“Ogre Clan Chronicles: The Prophecy”

This is the first two chapters of my, hopefully to be published, book. Hope you enjoy it!

Prologue

Karl’s bony hand reached out as quick as a snake and clamped around the other man’s throat, beginning to squeeze off his air supply.

“Just what didja think you was reaching for, ya palsied oaf?”

“I weren’t reaching for nuthin’. You was sitting on me blanket, ya damn fool.” Perch’s face was getting redder by the second as he gasped out an answer to Karl.

“Hoy, you two! Knock it off over there! We got an early day tomorrow if ye want to hoof it to Iniquity before the colder weather starts setting in. I, for one, do not want to be getting there dead last and having to winter in some hole in the wall. Now cut it out and be getting to sleep. You’ve wasted enough time being idiots for one night.”

Dropping Perch as hard as he could manage without further angering the accepted leader of their little group, Karl growled and laid down, tucking his belongings under him and glaring at Perch again. Perch, for his part, moved his own gear further away and rubbed his abused throat gently. He glared at Karl’s back and willed for something to come along and eat him in the night.

Spanner watched the two through narrowed eyes and snorted. If they weren’t so good at their “special” skills, he would have killed them himself long ago. He waited until he was sure they were not going to try to kill each other again before finally laying down. His head had barely touched down on his bedroll when he heard the sound of something crashing about in the undergrowth. It was getting louder. Whatever it was, it seemed to be heading in their general direction.

He jumped up and saw that Karl and Perch were already rising, daggers balanced lightly in their hands. People in their profession learned to sleep lightly or they slept forever. Gesturing to the others to climb into one of the trees that formed a natural ring around their campsite, he grabbed up one of the light weight tarps they used to keep rain off and climbed up a different tree.

Suddenly, a figure burst out of the forest and into the clearing, looking around as if completely lost. It looked at the banked fire and at the gear lying seemingly unprotected on the ground. It bent towards the pan that had the remains of the night’s dinner and Spanner jumped down. He tossed the tarp over it and bore it roughly to the ground. The other two men landed on the ground beside him, Perch reaching for some rope from his pack.

“Ha! So did you think you were going to be stealing from us? Well, we’ll be showing you what we think about that.” Sharp kicks and well place punches punctuated every word Spanner said.

A screeching sound, the likes of which they had never heard, suddenly filled the skulls of all three men. Pain lanced into their heads like a thousand daggers impaling their brains. They dropped to the ground screaming horribly and clutching their heads between their hands, blood pouring from their ears and noses as they writhed in agony.

The figure darted out from under the released tarp and ran off into the night, blind and deaf to anything but the need to escape, to run and just keep running . . .

In the wake of her flight, there was silence. Three men would not be caring about winter, or any other season, ever again. Their faces were contorted and their eyes bulged wide with the fear that had filled them. Their hands were full of their own hair, as they had clawed desperately at their own heads trying to stop the painful sounds. Broken bones from the violent writhing had frozen their bodies in bizarre positions. Small flames of the campfire crackled, sending up small sparks, its cheerful sound an odd counterpoint to the now very quiet forest.

Chapter 1

“Well this has certainly been an uneventful patrol.” Faranor chuckled, a note in his voice that sounded almost like disappointment.

Shani cast a stern, sideways glance at the young man beside her. “You should be glad, Fara. Quiet for us means quiet for the others.”

“Oh I know. I didn’t want anything big to happen just, well, something remotely interesting.”

She grinned, unable to help herself. They had been partners for a while now and she was used to his occasional bouts of boredom with a dull patrol. Faranor was several years younger than she and had been born in the caravan. He had never known what it was like to feel truly unsafe, but Shani did. She remembered all too well how things were before she had come here. Her village was not far from Iniquity and had often been a stopover for the unsavory types that called that place home. Her routes on patrol refreshed her in ways she could not explain and never more so than when nothing out of the ordinary happened and she knew that everyone was safe.

