Toke: A Short Story

Heat flamed Booker’s cheeks and moving slowly forward, he eased himself into a chair. “Yeah, sorry. I got lost in my thoughts.”

I pulled the bags of maple candy out of my robe and slipped them to Igashu. “Presents for your grand children.”

Jessime laughed, “Tis true,” the young elf extended his arms out and shrugged, “It would take all night for me to confess.” The boy stepped down from the stone platform and watched his master set his effects down. Jessime smile faded, and he became agitated when his ears caught wind of the word ‘discipline’.

However, after the blacksmith calls her “wild” (Morrison 166) and the audience learns that she wrote all this on the wall, Florens learns to feel content with wearing no shoes. Although minha mãe is not physically there, Florens states that she can be proud of her because “the sole of [her] feet are hard as cypress” (Morrison 189). The soles of her feet eventually develop to be “hard as cypress,” just as her soul of her newfound

He spoke as his gaze averted from her, and wandered the room, wondering if there was a sofa he should lay down

“It’s adorable! What is it?” She asked, noticing that he was dumping what looked old, but not rotting, mashed potatoes and chicken.

The sun was settling into the trees when Talia stood and stretched, flexing and rubbing her abused fingers. "Ugh." she thought, feeling their pain flow through her. "This will feel worse tomorrow. Where did I put my ointments? Bah, I hate moving!"

Smiling with what Kian remembered Jonas describing once as a curl a woman’s toes, feet, legs, in fact her whole body, judging from Rosalind’s reaction. And, when the hunter lowered his voice to whisper. “To ease your aches and pains will be a pleasure worth indulging in, my sweet.”

Fastidious as ever, he bent over and reluctantly untied and took off his shoes, then neatly set them on the curb. He rolled up his pant legs; unfortunately, not far enough. The rising mud ruined his trousers as he sank deeper than the two lightweight explorers. He looked down at the muck working its way up his legs and sighed, then waded in determined to come get us before the rain increased.

“Fire and earth,” Roz said, clearly bored out of her skull. She absently began to pull up blades of grass from the academy lawn.

“One more task.” Crystal stood and pulled out silk pouches from her bag. Celtic nodded.

“OK...Makkachin, time to go!” The poodle barked excitedly and turned them around to head towards the door where his harness hung up on a hook above the piles of shoes. Viktor was especially bad about throwing his shoes around and some of the guests could be bad too. Yuuri had tripped over them more than once. He tripped a lot these days...more than before. It was exhausting, not to mention painful. Even though he couldn’t see them, Yuuri could feel the bruises all over his thighs and his stomach from where he would run into the edges of counters and anything else that stuck out.

Will squirted a large dollop of blue dawn soap on his hands and lathered it between them before gently spreading it through the cat’s fur as Hannibal held it in place so that the two were standing side to side. Will worked his fingers through the fur diligently, scrubbing through the remains of the matted sections. He could feel where scars were and where two wounds—one on her neck and one on her left front leg, were swollen with pus. They coaxed the cat with soft words as Hannibal cleaned the wounds, cutting off all the surrounding fur and draining cleaning the gashes with diluted iodine before washing the cat over again, this time taking advantage of the anti-anxiety medicine to gently run a stream of warm water over her fur, their hands gently massaging the soap out of her fur. She had stopped shaking at some point during the process, her pupils still blown but eyes dropping closed, heart slower than before. It was an extremely intimate act, both calming and slightly disgusting, though the rotten smell eased once they’d drained the wounds and scrubbed the dirt out of her fur. The work

Krakenne stroked herself for a bit as she bounced on the balls of her and enjoyed the brief crunch of asphalt as it gave way to her concentrated weight before swinging one meaty thigh forward and letting her foot cast a shadow over her slow moving victims, letting them view the wrinkled, stained sole as she slowly lowered it down, letting the sweat tinged air waft over them, permeate their lungs and let the knowledge that that metallic, bloody tinge in the air was former friends, coworkers before she set it down upon them but didn’t add any more pressure than what was needed to keep them pinned.

“It’s worth a shot,” I said, and scraped my hands along the sides of my boots and dropped a handful of muck onto the maiden’s hand. “How does that feel?”