Young Writers Society

I recomend that before you read this, read Melosica-Prologue, and Chapter 1,2 and part one of chapter 3.

A cool breeze stirred the long black grass. Only a few years ago this had been a lush Savannah. Francis crept on the ground, fearing to be seen. He had been sent on the same quest as the green sprite had been sent. He looked up to the tops of the grasses, making sure that they didn’t move. He crept further. Ahead of him, he could see another coal black body standing. Francis had made it further than the sprite, and was now in the Fields of Asphodel. This was between the icy Hell, and the luxurious Blest. He crept in a long arc around the poor soul standing there for eternity. He crept on and on and thought: I know that all I need to is-- he was never to finish his thought.

* * *

After fifteen minutes of jogging at a pleasurable pace, Millie was once again out of breath.

“Millie…We’ll never reach Mesolonica before the sun rises if we keep stopping for a rest.” Alan said disapprovingly.

“Well…we…are…almost…half…way.” Millie puffed. She was right. They had moved with surprising speed. Well, much faster than a sedan chair being carried by four slaves.

“Come on!” Alan called out as he set off again. Exhausted, Millie followed.

* * *

Alan stood about two feet from the big shadowy cloud. Millie was next to him.

“Should we go in?” Alan asked.

“We should probably.” Millie replied. With out anyone telling them to, they took each other’s hand, and stepped through.