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Turnspit Wakes
So, let me try an opening scene for the fantasy story.
The first thing he was aware were hands pressing down on his face and black eyes looking intently down at him. He did not know those eyes.
"What...?"
"What," the other intoned. "No. Try again."
He shivered in confusion. There were words, and language, but this was not it. He tried again. "What...?"
"No. Try again." The other smiled down at him encouragingly, and nodded its head.
"What?" That sounded right.
"Yes! Speak more."
"What? What has happened?"
"More words. You need more words." The creature frowned.
"I have words. What are you doing? Let me up."
The creature clucked its tongue at him, and held him down when he tried to sit up. "Stay down. You will hurt yourself."
He didn't think that was likely, but it was stronger than he was, even though it was rawboned as a tinker's pony. "More words, more words," it murmured, and laid its hands back over his cheeks. That felt uncomfortable, and he squirmed away. The creature shook its dark head and held him still.
The man didn't like it. The dust and grass under him prickled and the creature above him was smiled too widely, its black eyes cruel in their happiness. He wanted to get away and get up.
"No. Let me go," he said. "Let me up. Let me up."
The creature's smile went wider, and it nodded its head. "You speak a little now. It will be enough." It looked at him considering, "Now. I am Whipcoil. Who are you?"
"I am..." He didn't know. He looked at the creature. "Who am I?"
The creature smiled. "Good. Sealchild!"
A shadow moved forward, and he looked up. A man, with worried, gentle eyes, crouched beside him, and when the creature moved back, the man helped him sit up. He didn't need the help, but it was good to have a man touch him, and not the uncanny creature that was not a man, no matter that it looked almost like one.
"Who am I?" he asked the man.
The man closed his eyes, tilted his head away. "I cannot say. They took your name from me as well."
"He is your whipping dog, Sealchild," Whipcoil laughed, "so call him that. You disobey, he will be hurt." The dark creature clambered to its feet and brushed the dust from its garments. "You take care of your dog now. He gets fed on your behavior. He gets beaten on your behavior. It is all your doing."
The man watched the creature walk away. It moved through the dust of the camp -- a camp, they were in a camp! The man remembered camp, and soldiers and campaigning. There were things he was supposed to do and a place where he was supposed to be. And this was not it!
"Where are my... sword? pistol? knives?" he asked the other man, not being able to bring the correct words forward, but finding some that weren't right, but would serve.
"Sword, pistol, knives," the other man -- no, Sealchild, with his beautiful clear eyes, like a seal's -- corrected. "Gone. You won't be able to hold a knife longer than your smallest finger. I certainly can't." Sealchild spread his hands slightly, ruefully.
The man stretched out his own hand and placed it against Sealchild's, judging the size. The other man's hand were larger, able to fold over his own at the last joint, and he did not think he owned small hands. That was something to know -- knives no longer than smallest finger, but Sealchild might be able to hold one longer than he could.
"It called me dog... that's not my name." He frowned, "But I do not know my name. It has gone."
The other man nodded tiredly. "They do that -- take our names. They want none to remember what we were before the gore-crows caught us."
"So who am I? Whipping Dog? That is what it said..." the man did not like that as a name. 'Dog' was an insult, wasn't it? He was better than that.
Sealchild looked away, his eyes narrowed. "I'm not calling you that. I won't help them in their cruelty. Bad enough they are holding you hostage to my good behavior."
"Why? Why do they need a hostage? Why not punish you directly."
"They think I'm valuable, like a good horse. They won't beat me to make me obey, because a horse with scars doesn't fetch as much money. So they threaten you to get me to behave?"
"Why?" He looked at the other man in confusion. "Why do you submit for my sake?"
Sealchild smiled sadly. "We are friends. I remember, even though you do not."
next bit
I'm also trying out www.writely.com but I'm not sure if I like it yet. I can certainly insert cleaner HTML on my own.
The first thing he was aware were hands pressing down on his face and black eyes looking intently down at him. He did not know those eyes.
"What...?"
"What," the other intoned. "No. Try again."
He shivered in confusion. There were words, and language, but this was not it. He tried again. "What...?"
"No. Try again." The other smiled down at him encouragingly, and nodded its head.
"What?" That sounded right.
"Yes! Speak more."
"What? What has happened?"
"More words. You need more words." The creature frowned.
"I have words. What are you doing? Let me up."
The creature clucked its tongue at him, and held him down when he tried to sit up. "Stay down. You will hurt yourself."
He didn't think that was likely, but it was stronger than he was, even though it was rawboned as a tinker's pony. "More words, more words," it murmured, and laid its hands back over his cheeks. That felt uncomfortable, and he squirmed away. The creature shook its dark head and held him still.
The man didn't like it. The dust and grass under him prickled and the creature above him was smiled too widely, its black eyes cruel in their happiness. He wanted to get away and get up.
"No. Let me go," he said. "Let me up. Let me up."
The creature's smile went wider, and it nodded its head. "You speak a little now. It will be enough." It looked at him considering, "Now. I am Whipcoil. Who are you?"
"I am..." He didn't know. He looked at the creature. "Who am I?"
The creature smiled. "Good. Sealchild!"
A shadow moved forward, and he looked up. A man, with worried, gentle eyes, crouched beside him, and when the creature moved back, the man helped him sit up. He didn't need the help, but it was good to have a man touch him, and not the uncanny creature that was not a man, no matter that it looked almost like one.
"Who am I?" he asked the man.
The man closed his eyes, tilted his head away. "I cannot say. They took your name from me as well."
"He is your whipping dog, Sealchild," Whipcoil laughed, "so call him that. You disobey, he will be hurt." The dark creature clambered to its feet and brushed the dust from its garments. "You take care of your dog now. He gets fed on your behavior. He gets beaten on your behavior. It is all your doing."
The man watched the creature walk away. It moved through the dust of the camp -- a camp, they were in a camp! The man remembered camp, and soldiers and campaigning. There were things he was supposed to do and a place where he was supposed to be. And this was not it!
"Where are my... sword? pistol? knives?" he asked the other man, not being able to bring the correct words forward, but finding some that weren't right, but would serve.
"Sword, pistol, knives," the other man -- no, Sealchild, with his beautiful clear eyes, like a seal's -- corrected. "Gone. You won't be able to hold a knife longer than your smallest finger. I certainly can't." Sealchild spread his hands slightly, ruefully.
The man stretched out his own hand and placed it against Sealchild's, judging the size. The other man's hand were larger, able to fold over his own at the last joint, and he did not think he owned small hands. That was something to know -- knives no longer than smallest finger, but Sealchild might be able to hold one longer than he could.
"It called me dog... that's not my name." He frowned, "But I do not know my name. It has gone."
The other man nodded tiredly. "They do that -- take our names. They want none to remember what we were before the gore-crows caught us."
"So who am I? Whipping Dog? That is what it said..." the man did not like that as a name. 'Dog' was an insult, wasn't it? He was better than that.
Sealchild looked away, his eyes narrowed. "I'm not calling you that. I won't help them in their cruelty. Bad enough they are holding you hostage to my good behavior."
"Why? Why do they need a hostage? Why not punish you directly."
"They think I'm valuable, like a good horse. They won't beat me to make me obey, because a horse with scars doesn't fetch as much money. So they threaten you to get me to behave?"
"Why?" He looked at the other man in confusion. "Why do you submit for my sake?"
Sealchild smiled sadly. "We are friends. I remember, even though you do not."
next bit
I'm also trying out www.writely.com but I'm not sure if I like it yet. I can certainly insert cleaner HTML on my own.