Wednesday, November 17, 2010

[RP] Moving, Part II

I feel really busy this month. I think it’s a combination of NaNo (I’m sitting at 23,541 words, still stuck short of the halfway mark but not behind enough to lose hope that I will finish), impending holidays, ridiculously hard 3rd grade homework, and a new blog project with some ladies I know.

Regardless of the reasons, that’s why this is short and sweet. I have to get my happy ass back on the NaNo train, like, now.


Tucked safely into her husband’s sidecar, Libby pulled her furs more tightly around herself. Feralas was known for its beauty and temperate climate, but along the coast a chill breeze swept in from the sea as they made their quiet way north.

The morning started with the newlyweds in fine spirits, cruising merrily along ancient pathways made by elves of another age. The sun was bright in the clearings and warmed them in spite of the brisk air.

As the hours crept on without the discovery of a suitable haven, however, Libby felt waves of panic set in that tightened her chest and throat, stilling their lighthearted banter.

She felt the day slip away more rapidly with every moment they spent in fruitless searches and forays into the woodline. By the time they had crossed much of the great forest and deemed it unsuitable, time was hurtling along, as audible to Libby as the rush of blood in her own ears.

Follow the sea.

Fenniel, unnerved by her silence, was relieved to hear her voice and responded admirably, taking them along the packed dun-colored sand of the beach. They left a wake of foam and tracks, eaten slowly by the encroaching tide.


He braked a bit too quickly and winced as Libby pitched forward in her seat. She was unperturbed, her dark face upturned to the cliffs that bordered the sea. To their right, the roots of a single massive tree clung defiantly to the wall of ancient stone jutting up from a narrow and crumbling shore.

“What is it, Libby?”

“Look.” The druid pointed up. Fenniel’s eyes widened as he followed her gaze and discovered a ledge fifty feet above the beach. Tenacious windswept branches hovered protectively over the scrub-covered shelf, a gift from the ancient mother tree.

A black sparrow launched itself from the sidecar in a burst of feathers and fought the steady winds to the half-hidden nook. The elf sat alone on his motorbike and waited for his wife to return.

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