morning, goblin. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you up so early. The wolves will be so disappointed if you make it on time for breakfast.”

The windchill reddens the tips of her green nose and her pointed droopy ears and she looks more dead than alive. A goblin from the tropics, even a wizard like her, has no