Wednesday Briefs: Dracula #10 (3.2)

 Good morning and Happy Hump Day! If it's Wednesday, then it must be time for more flash fiction from the Wednesday Briefers! We're a group of authors who bring you our finest flash fiction every week, 500 to 1000 words, inspired by one of our prompts.

Things are going all wrong at the alehouse. Someone has upset the blacksmith in regards to his pretty wife, and Avram fears something worse is to come. See what's happening in this week's chapter of Dracula. Don't forget to visit the other Briefers and see what's up with them. Their links follow my tale! Enjoy!

Dracula #10 (3.2)

A collective gasp surged through the alehouse. The ensuing silence rendered the argument between the two men all the more audible, encouraging listeners.

“I simply said she seems very happy lately. That’s all I said, Bogdan. You are making a fuss over nothing.” And yet the tone of the speaker’s voice implied so much more. What did he know, what could he have seen, and did it somehow relate to Dracula?

How could it not?

Avram focused his attention on the far side of the room. Bogdan and the other man, whom Avram recognized as one of the local farmers, faced one another in an almost pugilistic stance—Avram wasn’t sure if they intended to fight or dance. Bogdan’s fists were raised, so perhaps dancing was not on the agenda, but his opponent appeared to be more amused than intimidated.

“And why wouldn’t she be happy? She’s married to me,” Bogdan boasted. Such a schlemiel. The blacksmith’s claim of marital bliss drew a few indiscreet chuckles from the eavesdropping customers. Even the servers had stopped what they were doing to openly gape at the growing spectacle. “She has a good home,” he continued. “Plenty of food to eat, clothes to wear, and she has the wisdom and guidance of my beloved mother, who lives with us.”

Avram remembered Bogdan’s mother. Her presence wasn’t the blessing the blacksmith thought it was, and he was sure Doina felt much the same way. No wonder she was drawn to the handsome nobleman. Also, too bad she was drawn to him. She would have been better off having an affair with one of the villagers. A more normal man.

A dark shape passed in front of Avram’s line of sight. Only then did he realize that Gunther had pushed his chair back and was crossing the room in the direction of the two combatants, swiftly closing the distance between them. Suddenly fearful for his friend, Avram rose as well and quickly followed him. If Bogdan became any more riled up than he was, he might strike out blindly and not realize he was hitting a priest.

“And lucky she is to have you,” Gunther inserted smoothly as he took up a not very subtle stand between the two men. “I’m sure Doina realizes what a good husband you are and appreciates the life you and your mother have given her.”

“That’s just what I said, Father,” the other man claimed. More snickers followed. Bogdan swiveled his thick neck left and right, glaring at his neighbors, but he was apparently too slow to catch anyone red-handed.

“Sit back down, Bogdan, never you mind him,” one of the blacksmith’s friends urged. “Here, come have some more beer,” another chimed in, joined by the other men at his table in a drunken Greek chorus.  Avram watched the blacksmith seem to visibly relax at the entreaties of his friends. He said a brief prayer of thanks beneath his breath as Gunther coaxed the second man back into his seat with his own companions, before turning toward Avram with a wink and a smile.

 To quote the bard, all’s well that ends well. Avram made a mental note to buy his friend another drink… or two.  He’d more than earned that for his timely intervention. He breathed a heartfelt sigh of relief as he patted Gunther’s shoulder and they returned to their table. This night could not end soon enough for him.

As if on cue, conversations resumed once more, the noise level rising accordingly, and business continued as it had been before.  Avram hoped Dracula was done by now and back at the castle. Or at least somewhere outside the village. And hopefully practicing discretion, although sometimes that seemed to be too much to ask of the man, despite the fact he was old enough to know better. He glanced with renewed interest at the bread and cheese on the table. A little nosh wouldn’t hurt. He reached for the bread, but his hand froze in mid-air.

“Strigoi.”

Apparently, his momentary peace of mind had been premature.

