GRAPHIC | Tara Espinoza
Before Thore could reply, a loud knocking came on the door,
“Doctor Thore! Open up! This is the captain of the Lord’s Guard. You are needed at the house.”
Embith stood up and walked to the door so that she could get her mask back on. He opened the door. He towered over the elf, “Where is the doctor, Embith?” The woman asked harshly. Embith huffed at her, “She is busy right now. She was in the middle of potion-making when you knocked.” This was often the story he told people who knocked and were not a part of the group who could see Thore’s face. The elf gave him an evil look, “Whatever, lizard. The Lord and Lady need her, and I will go through you if I have to.”
Embith placed his clawed hand on the blade’s hilt, “I would not challenge me, young one. You may be the captain of the Lord’s Guard, but I have over twenty-five years under my belt, and I am more than capable of defending myself and the dear doctor.”
Before the elf could respond, Thore had poked her mask from around him, “Sorry for the wait, Captain Windfall. I was finishing up some orders. How may I be of service to you?” Embith shuffled over so Thore could be better seen, “You could teach your lizard here some manners.”
Thore shot back, “I am sorry, but you were the one being rude to my dear friend here. He is tasked with protecting the shop and ensuring nobody tries to hurt me. May I remind you of what happened the last time you were put in charge of protecting my shop?”
The elf’s face and smug attitude dropped, “I am sorry, Doctor Thore. No, madam. I do not need to be reminded of that.”
*Short stories are a work of fiction.
