NaNo2019 Sneak Peek!

So I promised after I reached the 50k that I was going to post an excerpt from my NaNo WIP "Come Marching Home" 

If you haven't been following me on Instagram or Twitter where I've mostly been posting about my project, this book is like a magical world alternative to ours with a WWI feel so like magical trench warfare. But instead of like most war stories where we follow the war front, this story is set after the war is over, and deals more about the issues with homecoming and war trauma. There's also brothers, because this is me. So this is the first chapter. (Part of the prologue is posted on my project page on the NaNo site if you want to check that out HERE)

(Also, Warning: this is not edited, so there's probably a lot of typos. Also, names of places are subject to change because the ones I have there now are just place holders until I can think of something better XD)

You can also look at my Pinterest board HERE

Chapter One

Ernst Keller knocked on the door to the final house on his rounds. Frau Klein’s baby boy had a fever and he’d made a tincture that would work well yet still be kind enough for an infant to use. 

            Her daughter, a girl of about eight, opened the door at his knock and he smiled.

            “And how are you, Lettie?” he asked, taking off his cap and stepping inside.

            “Alright,” she said with a small smile back before it turned into a frown. “Are you going to help Heinz?”

            Ernst reached out and tweaked her nose gently. “Don’t you worry, you’re brother will be right at rain soon enough. Now where’s your mother?”

            “In here, Ernst.”
            He followed the woman’s voice and found Frau Kline in the back room of the first floor, which was the nursery. She sat rocking and fussy baby and looked up gratefully when Ernst came in.

            “Thank you for coming,” she said.

            “Of course, let me see the little man.” He reached out and took the baby from her arms, reaching up to stroke the overly warm forehead. At his touch, he willed some of his healing ability into the baby, like he did when he planted the herbs for his garden. The infant stopped fussing and seemed to rest easier. He cradled him for a couple more minutes before he settled him into his cradle while Frau Klein stood by, watching anxiously.

            “It’s not anything too bad,” he promised her with a smile. “Just a little chill. The herbal mixture I brought will work fine.” He reached into his satchel and pulled out the small package. “A teaspoon of this in warm milk twice a day. He may fuss to drink it, but once he does, even one dose should start to work.”

            “Thank you,” Frau Klein told him and made her way to the kitchen. She fetched a purse and was about to count out coins. “How much do I owe you?”
            Ernst held up his hand. “Nothing for so little.”

            “But times are so tight,” she protested.

            “And I just have myself to feed,” Ernst reminded her gently. “If you wish to give me anything, a couple of those apple pastries the next time you make them are payment enough.”

            She smiled and reached up to touch his cheek. “Of course, dear. I’ll make them as soon as Heinz is feeling better.”
            Ernst left the house and made his way back to the shop. He had some more tinctures and medicines to put together today, things he was running low on. And he was going to have to move some of his herbs into the hothouse in preparation for the coming winter.  

            He didn’t get far down the road though, when someone called his name.

            “Ernst!”

            He spun around and saw a telegraph boy running toward him.

            A sudden sickness seized him as the boy stopped in front of him.

            “What is it, Karl?” he asked.

            “A message for you,” Karl said and handed him the small, brown envelope.

            Ernst swallowed and fumbled in his pocket to pay the boy before hurrying back toward the shop. 

            He didn’t want to open it. Didn’t want the uncertainty to become certain. And yet, he couldn’t stand not knowing either.

            He dumped his satchel carelessly on the table, scattering a few bundles of dries herbs as he took one long look at the envelope and then with a breath to steel himself, he ripped it open.

            As he read the short message, he sagged in relief and slumped in a chair, legs like jelly and hands shaking. He said a quick prayer of thanks to the goddess of warriors and allowed himself to breathe again.

            Alfonse was on his way back to him.

            His brother was coming home.

*

It had been over a year since the war with Mongoland started after a series of events that led to a border raid that led to shots fired, that led to an important man getting shot. No one really knew how that turned into a full fledged war, but it had. And soon every man who could wield a weapon, magical or otherwise, was sent off to the trenches to fight for Tuton, in the hopes that the war would stay out there in the vast fields far away from the cities and the people.