That single foreboding word rang out, too loud for Avram’s taste, overriding the other voices and bringing all conversation to a halt once more. It might just as well have been the voice of Jehovah for the effect that it created. The speaker was an elderly woman whose shapeless dark brown cape resembled a shroud. This woman, whose name everyone had forgotten, was usually referred to as the old bunica, or grandmother, if not worse. She was known about the village for being peculiar—no one knew where she came from, she had no known family, and she lived alone, a large black Transylvanian hound her sole companion. Plus, further damning her in the eyes of the villagers, she followed the precepts of no known or acceptable religion. Some referred to her as the Witch of Bistritz, but Avram did not hold to such nonsense. However, he knew that even though she was an object of irrational fear, she was very superstitious herself, and a likely candidate to spread unfortunate rumors. Especially when it came to his master. He sometimes wondered if Dracula had known her in her youth but he’d never asked him. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

All eyes turned toward the woman, as if anticipating she had more to say. And they were not wrong.

 to be continued

Now go see what's up with the other Briefers!

Cia Nordwell

J Ray Lamb

 

 

 

 

Wednesday Briefs: Dracula #9 (3.1)

  Good morning and Happy Hump Day! If it's Wednesday, then it must be time for more flash fiction from the Wednesday Briefers! We're a group of authors who bring you our finest flash fiction every week, 500 to 1000 words, inspired by one of our prompts.

While keeping an eye on the village blacksmith to keep him from finding out about Dracula and his wife, Avram converses with his friend, Father Gunther. But something isn't quite right and Avram knows it. See what's going on in this week's chapter of Dracula. Don't forget to visit the other Briefers and see what they're up to. Their links follow my tale! Enjoy!

Dracula #9 (3.1)

Gunther fell silent. Tendrils of anxiety wrapped about Avram’s heart.  Why was it beating so fast? Something was wrong. and whatever it was it was about to get worse. Someone dropped a glass, which shattered, and he visibly flinched at the explosion.

 This was no time to panic, and no time to borrow trouble. He forced himself to take deep breaths. Maybe he should step outside for a moment. He needed to think, but without all the noise. He glanced across the room. Bogdan was still there. One less worry.

He started to rise, but Gunther’s hand on his coat sleeve stopped him. His friend leaned across the table, speaking in a low voice that necessitated Avram’s full attention. “I’m afraid they’re beginning to talk, Avram.”

“Who is? What do you mean?” He slid back into his chair and moved it closer, keeping a suspicious eye on their nearest neighbors, although he didn’t think that’s who he meant. Whatever Gunther was about to say, though, he knew it wouldn’t be good.

The tavern door blew open unexpectedly. Avram jumped again, then reprimanded himself for his skittishness as one of the villagers entered and slammed it shut behind him. All sound ceased for a split second. “Watch out for the stafi,” the newcomer announced before joining Bogdan’s table.

Avram shivered. Not because he believed in the Romanian equivalent of the Irish banshee, but he knew these people did… and more. He turned his attention back to Gunther.

“I mean the people of the village. They notice things, some of them. Such as how young Dracula looks. Still”

“How young he looks? He is young,” Avram bluffed. “How old do you think he is? Older than me, yes, but…” He gave up that losing argument before it was even truly begun. Despite his many years of existence—Avram wasn’t even sure how old the vampire was, to be honest—he looked to be no older than a man in his thirties, while Avram was already forty.  A well-preserved forty, to be sure.

His lips had turned suddenly dry. He picked up his ale and drank. How was he going to explain this?

“Some of the older people still remember his father and they say he looks exactly like him.”

“Is that surprising, that a son should look like his father?”  Of course that wasn’t true. Dracula’s father died centuries ago, none of them had ever seen him. And of course, Dracula resembled his “father”, as he was both father and son. How else to explain his many years as lord and master of the castle other than by changing his name on a regular basis so the villagers would not suspect his actual longevity? His ruse had worked for many ears. This was not good.

Calm down and listen. He lightly strummed his fingers across the brim of his hat on the table before him and waited.

“Avram, you’ve been my friend ever since we were little. I understand that you feel you owe him a debt. He took you in after your parents died. He’s been like a father to you, when most of the village turned its back on you.”

“Not your parents,” Avram pointed out. “Or you. Your family has been nothing but good to me. And things here have improved.” He ran one hand through his too curly black hair, the bane of his existence. ”Mostly.” Some people could never forgive him for being Jewish.  “And yes, I do owe Dracula my life. I don’t know how I would have survived without him. So please can we have no more of this nonsense?” In his heart, Avram knew he should hear more, learn what was being said. But he was suddenly more afraid than before that something truly bad was about to happen and he could do nothing to stop it.

