Tuesday Tales 2025-12-2 Angry

Welcome to Tuesday Tales, powered by a small group of authors, where word prompts inspire passages in the books we’re writing. The word of the day is angry. This is from a work in progress, book 8 of the Wytchfae series, a paranormal fantasy romance entitled Silver’s Angel. It features a rockstar named Lucien Silver and Angel, a supporting character from Lord of Fire. When you finish the passage, make sure to visit all the talented authors of Tuesday Tales.

Three days ago:

“How will I know which tree is the Grandmother?”Angel asked.

The Time Fae answered, “She never undresses, and her limbs kiss the ground all the way around, guarding her secrets. You will know her. Go now!”

Angel stepped out of the door and into a cooling mist. She gasped as the Time Fae’s mystical portal flung itself closed and disappeared. Shivering, she rubbed away the chilblains on her arms. She was on her own. The incline looked steep and forbidding. Harrowing sounds echoed down its stark, unwelcoming face–demon curdlings and ghostly cries. She shifted.

Now:

Finally, a bedraggled cat reached the top of the ridge. The spectral hauntings echoed into silence. She stopped by an array of rocks. A menacing warble came from her throat. She was tired, hungry, and too pissed to be scared. Rainwater pooling in the center of a rock slaked her thirst. She tossed her head in an angry frenzy of spirit, sending water droplets flying. The spurt of temper reignited her stamina and she scampered forward. Stubborn grit had taken her this far. She had crossed the sea, a mountain, and time itself. She’d find the answers she needed. The lives of Finnglaring’s orphans depended on it.

Far in the distance, a flourishing patch caught her eye. She halted, on high alert. The scent of snow laden evergreens freshened the air. She kept her eye on the prize through the falling snow. The evergreen forest foretold her way. Then she came upon a cluster of bare alder, their green leaves crusting the ground. In the center stood an ancient Grandmother tree, her branches bursting with greenery, her limbs flowing to the ground. The sight made Angel think of a verdant carousel. She shifted.

Angel cleared her throat and said, “Grandmother, I am Angel of the Fearn clan. To save our young ones, I search for our beginning. As your kin, I ask to enter your space.” After a moment, a breeze rustled. With hesitant fingers, Angel touched one of the leaves. When it answered with a pulse of energy, she shimmied between the branches and stood inside the cascading limbs.

Thanks for stopping by. I hope you enjoyed the piece inspired by the word angry. If you haven’t done so already, check out the other excerpts at Tuesday Tales.

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