For his own part, Faranor knew Shani was right but sometimes he wanted so badly to pit his skills against something more substantial than their meal for that night. He wanted a chance to make a name for himself, to distinguish himself in some manner. It never occurred to him that he already had done so in the eyes of the people he guarded. Everyone considered Faranor a kind, generous  and dependable young man, his sporadic bouts of restlessness aside. Still as with most young men, his daydreams were filled with young women swooning and whispering words like brave, daring, or heroic as he rode past. Yes, that would have been far more to Faranor’s taste than being called dependable or reliable.

“Shani, there’s a stream just ahead. I know it is a bit early but let camp there tonight. It will only add about an hour to tomorrow’s leg home, but it’s a nice little spot,” he suggested from several feet ahead of her.

“Alright, sounds like a plan to me. Do you want to find tonight’s dinner or should I?” she asked.

He thought for a moment then answered. “I’ll gather the wood tonight and get the camp set up and the water boiling. I want to do some repairs on my saddle tonight and a little extra light will be nicer than trying to do it by firelight.”

Nodding, Shani caught up to him and threw her packs over his horse’s rump so he could set up her tent as well as his own. She knew the spot he was talking about and as she handed off her mount’s reins to him, she dismounted at a trot and took off into the forest around them to find some dinner.

The forest was lush, green, and full of game and it wasn’t long before she had a brace of nice fat rabbits hanging from a hook on her belt. She had been tempted to bring down a buck she had seen but this was the last night they would be on patrol and there was no need to bring down that much meat. She turned to head back to camp after hanging the last rabbit from the hook, deciding to take a short cut through some higher brush rather then follow the small game trail she had been following. She wasn’t more than a dozen steps from their camp when she tripped over something and fell on her face. Cursing colorfully at her clumsiness, she got up, turned to see what had tripped her up, and gasped aloud.

“Faranor, come over here quick! I’ve found something,” Shani called out to her partner and moved closer to a bundle of what had appeared, at first, to be rags. She could have sworn she saw them move slightly. As Faranor ran back down the trail towards her, Shani bent to get a closer look and pulling back the topmost rag, she let out a gasp. “Fara, it’s a . . . CHILD!”

“Be careful Shani. Is it dead?” He had not meant it to sound as heartless as it had come out but training was overriding instincts.

“No, I don’t think so. I think I saw it move. It is hard to tell whether it is a girl or a boy. We cannot leave him . . . her . . . here, Fara. It’ll be night soon. It won’t be safe out here, whatever it is.”

“I agree,” Faranor said quietly. “I’ll cut some saplings and we’ll rig up a travois. Let’s take it back to the camp first. We can make it back to the caravan by morning if you want to head out tonight.” He pulled a small hatchet from his pack and began to cut some thin supple saplings from the surrounding forest. Grabbing their ropes, he quickly had a triangular travois rigged up and attached to the back of his horse’s saddle so it would drag behind them.

“I think that’s a good idea,” Shani said thoughtfully.

Shani wrapped her own blanket around the child making sure it would not slip off the travois on the journey home. The two of them mounted up and turned to the south again to rejoin the current camp of the Raven’s Wing Caravan.

Turning around now and then to check on it, Shani and Faranor discussed their little finding.

“How could a child have come to be out here in the middle of nowhere? I didn’t see any signs of others having been with it.

“I don’t know,” Fara answered his voice tight with anger. “From the looks though, whomever the child belongs to needs to be thrashed for treating any child the way that one has been. Did you see the bloodstains on the rags, or all the scars on the one arm?”

Shani nodded silently. The two of them worked well together as scouts for the caravan. They were of similar temperament most of the time and had complimentary strengths and weaknesses. They were also good friends and could pass the time just as comfortably in silence or in chatting. This was one of the silent times. Thoughts about the small creature riding behind them filled both their minds. A small moan interrupted Shani’s musings. “Fara, stop,” she said needlessly. The other scout had already heard the soft sound and had brought his horse to a halt.

Faranor reached the travois first and he leaned over the child. “Child? Are you awake, little one?” he asked gently. The eyes fluttered open and eyes of palest blue glassily gazed up at him. Shani knelt beside the carrier and smiled brightly, trying to put as much reassurance in her smile as possible.

“Well hello there, little one. I’m Shani and this is Faranor. Are you . . .”