“I don’t want to see you get hurt because of him.” Gunther paused, as if searching for the right words. What, was there something worse than what he’d already said? Avram grew more apprehensive as silence stretched between them, until at last, the words were spoken. “The old stories are being revived.”

Scheiss.

Avram didn’t bother to ask which stories Gunther meant. He knew only too well.

“Old wives’ tales, nothing more.” His lies fell limply onto the table between them like wounded birds… or bats.  Perhaps it was time to go abroad. There were women in other countries who would love nothing more than to see their favorite Count once more… women with money, which they badly needed. Not to mention, there was a certain Parisian publisher who was waiting for more material of the erotic kind that Avram wrote so well, even if Dracula did take the credit for his writing. That was a practicality, since it was easier to sell his books if people thought they were being written by a mysterious handsome nobleman than by a Jew.

“I’ve known you for a long time, Avram. You’re my best friend and I would do anything for you. Are you in any danger?”

The question caught Avram by surprise. Danger? Him? “From what?” His hand stilled on the hat brim, his brow furrowed as he met his friend’s gaze.

“I think you know what.” Gunther patted Avram’s hand. “You’re a good man, a very loyal friend. I just worry for you, that’s all. Worried that you’ve given your allegiance to someone who doesn’t deserve it.”

Avram forced a chuckle he was far from feeling. “I appreciate the sentiment, Gunther. I think you are a good man too, perhaps a little naïve. I mean, to believe such tales?” He clucked his tongue and shook his head, as if to dismiss the very idea.

“What are you saying about my wife?” An angry roar rose above the hubbub of the alehouse. All heads turned toward the source of the disturbance. It was Bogdan, who else?

Avram had a bad feeling all hell was about to break loose.

to be continued

Now go see what the other Briefers are up to!

Cia Nordwell

J Ray Lamb

 

 

Wednesday Briefs: Dracula #9 (3.1)

  Good morning and Happy Hump Day! If it's Wednesday, then it must be time for more flash fiction from the Wednesday Briefers! We're a group of authors who bring you our finest flash fiction every week, 500 to 1000 words, inspired by one of our prompts.

While keeping an eye on the village blacksmith to keep him from finding out about Dracula and his wife, Avram converses with his friend, Father Gunther. But something isn't quite right and Avram knows it. See what's going on in this week's chapter of Dracula. Don't forget to visit the other Briefers and see what they're up to. Their links follow my tale! Enjoy!

Dracula #9 (3.1)

Gunther fell silent. Tendrils of anxiety wrapped about Avram’s heart.  Why was it beating so fast? Something was wrong. and whatever it was it was about to get worse. Someone dropped a glass, which shattered, and he visibly flinched at the explosion.

 This was no time to panic, and no time to borrow trouble. He forced himself to take deep breaths. Maybe he should step outside for a moment. He needed to think, but without all the noise. He glanced across the room. Bogdan was still there. One less worry.

He started to rise, but Gunther’s hand on his coat sleeve stopped him. His friend leaned across the table, speaking in a low voice that necessitated Avram’s full attention. “I’m afraid they’re beginning to talk, Avram.”

“Who is? What do you mean?” He slid back into his chair and moved it closer, keeping a suspicious eye on their nearest neighbors, although he didn’t think that’s who he meant. Whatever Gunther was about to say, though, he knew it wouldn’t be good.

The tavern door blew open unexpectedly. Avram jumped again, then reprimanded himself for his skittishness as one of the villagers entered and slammed it shut behind him. All sound ceased for a split second. “Watch out for the stafi,” the newcomer announced before joining Bogdan’s table.

Avram shivered. Not because he believed in the Romanian equivalent of the Irish banshee, but he knew these people did… and more. He turned his attention back to Gunther.

“I mean the people of the village. They notice things, some of them. Such as how young Dracula looks. Still”

“How young he looks? He is young,” Avram bluffed. “How old do you think he is? Older than me, yes, but…” He gave up that losing argument before it was even truly begun. Despite his many years of existence—Avram wasn’t even sure how old the vampire was, to be honest—he looked to be no older than a man in his thirties, while Avram was already forty.  A well-preserved forty, to be sure.

His lips had turned suddenly dry. He picked up his ale and drank. How was he going to explain this?

“Some of the older people still remember his father and they say he looks exactly like him.”

