Mac Feegle paused for a moment and sniffed the wind. His face twisted into a snarl and he returned to work.
He donned his red coat with seven rows of seven golden buttons. Then he opened the cages hidden in the tall grass, releasing cuddly rabbits and a swarm of butterflies. Finally, he set out his most irresistible article of bait; the shoe with the worn sole in desperate need of repair.
When they arrived, he sprang out with his cold iron spear and bound them fast with delicate chains of silver. Elves make fine slaves, toiling in the End of the Rainbow Mine. Gold doesn’t dig itself.
108 words for this week’s Microcosms (15). Leprechaun/Field/Fantasy.
ParkInkSpot 