            Alfonse had volunteered. He’d always been a bit restless for the small country village, and Ernst had always known that, but it had gotten worse since their parents died of a sickness that had swept through and taken them both, despite everything his mother had tried. Even healers couldn’t fix everything. 

            They’d been alone after that, and Ernst, only seventeen and only four years older than his younger brother, had to take over the business and raise Alfonse as well. 

            And that had been a task. He’d been a wild boy, though not in a bad way. Just free. He could cause mischief, but then smile and gain the hearts of the villagers all the same. He certainly had gained the hearts of most of the women in the village, that was for sure. Alf had been a ladies’ man pretty much since he could walk.

            And he was a natural magician, which meant that everyone offered him a certain respect. There weren’t a lot of them out here in the country.

            So when the war started, Alfonse had instantly wanted to go. It was probably best in the long run, Ernst now realized. He would have been conscripted soon enough, after a few months, when they realized that this fight wasn’t just going to blow over with a few blows and a couple peace treaties, everyone with magic, especially the natural magicians and alchemists had been taken to the front. Ernst had only stayed because he was given a pass as the only healer in his village and the only one with any natural talent until you got to Iron City. 

            Part of him wished to have gone with Alf in the beginning. It had been hard to let his little brother walk toward death alone. He was all Ernst had left, and the thought of losing him was unbearable. But another part seemed to realize that Alfonse needed to do this alone. He was nineteen when he left. A man, and a powerful magician. Ernst knew they needed him, and though he wanted to keep his baby brother to himself, he knew that he had to let him go this time.

            Every day was like walking on eggshells. Alfonse wrote to him at first then stopped. Ernst understood. He knew the war was hard. Their father had fought in the previous one, and he never talked about it. Sometimes he got that distant look in his eye that told them he was remembering something. But it was still hard for Ernst to know nothing of his brother’s safety or whereabouts. Nothing to rely on but the telegraphs that would come in every few days, telling of another soldier who wouldn’t be marching home. Every time he didn’t receive one he said a prayer of thanks, and asked for his brother’s protection.

            In the meantime, he ran the shop that their parents had left, tended his garden, and made his medicines. Tried to keep his spirits up, help where he was needed. He was one of the few young men left in town now, and so he did odd jobs for the soldier’s wives and the elderly. He neatly evaded the young women who showed up at his shop nearly daily to ask for some tincture for some new ache, oftentimes coming to a squabble right on his doorstep if more than one happened to show up. He smiled at the shopkeeper’s daughter, Ada, when he went to buy dry goods, which only made the other village girls more determined to win him over.

            He survived. But he missed his brother dearly. Alfonse had been Ernst’s constant companion for the majority of his life and all his other boyhood friends had gone to war with him. He tried not to feel so alone, but sometimes, he couldn’t really help it.

            But now his brother was coming back, and he felt as if something he didn’t know was there had been lifted form his chest. 

            He had a lot of preparation to see to. For the most part, Alfonse’s room had been left untouched, even his clothes were still there, since he only needed a uniform now. He cleaned the room though, dusted it, aired the sheets…not an easy task in the bleak, wet weather they had been having, but it would have to do. 

            The telegraph had said that Alfonse had been injured, but Ernst didn’t worry over much about that. He was a healer after all, the idea of an injured little brother did not daunt him. He simply made up a few more tinctures and creams that were good for wounds. 

            It was three days between the time Ernst received the telegraph to when the transport truck pulled up outside their shop door. 

            He had just been making up his orders for the day when he heard the rumbling sound of a magic engine outside. He dropped what he was doing instantly, tore off his apron and ran outside in his shirtsleeves.

            The back of the truck was sheltered with canvas, and a man got down, hauling out a trunk before another came around the back.

            Alfonse appeared then, a crutch held in one hand, and a wary look on his face as he eyed the distance between the truck bed and the ground. The man reached up and helped him to his feet.

            Alfonse swayed slightly, then stuck his crutch into the cobbles and looked up finally at the shop.

            Ernst was already moving, unable to stay away a moment longer. A grin spread across his face despite himself, and his arms were already open when Alfonse turned to see him.