“Is that surprising, that a son should look like his father?”  Of course that wasn’t true. Dracula’s father died centuries ago, none of them had ever seen him. And of course, Dracula resembled his “father”, as he was both father and son. How else to explain his many years as lord and master of the castle other than by changing his name on a regular basis so the villagers would not suspect his actual longevity? His ruse had worked for many ears. This was not good.

Calm down and listen. He lightly strummed his fingers across the brim of his hat on the table before him and waited.

“Avram, you’ve been my friend ever since we were little. I understand that you feel you owe him a debt. He took you in after your parents died. He’s been like a father to you, when most of the village turned its back on you.”

“Not your parents,” Avram pointed out. “Or you. Your family has been nothing but good to me. And things here have improved.” He ran one hand through his too curly black hair, the bane of his existence. ”Mostly.” Some people could never forgive him for being Jewish.  “And yes, I do owe Dracula my life. I don’t know how I would have survived without him. So please can we have no more of this nonsense?” In his heart, Avram knew he should hear more, learn what was being said. But he was suddenly more afraid than before that something truly bad was about to happen and he could do nothing to stop it.

“I don’t want to see you get hurt because of him.” Gunther paused, as if searching for the right words. What, was there something worse than what he’d already said? Avram grew more apprehensive as silence stretched between them, until at last, the words were spoken. “The old stories are being revived.”

Scheiss.

Avram didn’t bother to ask which stories Gunther meant. He knew only too well.

“Old wives’ tales, nothing more.” His lies fell limply onto the table between them like wounded birds… or bats.  Perhaps it was time to go abroad. There were women in other countries who would love nothing more than to see their favorite Count once more… women with money, which they badly needed. Not to mention, there was a certain Parisian publisher who was waiting for more material of the erotic kind that Avram wrote so well, even if Dracula did take the credit for his writing. That was a practicality, since it was easier to sell his books if people thought they were being written by a mysterious handsome nobleman than by a Jew.

“I’ve known you for a long time, Avram. You’re my best friend and I would do anything for you. Are you in any danger?”

The question caught Avram by surprise. Danger? Him? “From what?” His hand stilled on the hat brim, his brow furrowed as he met his friend’s gaze.

“I think you know what.” Gunther patted Avram’s hand. “You’re a good man, a very loyal friend. I just worry for you, that’s all. Worried that you’ve given your allegiance to someone who doesn’t deserve it.”

Avram forced a chuckle he was far from feeling. “I appreciate the sentiment, Gunther. I think you are a good man too, perhaps a little naïve. I mean, to believe such tales?” He clucked his tongue and shook his head, as if to dismiss the very idea.

“What are you saying about my wife?” An angry roar rose above the hubbub of the alehouse. All heads turned toward the source of the disturbance. It was Bogdan, who else?

Avram had a bad feeling all hell was about to break loose.

to be continued

Now go see what the other Briefers are up to!

Cia Nordwell

J Ray Lamb

 

 

 

 

Wednesday Briefs: Dracula #8 (2.4)

 Good morning and Happy Hump Day! If it's Wednesday, then it must be time for more flash fiction from the Wednesday Briefers! We're a group of authors who bring you our finest flash fiction every week, 500 to 1000 words, inspired by one of our prompts.

Avram goes to the local alehouse and spends time with his friend, the priest, but mostly he is keeping an eye on the blacksmith and worrying about what Dracula is doing. See what's happening in this week's chapter of Dracula. Don't forget to visit the other Briefers and see what's up with them. Their links follow my tale! Enjoy!

Dracula #8 (2.4)

Despite his light-hearted words, Avram knew his friend was troubled by the defection of so many of his parishioners, but he never betrayed those feelings, either by word or manner, when he encountered those people as he went about the village. He treated them as he always had—with kindness and patience—and was always ready and willing to lend a helping hand to someone in need. If they felt guilty or disloyal in any way, that was a matter for their conscience, not his. Still, fewer church members meant fewer tithes, which made maintaining the church difficult. Avram (with the consent of Dracula) helped when he could, but when times were lean, such as they were now, money was difficult to find. Yet another reason to curb Dracula’s spending, although that was easier said than done. And attempting to explain economics to the man was well-nigh impossible.

“I have your bread, Father.”