She never got any further though. As Faranor reached towards the pathetically small creature, meaning only to move the blanket out of the way a bit, the child’s eyes filled with terror and it began to thrash around violently. The two jumped back instinctively evading what looked like an attack. As the child thrashed they realized it was really just trying desperately to escape as fast as it could from the perceived danger of their proximity.

“No, little one, it’s all right! Please! You’re going to hurt yourself more then you already are. We aren’t going to hurt you. We mean no harm to you, child!” Shani crooned repeatedly, trying to calm the wildly thrashing child.

However nothing seemed to make a difference. Shani tried to reach out again to hold the small hand, much as she would have with her own nieces and nephews when they were afraid or upset and as she did, a blinding pain exploded in her mind, making her vision swim. She pulled back, her face going pale and she looked at Faranor, who was holding his head in his hands and sitting back on the ground on his rump. Shani suddenly felt an overwhelming desire to hurt the other scout, and hurt him badly. No, she didn’t want to just hurt him . . . she wanted to kill him.

Suddenly the child turned white and passed out. As quickly as it had started, the storm of fear and violence was over. Shani blinked several times and turned her head away quickly to hide the blush of shame that colored her cheeks. Small patches of blood were seeping into the child’s blanket where wounds, which had been crusted over somewhat, now oozed again from all the thrashing about.

“Dear gods, Fara. What just happened?” she asked, rocking back on her heels, her fingers rubbing her temples gingerly.

“I don’t know, I just don’t know. It felt like someone slid a dagger right into my brain and was dicing it with impunity and the terror . . . I felt like running and hiding and never coming out again.”

Nodding, Shani grunted as she got up. “I felt the same way. All I wanted to do was flee so that no one could ever find me. And then,” her voice broke, “I wanted to kill you. I wanted to hurt you so badly and feel you die in my hands.” She kept her face averted, her hands shaking badly as she pretended to be adjusting something on her horse’s saddle.

“Shani,” he spoke with a hint of humor in his voice. “You aren’t the first woman who’s wanted to kill me and I doubt you’ll be the last. Believe me.” She appreciated his attempt to lighten the mood with a bit of gentle teasing, but she still couldn’t stop the trembling in her hands.

“No this was different . . . “

“I know it was. I’ve never felt such pain and such anger in my life. I don’t mind telling you how spooked this has me. I just don’t want you to beat yourself up over something that was obviously out of your control.” He looked down at the pale and thankfully unconscious child. “Let’s ride straight through. I want this in Markus’ hands as soon as possible. I’ll send out one of my birds right away.” As Shani nodded, they fastened child in snuggly again, hoping and praying that it would not awaken again until they got home, and could hand it over to someone better able to deal with, well, with whatever this child was.

#

Markus stood leaning against his wagon, breathed in the softly scented night air, and smiled contentedly. He loved this life. He loved being out in the fresh air, no one to answer, no crowds of people all crushed into a space far too small for many bodies. Stretching, he felt the soft shirt tighten slightly across his muscles. It felt good to be out of travel clothes. The bright colors he liked best became too filmed with dust for him to wear when they were on the road. A long camp allowed him to don something besides the practical leathers he usually wore. He propped his leg on one of the wagon spokes, looked around the large encampment, and was satisfied.

They had done well this season, even making a tenuous arrangement with the Laecians for some of the rare spices out of As’dir Dhamat to the west. Markus loved spices and he smiled impishly thinking of the wonderful meal “experiments” he would create for his friends. It was a measure of Raven Wing’s reputation that the Laecians or “Nomads” of As’dir Dhamat had sought them out for the metal goods they wanted.

Running his fingers through his short cropped red hair he looked around at the camp’s layout again. While the majority of the wagons had positioned themselves in a large circle, there were a few, which had taken spots around the perimeter.

Wagon. The word didn’t do justice to the marvel of artisanship and ingenuity that went into these homes on wheels. Each one was custom made to fit the needs of the family and most made improvements and changes as they could afford. Teams of four large horses usually pulled the larger structures. Being merchants, the wooden sides on most of them could be dropped down to allow air to flow freely or to serve as a counter when they were open for business. Families who could afford the more elaborate wagons were able to raise the roof several inches to allow light in and air to flow freely. This gave them an additional measure of privacy as well. Each family lovingly kept up and decorated their wagons so that they reflected the nature of the family who called them home.