            “Alf!” he cried and caught his brother up in a cheerful embrace.

            He was so glad to see him that for the first few seconds he didn’t realize Alf wasn’t hugging him back. 

            In fact, upon the initial embrace, Alfonse stiffened up entirely. It was only after a few seconds that he relaxed his brother’s hold, forehead lowering to rest on his shoulder, even if his arms didn’t wrap around Ernst like they normally would have.

            Ernst held him for a little while longer, taking stock of the extra few inches his brother had grown—taller than he was now!—and the pounds his already slim brother had lost. He could feel the lean muscle, but there was more bone than he would like. His cheek rested on top of the dark head, inhaling deeply. 

            “Welcome home, brother,” he said, then pulled away.

            Alfonse looked startled to lose the contact, and perhaps also a little relived. Ernst smiled reassuringly and finally, Alf’s lips curled up a little too. A bit of relief shot through Ernst’s chest. He reached out to squeeze Alfonse’s shoulder. 

            “Come on, I’ll make you breakfast. You should get off that leg.”

            And like that, his brother was home.

            At least in body.

            As Ernst turned away to pick up the trunk, his smile faded because of the look he had seen in his brother’s eyes. It was the same he had seen in his father’s when he was having a bad day. 

            He feared that, perhaps, Alfonse had left something of himself back at the war front.

~~~~~~~~

 How is everyone else doing on NaNo this year?

What to Look Forward to In Scars of War (feat. actual lines from the book)

It's almost release day for Scars of War! but in preparation for that, I thought I would share with you a little of what you have to look forward to when reading it--so I essentially just picked out some of the most random lines I could when I did my final read through. Hopefully this actually doesn't have adverse effects XD

Introducing: Actual Quotes from Scars of War

(Bonus points for anyone who can guess who said what)

~

"But isn't it better to have creases in your skin than to be captured by a man of ill repute?"

~~~

"Warriors with babies, all of them warming milk and changing nappies. It's enough to make you weep at the strength of their loyalty."

~~~

"I swear, if I never see a patty pie again it will be too soon."

~~~

"Well, I have to agree that, apart from the match-making--which you really have a problem with, by the way--it is a good idea."

~~~

"You know those sweet, cavity inducing cuddle sessions you like to imbibe in in the library with your ladylove? Gone, if you don't have a nanny."

~~~

"Oh sure, they might knit blankets and act all fuzzy and protective, but as soon as the first nappy change comes up there will be no loyalty left in the garrison."

~~~

"Meat Stix--with an X? How do I know this is even meat? Never trust products where they purposefully misspell a word."

~~~

"Two pints and a Shirley Temple for the Faerie Princess."

~~~

"Do not take liberties with my muffin tops, woman!"

~~~

"Is it Plan M for manly or musk?"

~~~

"Now that you have been enlightened by the power of love, can we go defeat evil?"