Avram startled at the unexpected approach, nearly spilling his ale, before he recognized the newcomer as one of the young men from the village. Dracula’s behavior had him more on edge than he’d realized, he really needed to pay better attention to his surroundings. A quick inspection of the far corner assured him that the blacksmith was still there.  Gunther gave him an appraising glance but said nothing as the young man set a covered serving platter on the table. The enticing fragrance of freshly baked lipie bread wafted from beneath a bright red cloth. “Can I get you anything else, Father?”

“No, my son. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Father.” For a moment, Avram thought he was going to genuflect, but the moment passed. Instead, the man’s hand flew to the silver cross that hung on a chain about his neck, his eyes refusing to meet Avram’s. If the child only knew that symbol of Christianity was useless when it came to either vampires or Jews.

“I’m good, thanks for asking,” Avram quipped.

The server visibly flinched but made no reply as he backed away from the table and was quickly lost to view.

“Care to break bread with me, Avram?” Gunther made no comment on the boy’s behavior, but none was really needed. Not everyone loved Avram, both because of his employer as well as his religions. The priest lifted the cloth to reveal a loaf of golden-brown bread as well as a generous portion of the sheep’s milk bryndza cheese much loved by the villagers. Avram didn’t dare to keep this type of cheese at the castle for Dracula disliked its strong smell, being very sensitive to such things. But Avram had eaten it often, growing up, and appreciated the tanginess of this white cheese, as well as the slightly salty finish. It served as a wonderful accompaniment to the bread.

The smell of the bread was quite tempting. Only then did Avram realize he’d not eaten recently, too concerned with what Dracula intended to do to have an appetite. The priest used his knife to cut a hunk of bread and a piece of the crumbly cheese and handed them to Avram before taking some for himself.

“Eat up, eat up.” Gunther waved a piece of bread and cheese in the air before he popped it into his mouth. “So good, so good,” he mumbled before washing everything down with ale. He dabbed at his face with a cloth and emitted a loud belch of satisfaction before turning his shrewd eyes to Aram. “Is everything well with you, my friend?  You seem a little uneasy. Is there some problem with your employer? Is he not well?”

Avram took a bite to forestall an immediate response. The slightly salty white cheese almost melted on his tongue. As a boy, he’d considered this to be a treat whenever he visited Gunther and his family. They had always been good to him and allowed him to stay in their home as long as he wanted. He suspected it was only fear of the nobleman that prevented them from offering him a permanent home. Dracula had been a surprisingly lenient guardian and encouraged Avram in his studies. He’d received no formal education, as he couldn’t very well attend the church school due to his religion, but Dracula made sure he had access to the vast library at the castle. Avram had availed himself of that generosity and became a voracious reader.

But he could avoid the question for only so long. “We may have to go abroad again soon,” he said obliquely.

“Business reasons?”

Avram nodded. Maybe strictly speaking that was not the whole truth, but it was close enough. As close as he felt comfortable speaking, anyway. It wasn’t exactly a lie either. The way things were currently going, they might actually need to leave the country, at least long enough for each of them to do what he did best in order to earn money. Unconventional? Perhaps, but also necessary.

His people had a saying: Di kats hot lib fish, nor zi vil di fis nit ayn-netsn. The cat loves fish but doesn’t want to get her feet wet.

Sometimes you just had to get your feet wet if you wanted to survive.

 to be continued

Don't forget to visit the other Briefers and see what's up with them!

Cia Nordwell

J Ray Lamb

 

 

 

 

Wednesday Briefs: Dracula #7 (2.3)

 Good morning and Happy Hump Day! If it's Wednesday, then it must be time for more flash fiction from the Wednesday Briefers! We're a group of authors who bring you our finest flash fiction every week, 500 to 1000 words, inspired by one of our prompts.

Avram has gone into the village since Dracula is out and about, but he can't help but be worried that the vampire is being foolish. See what's going on in this week's chapter of Dracula. Don't forget to visit the other Briefers and see what's up with them. Their links follow my tale! Enjoy!

Dracula #7 (2.3)

Avram shook his head as he pushed open the heavy wooden door of the alehouse after leaving his horse stabled nearby. An uneasy feeling had taken up residence in the pit of his stomach. He wished Dracula wouldn’t take such risks just for sexual gratification, particularly this close to home. And a married woman at that. What if the husband found out? While he was sure the vampire could more than handle himself in a fight, the ramifications of being outed would be detrimental to both of them. Dracula may be on the immortal side, but he was neither invincible nor invulnerable—given the right circumstances, he could be killed. At least Avram didn’t have to worry that he was using this woman for her blood. That would be disastrous indeed.

