Written with the prompts:  brave new world, a game you see, chocolate, love, mistaken for a dog, naughty, go call daddy, give up, play the music, the night is young, dream, sticky, water can get hot

It was dark.  The night was sticky with the heavy scent of jasmine and the buzz of mosquitos.  Gemma was down on all fours sneaking through the underbrush when she was mistaken for a dog.  She heard one of the guards call out, and she froze, listening, listening.  He was actually urging caution, pulling the wolf hybrid back.  Yes, she discerned, the guard thought she was a dog, but no ordinary dog.  He thought she was one of the Queen’s rat dogs.  Apparently, one was loose, and everyone was on the look-out, wanting to be the hero who would locate the ugly but beloved little beast, and yet they were all scared they might injure it.  They were such miserable creatures, these animals, built low to the ground, with high pitched yaps, and fierce with razor-sharp teeth.

I could be a rat dog, Gemma thought.  If that’s what it takes, I’d be proud to go after the rats.  Because the government is full of them.

It was a game, you see, this fantasy of a brave new world.  She accepted the dare every night to see how close they could get to the palace without detection.  She’d played with the boys for the past four nights, and she’d beat them every time.  “You have an advantage,” they insisted.  “They’d never take a girl prisoner.”

She snorted.  She knew this was a lie.  Naughty boys were teasing her.  Were they hoping she’d get caught?  She didn’t know if they wanted to be rid of her, or perhaps they were trying to force her father’s hand.

“If they did take you,” Peter said, “you can go call Daddy and he’ll take care of the matter.”

Gemma looked away for she knew this was true, but she also knew she wouldn’t put her father in that kind of position.  She had her own reasons for wanting to roam the palace grounds.  Sure, she was testing her own skills, but there was more.

The previous night she’d made it as far as the short but broad Japanese Maple Tree with its lacy red leaves.  Tonight she’d been stopped in the rhododendrons.  She’d had to be still and low for more than a half hour, but she’d still gotten farther than any of the boys had.

“Give up,” she told Peter.  “Doesn’t matter how or why, but water can get hot, and none of you have my nerve.”

“Oh, ho,” he countered quickly with feigned bravado.  “The night is young.”

“You ass,” she whipped back.  “Nights are never young.  Darkness attracts the crones and the owls and the bats—the wisdom creatures, with chirping crickets to cover our footfalls.  You may play the music, but you’ll never match a woman motivated by love and chocolate.”

Photo by Krzysztof Kowalik on Unsplash