~~~

"Great, now all I can smell is feet."

~~~~

And there's also some of this:

And some of this:

And this:

Oh yeah, and also this:

So join me tomorrow for the official release! I'm running a giveaway for the first two books as e-copies for anyone who comments, but I'm also running a deal where if you buy Scars of War in either paperback or e-copy you can email me for free e-copies of the first two books as well ^_^ So either way, you have a chance to get the first two books free so if you haven't read them yet, you should do that, because look at all this insanity! 

Happy St. Patrick's Day and Blood Ties Reveal!

Hello everyone, and Happy St. Patrick's Day! =D I'm especially excited this year, because I finally get to reveal the novel I've been working on since last summer in one way or another, and because it's Irish, it's appropriate for the day. I just finished the first draft last month and I can honestly say, I adore this book. It's my baby.

So, a little bit about my novel Blood Ties:

Blood Ties is set during the modern era, in a speculative version of Ireland that is still run by high kings,  and faeries abound and are part of normal day life. There's also a modern version of the legendary warriors of Na Fianna, who take center stage of the story. My protagonist is Ciran Mac Cool a descendant of the great Fionn Mac Cool himself, and he and his friends are all descendants of Fionn's Fianna. This book opens on the tail end of the last of the Goblin Wars which the Irish people have been fighting against the Goblins for nearly a century. During a hesitant peace treaty, a patrol of Fianna and others was taken by the goblins, among them, Ciran's older brother. The book is essentially about Ciran forming a band of misfit warriors who have lost someone in the patrol to go up to the Faelands and rescue them from the clutches of the Goblin King, Lorcan. It's a story about blood ties and family and also a coming of age story for Ciran, his men, and also Eamon, the young High King of Ireland who has a lot to prove to everyone.

Pretty much, this is a short version of what you will find in Blood Ties:

Modern day warriors who wear leather, carry swords, a drive fast cars.
Moderately hot goblins.
Lots and lots of brotherly love.

And now I'm going to share the first chapter and the prologue with you as a treat, and I hope to share more soon about the creating of my Ireland, and all the different races, places and peoples.

(Warning, prologue contains some moderately graphic torture, if you don't want to read, skip down to chapter one)

Prologue

He was hauled through the underground fortress, barely able to keep his feet under him in his weakened state, but he forced himself to stay upright even though he was mostly being supported by the two goblins who held him from either side.

            He was brought to the throne room where the goblin king sat in a dilapidated yet regal throne, torches blazing against the stone walls of the mountain dwelling. The whole place was wickedly, crumblingly beautiful; a relic of a bygone age that was still frozen in the past despite its living occupants. Aeden admired its horrible beauty even as it sent chills up his spine.

            The guards threw him to his knees and he hauled his upper body straight so he could look up into the cold, calculating eyes of the tall goblin that sat on the throne. The creature rose languidly, his lean frame straight, his hands held behind his back, holding his tattooed head high. A long black coat swung around his legs and his glossy boots tapped out a leveled pace that echoed through the domed hall.

            “Aeden Mac Cool,” he said. “A pleasure, as always. Have you had a thought as to what you will discuss with me now? I trust you found your stay in the rat hole comfortable.”

            “Comfortable enough,” the Finnian replied, watching as the goblin’s clubbed ash blond hair swung back and forth down his back as he paced. “But I shall not talk to you now, or ever.”

            “Shame; you seemed so eager to talk before. So eager to take the place of the princeling, that I suspected you must have something of import to tell me.” The goblin sighed in a long-suffering manor, turning around with a bored expression on his face. “Very well, we shall have it your way then. I begin to wonder whether you enjoy pain so much, Mac Cool.”

            The Finnian was hauled to his feet and chained to a rack on one side of the room. The goblin drew a thin blade from his boot and walked over to him. “I honestly don’t even find this amusing anymore, I’ve done it for so long,” he said, grabbing the Finnian’s face in one hand, his long nails digging into the young man’s cheeks. “But if you wish the pain to continue, by all means, keep defying me. But tell me what I want to know, and I will let you go back to your family. You know I am not unnecessarily cruel.”

            “And what of the others?” Aeden spat contemptuously. “Would you send them back as well?”

            “If they give me what I want, I might consider it. But one thing at a time.”

            The Finnian only smiled and the goblin began his knife work with a businesslike manner, slowly flaying a strip of skin from the Irishman’s hip up his left side. Aeden Mac Cool gritted his teeth and breathed out slowly between them.

            “No?” the goblin asked.

            Aeden didn’t say anything. The goblin shrugged. “Very well then.” He ripped the strip of skin off and the Irishman couldn’t help the scream of surprise that ripped from his throat. Blood ran down his side, soaking the top of his worn leather trousers.

            “You see, you have only tasted a bit of the pain I am capable of causing you,” the goblin said, coming behind Aeden, leaning close. His breath wafted against the back of the Irishman’s neck and sent a shiver of disgust up his spine. “If you do not wish to sample any more, let me know, and this can all end here with only a few answers to my questions.”