Sometimes I think the man is just meshuggeneh.

He glanced around him as he made his way across the room to the bar, as if he were looking for someone. Most were faces familiar to him, lifelong residents of Bistritz. He returned their greetings, albeit somewhat distractedly. Truth be told he was searching for one face in particular. When he didn’t see him immediately, a chill coursed up his spine. But then he heard a loud bray from the far side of the room. He glanced over to spy a tall, broad-shouldered ape of a man, seated at a table with a few of his friends. He seemed to be entertaining them with an amusing tale from his undoubtedly limited repertoire. Bogdan the blacksmith. Dumb but strong. Generally, he was known as a good-natured fellow, but when it came to his pretty wife, he was said to possess more than a small streak of jealousy. At least since he was currently sitting here, he could be nowhere near Dracula’s vicinity. The whole group seemed rather ferschnickered. None of them were likely to be going anywhere soon, not in their drunken condition. Avram released a sigh of relief and prayed that the vampire would take his pleasure and quickly leave the village.

“Would you like some ale, Avram?”

Somewhat mollified by the presence of the blacksmith, Avram turned his attention to the young woman behind the bar whose father owned the establishment. Instinctively he checked her neck for any sign that Dracula had been there, despite knowing the vampire was dallying with another woman. Seeing nothing, he relaxed a little. “Yes, please.”

She poured him a tankard of ale and set it on the bar in front of him. “Looking for someone?”

“No, no one,” he assured her. Found someone he had but he wasn’t about to tell her that. Turning slightly, he surveyed the room more carefully, deciding where he should sit. He needed a vantage point from which he could watch Bogdan as well as the door, in case the blacksmith developed the sudden urge to leave. He couldn’t allow that to happen, at least not for a while.

The large public area contained a dozen or so tables where villagers could spend their free time, drinking ale and socializing with their neighbors. Simple iron sconces dotted the larch wood walls to supplement the inviting fire that blazed in the hearth, lending an air of comfort and warmth to the establishment. Avram was familiar with most everyone he saw as visitors were not common in Bistritz, usually tradespeople picking up or delivering trade goods from neighboring towns. These tended to conduct their business during the day before hastening elsewhere. Thanks to the infamy of some members of Dracula’s family, the area had developed a sinister reputation, especially after dark. Outsiders tended to stay away after nightfall, although the residents were not quite as wary. They realized that the days of Vlad Dracula were long gone, and no one had been impaled in many years. But even they weren’t so sure about some of the mythical creatures said to roam about the countryside. Tales abounded of dragons and ogres, werewolves and ghosts. And of course, the ever-popular strigoi, also known as the vampire. Avram prayed the truth would never be discovered.

“Avram!  My friend! Over here!”

Avram glanced toward the caller, a pudgy man about his own age, whose close-cropped blond hair showed more and more scalp with each passing year. Avram teasingly referred to it as his tonsure. The man had bright blue eyes and a contagious smile. Avram couldn’t help but return that smile as he turned his steps toward the table where he sat. Father Gunther, the parish priest at the Old Church. Avram considered the priest to be a friend despite their religious differences, but they never let those interfere with their friendship. In fact, those same differences often led to rather lively and entertaining discussions between them.

As Avram drew near, the priest shifted from one seat to another, leaving Avram a chair that held a better view of the room. Father Gunther had known Avram since they were both boys and knew, as did everyone in the village, who he worked for. Despite the friendly faces, there were still those who eyed Avram with open suspicion. Some went so far as to cross themselves in his vicinity, as if that were protection against either him or Dracula. That was no more effective than their use of the sign of the horns to ward off evil. But if the gesture was of comfort to them, far be it from him to interfere with their peace of mind.

“How are things with you?” As Avram took a seat, he noticed sullen glances from some of the villagers who sat nearby, but these turned their heads quickly, as if afraid of being noticed. “Save any sinners this week?”

The priest chuckled. “No, I sent them all to the new church. We have to keep Father Damien employed, don’t we?” He raised his own mug and Avram followed suit. “To your health, my friend.”

“L’chaim,” Avram readily responded. To life.

to be continued

Now go see what the other Briefers are up to!

Cia Nordwell

J Ray Lamb