Tonight, as with any other night when weather permitted, many of the younger folks were sleeping outside in small groups with their friends. It was fun for them and it gave their parents a night of privacy. That they felt safe enough to sleep so exposed made him feel proud and thankful.

He couldn’t ask for a finer group of people to call the Raven’s Wing Caravan “home”. They were, in every way that mattered, a family. Many had been born in these very wagons. Jerrol had started this train with such understanding of people that it had quickly flourished under his leadership and had become one of the most prosperous, and well respected, caravans in the land. Some trains were simply tolerated so long as they had goods that were needed, but the Raven Wing train was treated more like welcomed guests.

In each place, they tried to leave the grounds where they camped  in better condition than when they arrived. If an emergency arose while they were camping near a town, they would work side by side with the villagers to give whatever aid they could. Many of their most loyal customers year after year, were those who owed the salvage of their property, land, or crops, or in some instances, their very lives to the efforts of Raven Wing members. These things combined with the quality of their goods ensured they were welcomed just about anywhere. Their success also ensured that his people were happy and satisfied, and because they were, they were sure to be as careful as he was about who traveled with them or joined them on short journeys, so that that safety wasn’t compromised. Most were families with children and it was important to Markus that they grew up loved and feeling safe, even if they did not live in a city or town.

As was his usual wont, Markus walked around the perimeter of the camp speaking softly to the sentries and beast handlers as he passed. The animals were dozing contentedly under the watchful eyes of their keepers and there was a feeling of peace in the night air. He closed his eyes and let that feeling seep into his bones, knowing it could change in a heartbeat, but not quite willing to let it go just yet.

“You have the same look on your face that those drowsing cattle have on theirs,” an acerbic voice quipped from the shadows to his left.

“Oh, nice way to talk to your caravan master,” he muttered back, still trying to get his racing heart to slow. “Must you sneak about all the time, ‘Sella? I swear you take ten years off my life when you do that to me.”

A figure emerged from the shadows, and Gyselle approached, still with an unnerving silence even though he could see her now. With a smirk, Gyselle fell in beside him and looked up at the sky.

“Yes, and we both know you can’t afford to lose too many more years, old man.”

“You’re a cold-hearted woman, ‘Sella, do you know that?”

Gyselle chuckled softly, but didn’t bother to deny the comment. This was the jibing of old and very dear friends and the two of them took great pleasure in it.

“I’ve had word from Faranor. He sent one of those birds of his to Selie with a message.”

“Is something wrong?” Gyselle asked, her voice automatically changing to reflect her concern. While she taught all the scouts to never get too complacent about the “routine” patrols, this was a fairly decent stretch of area and problems were few and minor; usually minor enough to wait until they returned to report.

“They’ve found something and are bringing it back with them.”

“It?”

“That’s what the message said. The birds can’t carry large pieces of parchment in their leg tubes. All it said was Something found. Bringing it back. Very unusual. Darn bird actually made it back here. I’ll have to eat crow on that one.” He grinned at her sheepishly and Gyselle laughed, giving him a clap on the back.

Faranor was convinced that the black Cara’fi birds he was breeding could regularly be used to carry messages. Their handler would attach messages to their legs, they would fly to other handlers that they already knew, and would return home bearing an answering message. Personally, Markus privately considered it far too chancy and thought the annoying birds were more trouble than they were worth. He always tried to be encouraging of his people’s attempts to find ways to better life for the caravan though, so he tried to be open-minded about it.

Gyselle laughed aloud, knowing his tone for what it was. “Well so far he has done fairly well with them, Markus. They aren’t 100% reliable, but they’re still young and he’s trying various methods of training them until he finds one that works best. I think it’s a rather creative idea.”

“You would. Between you, Fara and the other keepers, the animals will outnumber the people soon. I may as well be leading a circus train instead of a merchant caravan.”

His voice was heavy with sarcasm, but tempered by the glint of humor in his eyes. Gyselle knew all his griping was bluff and bluster. The truth was, Markus liked the reputation his train had for being unique.

“You like the notoriety and we both know it, and speaking of notoriety, you’re going to be the envy of every caravan when you show up in Cannyn with those new spices of yours.”