            “No,” the Irishman forced out.

            “Very well then,” the goblin said again and motioned to his guards. “Bring all my instruments to me. I shall have him talking by the end of the day.” He shot a hand forward, gripping Aeden’s neck and wrenching his head back, his lips nearly pressed against the Irishman’s ear. “And if you don’t talk, I will start on the princeling, and we’ll see how you do when you’re forced to watch your king’s brother suffer.”

            Aeden Mac Cool swallowed hard, and closed his eyes, willing his mind away by thinking of his family; his parents, brothers and sister who likely all thought he was dead. He would not give in, for their sake. He could not give in for the sake of Erin herself. But that did not stop the mountains from echoing with his screams.

Chapter One

Tracking

The mists rolled off the green hills, still damp from the morning dew, and the will o’ the wisps curled around my legs as I loped easily through the heather, leaping from rock to rock as I focused my attention between the ground beneath my feet and the track ahead, forging the way not by signs, nor by memory this time, but by carefully deducted paths recreated from visions and common sense. The wet air, still smelling of dawn, refreshed me, brought all my senses into focus, so that I could concentrate on my task. This was my favorite time of day to track, and I would have felt an unnamable joy in that morning’s duty had it not been for the subject of my tracking.

            I climbed onto a big rock, bracing myself halfway up and looking back down into the valley where I could see Tierney still picking up the tent as I made my last scout. It was foolish, I knew, Aeden had been gone for nearly six months, but this had been where he was patrolling when he disappeared, and I felt there had to be something that would tell me where he might be. That he was still alive.

            I took in the landscape, picturing Aeden standing in my exact position, scouting the way ahead. If he had been chased, where would he make a stand? I knew already before the question barely passed through my mind and was off, sprinting soundlessly over the dewy ground to the valley on the other side of this hill.

            My memory had not failed me, I saw with satisfaction as I crested the rise and trotted down into the valley. There was the circle of standing stones, so old that no one knew who they belonged to now, or what their purpose had been. Several had fallen like ancient stone warriors lost in battle, but most were still standing in their original circle. For want of a better location, it would have been the only spot that a few men could have stood to defend themselves, and the stones were said to offer protection to warriors who were true to Erin. I felt in my bones that this was the place my brother had made his stand and surely it was the place Daegal had dreamed about. I took the picture he had drawn for me and held it up in comparison. It was the place.

            I entered the circle slowly. I always felt there should be some ritual to entering a stone circle, but if there ever had been, the knowledge had been lost in centuries long past. I did bow my head in respect though, for the sake of whatever spirits or Fae that might guard it still. The stones seemed to create an energy of their own, not really tangible, but something that allowed my mind to work more clearly, take in more. Na Fianna were known for their connection with the land, and such ancient landmarks as these seemed to give us strength. I looked around the circle, taking the scene in and again trying to picture the events that had happened here in the past.

            I was drawn to one stone; one of the fallen ones, and crouched to inspect it, finding an old rust colored stain in a crack of one of the swirling designs carved into it. I had seen enough blood to know it for what it was, and being red, it was hardly goblin blood. There was no telling how much blood there had been to begin with, for whatever had been there, would have washed away long ago, but it was enough to tell me my suspicions were correct, and my stomach knotted in instinctive uncertainty of my brother’s survival.

            I braced a hand on the wet ground as I contemplated this confirmation. By rights, I shouldn’t even have been out there, doing this, knowing my father would berate me for having false hope, but I hadn’t been home for three months, and I had missed Aeden more than I could say, and when Daegal and I had spoken on the phone in my absence, he always had new dreams of his to report, telling me about this place and how he thought it was connected in some way with the patrol’s disappearance. I knew I wouldn’t be able to rest before I at least checked, and Tierney and I had a few days before we had to report back to the court of High King Eamon O’Brian so we had camped in the valley below, spending that time tracking and trying to map the path Aeden and his patrol had taken before they met with an unfortunate goblin attack that had nearly sent our people back into another long and bloody war.

            I sighed as I thought again how hopeless this venture was. I was about to stand up when my fingers found something at the base of the stone, hiding in the grass. I dug down and pulled it out, feeling engraved metal hanging from a leather strap. My fingers knew what it was before I recognized it by sight, opening my hand to look at it, for my fingers knew the shape well. It was a pendant identical to the one I wore about my own neck, a simple bronze medallion about an inch in diameter with the Mac Cool crest emblazoned on it, depicting the fish of wisdom from the ancient story. Daegal hadn’t been wrong. Aeden had been there sure enough. Now the question was whether he was still alive or if he had perished there.

