I finished this story tonight. It’s 1800 words of Icelandic ghost story.

It’s in a password protected post, but it’s the usual password. Don’t know what that is? Drop me a line and I’ll tell ya.

And here’s the teaser.

In the lee of the Bægisa farm house, Guðrun watched the wind blowing through the horses’ manes without feeling the harsh cold herself. Faxi had huddled in among them, her gray mane dancing like a shroud on the breeze. All the horses stood with their backs to the wind and Hákon’s horse looked like she belonged here.

Her fiancé took one of her mittened hands in his and squeezed. “I have to go.”

She leaned against him. “Must you really? The sun has barely moved.”

He pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her. His breath was warm in her ear. “If I could stay with you forever, I would, but I need to be back to conduct services tomorrow and I don’t want to ask Faxi to cross Dark River after the sun sets.”

Today I got a request to build a wounded dog for a show. A springer spaniel this time, and wounded, not dead. This will be more of a challenge in some ways because it has to move, but also easier.

I’m waffling, because I only have 13 days free in July. Mom is encouraging me to go back to NYC and do it, but I feel like I should stay here. This is a benefit and a curse of being a freelancer. My schedule is flexible enough that I could stay but I don’t know when the next job will come, so turning down the income is nerve-wracking. ¹ We’ll probably decide later this week when things about Grandma’s situation are clearer.

1. Plus, I’m only going to see Rob for two weeks this month as it stands. [↩]

Thanks to D.T. Friedman for spotting this.