The End Of A Traitor A short medieval tale

I placed the kindling on the pyre. The flint in my hand flicker, taking its time to ignite.

I await the spark to start the flame and transform into the blaze I intend. Alas, the familiar crackle warns me of the impending inferno.

I do not avoid the scorch, but little singe bothers me. Ignoring the searing pain, such a scene from this makeshift hearth.

It smolders with intensity. The smoke bellowing, taunting us. The ember halo on my rival’s head does not incite fear in me.

I watch as they lead some to the hangman’s noose and others to the fire.

Oh! How I wish we could forge peace.

Instead, I will stand in the soot and crush the cinder under my boots.

No one can remove this char from the land, and the ashes will be my children’s inheritance.

Prompt by Bella Smith ⭐in Promptly Written — “Random Words Saturday: With 2 or more of these words, describe a fire-related experience or memory that left a lasting impact on you.”