“Don’t I know it!” he said grinning broadly at her. “We have limited supplies this year, of course, but if the Laecians are happy with the prices we fetch for them, we’ll get a good deal more next season. That arrangement you came up with to be their sole distributor in Shae’ana was a brilliant idea. It benefits both our people.”

“Thank you. The Companies often have to make creative arrangements with people as they travel from contract to contract. Of course, we also get around more than most merchant caravans since we don’t have to follow trade routes.”

“That’s true. I have to admit, I would love to see the raft towns of Thantir in the southeast though. I hear they’re amazing and that the Thantiri rely heavily on trading.”

“They do, but getting used to the ground always moving under your feet is no easy task. Frankly, I prefer my ground to stay put.” She grimaced and Markus laughed, patting her on the back comfortingly.

Gyselle’s mind automatically began to picture the lands of Shae’ana as she knew them. Shae’ana, which meant “Many Souls”, had a number of neighboring lands. As’dir Dhamat, “Land of the Dancing Fire”, was to the west and was the home of the nomadic Laecians. It was a hard land of hot dry deserts broken only by the occasional lush, green oasis. The Laecians were a solitary people with a quiet dignity that Gyselle liked. To the southwest was the great ocean Khelzith Anani which meant “Thundering Waters”. There were a number of coastal towns along that vast stretch of dark, pounding waters, but the weather systems could be erratic and wild along those parts. Only the hardiest of folks called that region home. If you followed that coast line you would come to a huge promontory of land called Essendia. The Essendians were secretive and very few ever caught so much as a glimpse of the canopy-living people. North lay the unfriendly lands of Shindaria, separated from Shae’ana by the mountain range known as the Dar Ristra, or “Boundary of the Gods.” The northeast region of Shae’ana was a wild region. The mountain may have been considered a boundary between the two lands, but in the northeast corner of Shae’ana that line was vague and crossed often. The people who lived in that area were an odd lot and the two cultures formed a mongrel mix of practices, rituals, and beliefs. The great Adar lay to the east. It was a beautiful, temperate ocean of crystalline, aquamarine waters. The Aurok Mountain range, while still part of Shae’ana itself, dominated the northwest corner and it was in those mountains where an unknown quanity of ogre clans dwelt. Few lowlanders were welcome there among the fierce and tribal clans. It was rumored there were other peoples far past the Aurok’s to the northwest, but only the ogre clans knew how to get through the Aurok’s and they weren’t telling.

Smack dab in the middle of all this was Shae’ana. It was a spacious land, but had no central government of any sort. Historically, it had never needed one, and the only battles that took place usually were along the northern borders with Shindaria. Those had been repelled and it had been a long time since any had last tried to invade Shae’ana. It was good fertile land and had everything from snow-capped mountains to coastal beaches, fertile lowlands to thick forests.

Markus’ voice cut into Gyselle’s thoughts. “Is all set for the night, ‘Sella?” he asked, not really because he believed it needed to be asked, but more out of habit.

“Yes, Markus, all is well. Dara should deliver in the next couple of hours, but other than that it should be quiet.” While the caravan was not often the target by marauders and brigands, it was not impossible either.

“Good, thank you ‘Sella. It’s largely due to you that we are bothered so rarely. The reputation we have, thanks to the training you give our people, has brought a safety to us that not all caravans enjoy.” He turned and smiled at her warmly as he spoke. “I think I’ll retire now. I want to hear Shani and Faranor’s report as soon as they arrive. I think it would probably be best if I didn’t fall asleep in the middle of that report, eh?” he laughed, changing the  mood of the moment.

“Good idea. The elderly need all the rest they can get.”

Markus’ laugh came softly to Gyselle’s ears as he walked away, letting her have the last word.

Get the Toilet Seat First

Note: I will be writing the book I had planned to write for Nanowrimo here. I’ll add chapters and updates as I write them. While I did not do it in the time frame I was supposed to, it still will be good practice and fun to write. Bear in mind that this is not terribly edited. It is a first draught, so I’m sure there will be booboos here and there.

