not a sword

I shrieked and drew my Sword (not really a sword, per se, long story) from empty air, and drove forward in a howl of cold and snow and shadow.  I howled my desire and urgency to Winter, drove my sleigh toward them, Sword flashing, sending them hurtling faster about their errands in sheer terror, filling the night with eerie cries.

Microfiction #6, The Good People