Bread

Tadhg adjusted the plaid lying on his shoulder and hiked up his kilt. After a long day tending his flocks in the fields, he was more than ready for the noon meal. Kicking mud from his boots, he tromped into his dining room and sank into his favorite wooden chair with a weary sigh. Chef had laid out a table of both fish and fowl, raw cheeses, and a mound of mashed turnips.

Tadhg snapped his beefy fingers. "Set the mood, harp," he commanded. "I want to hear a song that would set the wee fairies dancin'."

The golden harp in the middle of the table plucked one string and then another. Tadhg allowed the beautiful notes to wash over his soul and laid into his feast with a grin and a nod.

A movement from the corner of his eye had him dropping his fork in disbelief. The golden harp's music suddenly stopped as Tadhg jumped to his feet, its last note drowned out by the scrape of the chair against the wooden floor.

"Mèirlach! Thief! How dare you steal me golden goose?!" Tadhg howled and stomped a foot. The creature toting away his most prized possession stumbled from the tremor and fell. The goose honked and escaped out the door, shedding feathers as it ran. Tadhg didn't waste a moment. Kneeling, he swept the thief into one giant hand.

"Fe-fi-fo-fum! I smell the blood of a Sasanach!" Tadhg's laugh boomed across the room. "There hasn't been one of yer kind here for an age and a half." Tadhg's brows smooshed together as he scowled. "And they always go for the golden goose!" He shook his head and gave the wee man a squeeze.

"Still, not all be lost. Looks like Chef will be grinding bones for arán tonight." He licked his lips. "I'll finally be able to satisfy me craving. Aye, bone bread with lamb stew." He watched as the human's face paled. Tightening his grip, Tadhg carried the wee man to the kitchen.


Giant Notes ▼

Written for: "The Writer's Cramp" 
Prompt: Write a story about someone finally getting to eat what they want.
Inspired by an old poem of mine: "Making Bread" 
336 words