Last Trip

Trifecta: Week Seventy-Two
Congratulations to the weekend winners!
And on to this week's word;
ALCHEMY (noun)

1

: a medieval chemical science and speculative philosophy aiming to achieve the transmutation of the base metals into gold, the discovery of a universal cure for disease, and the discovery of a means of indefinitely prolonging life

2

: a power or process of transforming something common into something special

3

: an inexplicable or mysterious transmuting

Jackson had spent fifty years in the one room shack at the base of the mountain.  He'd married, once.  It hadn't gone well.  He found he preferred being alone to arguing over every detail of life.  

But there had been loneliness.  Until he found Ayrydd.  

He was going to see her today for the last time.  He owed her that.  

The pain running up and down his arm was getting worse.  His number was up, no sense in fighting it.  He just hoped he had enough strength left to hike up the foothills to her lair.

Jackson had no regrets, he was somewhere in his eighties.  He could still get around, until just lately.  Yep, a good time to die.

As he labored up the mountain, he pondered what alchemy made the air suddenly unbreathable.  His wheezing had alerted Ayrydd to his arrival.  She waited outside her lair, sparkling green eyes reflecting her knowledge of the reason for his visit.

He accompanied her inside.  They sat together the rest of the day in silent communion.  As the pain spread into his chest and his breath stuttered, he whispered a barely audible goodbye.

                   **************

Ayrydd sat motionless for several hours, grieving silently for her latest loss.  She pushed her snout into Jackson's still face, though she knew there was no life left.  Then, with utmost tenderness, she cradled his body in her forelimbs.  She carried him along a narrow passage to a small cavern deep within the rock.  

In the center was the bier she'd built for him only days before.  She laid him gently on the bed of dried branches.

Ayrydd gazed at his lifeless form a few moments longer before emitting a puff of flame.  The fire's glow danced along her golden scales as she bid her friend a final farewell.

Blowing Bubbles

/>Write at the Merge, Week 11
Two photos this week for you to reflect upon:(I chose this one.)



Trifecta Challenge; Week Sixty-eight

Congratulations to the weekend's winners, and on to the weekly prompt.
TIME (noun)

1a : the measured or measurable period during which an action, process, or condition exists or continues : duration
 b : a nonspatial continuum that is measured in terms of events which succeed one another from past through present to future
 c : leisure <time for reading>
2: the point or period when something occurs : occasion
3a : an appointed, fixed, or customary moment or hour for something to happen, begin, or end <arrived ahead of time>
b : an opportune or suitable moment <decided it was time to retire> —often used in the phrase about time <about time for a change>

Please remember: 

• Your response must be between 33 and 333 words. 
• You must use the 3rd definition of the given word in your post. 
• The word itself needs to be included in your response. 
• You may not use a variation of the word; it needs to be exactly as stated above. 
• Only one entry per writer. 
• If your post doesn't meet our requirements, please leave your link in the comments section, not in the linkz.
• Trifecta is open to everyone. Please join us. 

The children squealed in delight.  Bubbles!   Hundreds of bubbles.  Iridescent globes, dancing through the forest on the whim of gust and breeze.

They chased the fragile spheres, shrieking in glee.  Bubbles hung from branches, flashing with reflections of leaf and bough.  They caught in the undergrowth, where little hands tried to capture them whole.

At the far side of the forest, the ground rose through gentle foothills to the mountains beyond. She perched on a sunny outcrop watching the forest edge, puffs of smoke curling from her nostrils with each breath. Her wings folded in readiness against golden scales. 

"Is it time for lunch yet, Mama?"

She flicked her gaze toward her dragonet, still marvelling at the strange emissions flowing from her tiny throat.

"Not yet, Baby, let them get clear of the trees."