Year of the Mountain Lion

by Maria Schneider

Overview

Cursed as a drought-bringer, Jolan lives a harsh life of nomadic exile in the desolate desert that surrounds her former cliff dwelling home. Now, for reasons she can't fathom, she is being hunted by those who have already cast her out. Unfortunately for her pursuers, Jolan is not helpless and she is determined to survive.

A gripping short story that shares a powerful woman's refusal to surrender in the face of either nature or the society that abandoned her.

This story was originally published in Darwin's Evolutions magazine.

Product Details

BN ID:	2940165884023
Publisher:	Maria Schneider
Publication date:	08/12/2015
Sold by:	Smashwords
Format:	eBook
File size:	159 KB

About the Author

Maria writes cozy mysteries, romantic fantasy, paranormal mysteries, urban fantasy and has just completed a ghost story. Audio books for some of her novels can be found on google play or kobo books.

Introduction to Author Maria Schneider

It's gardening season again! I go out every morning to water and plant. Had just started the sprinkler, when I realized a bird had become tangled in the support strings hanging off the tomato cages used to prop up large tomato vines.

Upon closer inspection the fluttering, frantic "bird" was actually a baby dragon. "Not again," I muttered. Dragons were so temperamental. Birds couldn't singe me while I freed them either.

"Okay, you. Hold still." I shut the water off, leaving the poor baby dripping. His dark blue head feathers hadn't yet hardened into spines. Most of his iridescent scales were a mix of brown, light yellow and white. Later in life he'd probably turn more beige and sage to match the desert terrain.

I retrieved clippers from my garden cart, an old rag that used to be a kitchen towel and approached slowly. The dragon's eyes were huge, wide orbs staring piteously up at me.

"You're gonna hafta hold still," I ordered. "I'll cut you free." Scissors would be a better tool, but I hated to leave him there, dripping, sad, and at his young age, vulnerable.

"Do not flame me," I instructed, cutting at string behind him. This particular piece of twine wasn't holding him at all, but he needed to adjust to my intent. Snip, Snip. The string frayed instead of cutting clean, but I kept at it. The dragon's snout was wide open in distress.

"Gimme a couple of minutes and you'll be free." I ran the old towel down his back, squeegeeing his scales and accidentally smashing down a few feathers. He looked worse for it, but he barely dripped anymore. I finally freed one clawed foot. Predictably, he tried to fly, but his wing still had a cotton string running under and around. I latched onto it and half pulled, half cut the threads. He shredded the rest of the string and left a pretty good sized trench in the back of my hand from a toothy, smokey strike.

"Dammit!" I snatched my hand back. "Ease up, little one!" More cutting and suddenly he squawked, much like a bird, and bounced off the wire gate. He was still pathetically wet and in such a hurry, he splatted rather ungracefully onto the ground face-first.

A large shadow covered the sun, put...