            Two years ago now, there had been an uprising of goblins and Na Fianna and all the other warriors and kings of Ireland were called upon to do battle with them. It had been a feud going on for as long as there had been Ireland and though the enemy might not have always been the same, the struggle was, and there was always a new enemy to take the place of the one who was finally defeated. First it had been my ancestor, the great Fionn Mac Cool who had fought the giants. But that's a story for another time.

            The first Goblin War had happened while the rest of the world was fighting WWII and another had arisen in the ‘80s only to come to a head again, just three years past, in the quickest and bloodiest of the three, naming it, in grim humor the War of the Red Hills for all the blood that had been spilled, mostly ours. After only a year of fighting, the Kings of Ireland had formed a tenuous peace with the Goblin King, paying him heavy tithes to seal the pact, but it had not lasted for more than a year, for there was a sudden, nasty uprising in the north and the goblins attacked a city on the Borderland and decimated the people, nearly wiping them all out. Our High King gathered his warriors and went out to do battle, knowing that the time had come to wipe the goblins out all together. And he nearly succeeded, but at heavy cost, for though he did kill the Goblin King, he left his son alive, and lost his own life as well as that of over half his men in the process. They say that Erin wept blood for her lost children that day.

            And then only months ago after an unstable peace of nearly a year while we picked up the pieces of the last battle, the Goblin prince, Lorcan, turned king after the death of his father, began to make small attacks despite the agreement. One day a patrol of Fianna warriors went out to scout goblin trails, and never came back. One of them was my older brother, another was the younger brother of High King Eamon, and crown prince, but many more had lost loved ones too that day, but like my father, didn’t want to risk the hope that they might still be alive. Most of them, anyway.

            I turned and something else caught my eye. A glint of silver caught in a crack of one of the stones. I knelt to inspect in and saw it was a hair bead like all warriors wore to show their status, but this one was especially fine, and engraved with the pattern of the High Seat of Tara. It was also still attached to a braid of jet-black hair, cut off at about three inches. I pictured the owner frantically chopping it off himself, finding he was caught in the stone after being thrust back against it. I held it in a clenched fist for a moment before I tucked it into the script at the side of my belt.

            I cast about a little more, but everything that was to be found there had been found, and it was enough proof to prove my and Daegal’s theory of where the patrol had disappeared. It was no proof of life, but it was a start.

            I looked at Aeden’s medallion again and then pulled it around my neck, tucking it in under my leather breastplate while my own stayed resting on the outside. I had called Eamon yesterday when we had still been in town and capable of mobile service, and told him that Tierney and I would be back at his hall by noon. We would have to hurry if we hoped to keep that appointment. And he would be eager to hear of our side trip, especially now that I had something to show for it.

            Tierney had finished packing up the tent and sleeping bags by the time I got back to the camp and was just loading them into the back of my Vanquish when I came trotting back. He looked up expectantly.

            “Well?”

            I silently showed him what I had found and he nodded, hands on hips, neither of us knowing what to say. We had been right, but that wasn’t enough. I knew he had hoped I had found something from his father, but he knew there had been no guarantee that we would find anything at all and the knowledge that our trip had not been fruitless was enough for the moment. Still, I felt his pain and disappointment keenly in the fresh air and punched him lightly in the shoulder.

            “Come on. We need to get back. I’ll let you drive.” I tossed him the keys and he smiled, even though I knew he knew I was just trying to cheer him up, as he slid into the driver’s seat with an eager air. I pulled off the sword I wore over my shoulder and tossed it into the back seat before I climbed in as well. And then we were off and on the road as Tierney eagerly gunned the car into motion, laughing.

            “If you do anything to this car, I swear I will hurt you,” I told him but was grinning as well.

            “Don’t worry, I won’t hurt your sweetheart,” Tierney said mockingly, stroking the dash with a wink, and only went faster.

            With his driving, we were back in Tara before ten o’clock and stopped at a pub in town for a quick breakfast before heading to the King’s Hall on the hill overlooking the town, giving the otherwise modern day setting a medieval flair, the Hall hardly having changed since the days of Fionn Mac Cool. My mobile rang as we headed to the car again and I answered it as I sat down in the driver’s seat, digging my keys out of my pocket.

            “Hello?”

            “Where are you?” It was Killian O’Hara’s voice on the other end, Captaen of Eamon’s guards and a good friend, if not somewhat self-important.

            “At Lannagan’s, we’re on our way in one minute if you hang up.”

            “Insolence, insolence,” Killian chided but I could hear the smirk on his lips. “See you then.”

            I slapped the phone shut and started the car once Tierney was in and we were off on the road to Tara Hall.

