Ahdom Smith Writes

It was a brisk night atop the ancient trees of Liamdore, where the heroic mouse known as Night Sword sat perched on his leather saddle, strapped securely to the back of his partner, Pete the owl. A chill gust rustled through the canopy, cutting through Night Sword’s fur and making him shiver despite himself. He pulled his cloak tighter, trying to ignore the wind that seemed to pierce straight through to his bones. “Any minute now,” Night Sword murmured, his eyes narrowing as he peered into the darkness below. “I see him,” Pete’s voice rumbled softly in reply, eyes like molten gold glinting as he focused on a small figure teetering out from a dimly lit hole beneath a large rock. Without warning, Pete launched himself off the branch, and the world around Night Sword tilted as they plummeted. Night Sword (or rather, Prince Edward, though few knew his true identity) clutched his stomach, fighting the familiar wave of nausea that came with every flight. Despite countless rides, the sensatio...

The tropical sun had just begun to burn off the morning haze as we waited at the San Juan airport, and it felt like déjà vu. I’d been to Puerto Rico before, years ago, with my friend Frank. This time, though, the journey felt like a remastered version of the original – smoother, brighter, and blessedly free of the chaos that had plagued our last trip. We’d spent the last day lounging on the beach, getting crispy under the Caribbean sun. Now, standing in line to board our flight, we looked like a couple of overdone rotisserie chickens. Frank, as usual, was a mess. His eyes barely stayed open, the bags beneath them as heavy as the suitcases we were checking. He was muttering to himself, probably about some horror novel he’d been reading. That’s the thing about Frank – he loved scaring himself senseless. “You’re a glutton for punishment,” I’d told him once. And I meant it. He had an uncanny talent for conjuring irrational fears out of thin air, like a magician pulling a rabbit from a hat....