~~~~~~~

If you want to see more of Blood Ties check out my Pintrest board for it to see all the characters and other goodies. It's newly un-secreted just for you =) 

 Also, I'm making a soup for my St Patrick's Day recipe, and if it turns out good, I'll post the recipe later this week!

Have a lovely day, and may the road rise up to meet you!

Slainte, Hazel

Nano Snippets #3 Wolfsblood

Here's another snippet from my Nano project Wolfsblood. Now that's I've completed the 50,000, I am hoping to finish the entire first draft by the end of the month. I'm sorry I didn't get pictures up this weekend of the Justinius plushie I made, but I will do soon when I have a little more time.

On another note, I am working on starting up another blog just for short or serial fiction that I write. Mainly anything from really short, one shot stories, to longer novellas that I will post as a serial, or poems. I might even have guest authors on sometimes. I just decided I wanted to have a specific place to put other stories that I'd like to share, and though I'll be posting them onto Wattpad as well, I wanted to have a blog specifically for the stories. That way I can post accompanying artwork and people can comment even without having a Wattpad account. Anyway, the reason I'm doing this now is because next month I really hope to start posting up an Arthurian retelling I've been working on, which you will hear more about later. But I'm planning on starting to post it online either the first or second week of December, so I'm kind of excited to start my first serial story.

But for now, on to the snippet! In this part, Alex goes hunting a wolf for his wolf skin cloak, but finds more than he bargained for. (Terrible synopsis, I know, sorry.)

Running after the wolf, I realized that we were heading back out of the woods into the hills, and suddenly came out into the full light of the moon and the wolf was a streak of silver among the bracken of the hills. He ran up one, jumping from rock to rock and I followed, hardly feeling tired with the chase at all. I nearly skidded to a halt as the wolf suddenly whirled around to face me, crouching low and snarling deep in his throat. I raised the spear, crouching myself and returning the growl. We eyed each other, watching the other’s movements each waiting for the other to move first.

            The wolf leapt. I fell backwards in a sudden reaction to protect myself, the spear coming up and striking it in the chest as he descended upon me. A yelp escaped his throat, and I pulled myself to my knees, looking to the side where the wolf lay with my spear through him, not yet dead. His yellow eyes met mine, and I remembered Justinius’ words of advice. I pulled my knife out and placed one hand on the wolf’s forehead.

            “Be at peace, brother,” I said and slit his throat, feeling a surprisingly painful ache in my chest as I watched the life flow from the noble beast.

            I sat back on my heels, surprised as I put a hand to my face and found a tear streaking down my cheek. I was shocked at the emotion I felt at killing this wolf. I had never known they could be so human. Perhaps more so than the warriors who were cursed to change into wolves from the story.

            I stood, planning on carrying the entire body back with me to skin at the fort, but as I did so, a chilling sight caught my eye. Over the rise of the hill I could see several more wolves coming toward me. I turned quickly and realized even more were coming at me from behind. I frantically looked around and only saw more and more wolves coming. I couldn’t believe my eyes, wondering for a moment if I were hallucinating. Then a howl sounded out, and another followed closely behind it, until all the wolves were sending up an eerie cry that echoed strangely around the hills. I was hemmed in on all sides, and I realized with a sudden fear coursing through my veins, that I had no way of getting out of this. I was going to have to fight my way out, and even then, I didn’t think the odds were very much in my favor.