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PREFACE

Its been in my mind to write this book for several years now and Nanowrimo is giving me just the shove I need to finally do it.  There are many books out there on how to buy your first home, how to navigate the pitfalls of the real estate market and how to find clever financing to make your dream home yours. However, there are things no one will tell you, as I was to find out the hard way.

This book is a light-hearted look at my experience in the adventure of first home buying. I hope you will find it as amusing as I do now, although at the time it was a bit less funny to me. Take it all with a grain of salt. Some things will seem obvious, but to us at the time, they were not. Some of the things in this book may seem unique to me, but I doubt it, since we are all basically the same under the skin.

So enjoy, smile and lets start the journey together.

CHAPTER ONE

For years hubby and I watched all the Bob Vila shows, all the homes for sale shows, and all the home improvement shows. It was at one time a ritual for us. Saturday mornings were spent at yard sales and the later afternoon was given over to snuggling up together in front of the TV and watching all our favorite home shows. We were still fairly newly married and we were still filled with dreams of our first home and all the things we were going to do with it.

As we watched the shows we dreamt of tiled floors, walls with beautiful Venetian plaster, and lush carpets under our feet. We had visions of the vignettes on every other page of the L.L. Bean catalog. Warm crackling fire, dogs curled up around us, soft blankets wrapped around us while we drank hot cocoa and watched the snow fall outside.

I, of course, had the perfect kitchen in mind. Tall, deep natural pine cabinets with crown molding all along the top. I would have ample space for all my pots and pans, bowls and mixers, appliances of every sort would all be tucked neatly away. I would have a farmhouse sink, a huge refrigerator, a 6-burner stove with bun warmer, and of course, a dishwasher. Can you tell yet which of these things I did NOT have in my small apartment or my smaller trailer? Yes, I had it all planned out. Most glorious of all, I would have my own washer and dryer. That was my holy grail. No more Laundromats for me. No sirree, I was going to be able to do my laundry whenever I wanted and it would all smell wonderful instead of burnt or stale.

My little heart would go all pitter patter when I would think of my own bathroom. It would smell like candles, have a deep tub with a sloping back and enough cabinets that you would never have to see my toilet paper rolls.

My husband, on the other hand, was enthralled with other ideas of home ownership. His own garage. It would look like one of those ones in the Sears Catalog at Christmas time. There would be plenty of room for pulling the car in and a clean dry floor to lay on while he worked on it. There would be wraparound work benches with diamond plate steel cabinets hanging on every wall. It would be filled with all his tools; his drill press, the table saw, the radial arm saw, and all the other things that I don’t know the name of, although I have been assured they are all absolutely necessary items for any self-respecting tool guy. Yes, Tim Allen is his idol.

There would also be a room for each of us. Mine would be a crafting room and his would be a train room. I would have room for whatever craft suited my mood that day and he would be able to sit and run his trains for hours.

Week after week we were filled with fresh ideas for this dream house. It would be a ranch. It would be a farmhouse. It would be a victorian. It would be a craftsman style. It would be in a town. It would be in the middle of Montana (or someone similar). It would be in the country. It always had property around it no matter what style, though. There would be ample space for my garden and lots of room to park (preferably near the garage, of course.)

Then reality started to set in. We were living in a travel trailer because we moved a lot those first few years. It gets harder to think about your dream home when you are living in a space that is 8ft. wide and 28 ft. long. We slowly drifted away from those shows and settled for keeping the water unfrozen, the spider webs out of the gas furnace tube and keeping the toilet tank from freezing into one huge block of… well, you get the picture.

We lived in that trailer for nine years and then moved into an apartment. A very tiny apartment. We started to feel those little yearnings again, but there wasn’t much we could actually do to the apartment so again we had to put all those feelings aside.

Then there came the night we looked at each other and said, “Let’s look into it and see if we could buy a house.” As soon as we said the words we just looked at each other. Those words had never actually been said aloud before. Neither of us said another word and it was as if we were waiting for some wind to come a long and pluck them out of the air, as if they had never been uttered.

The next day the hubby took the reins and began doing some research. To be brutally honest, I was not much help to him in this. I was too afraid to try and have my heart broken by the bad news that our dream house would never happen. I just couldn’t face the reality of the destruction of a dream. He plodded through internet sites, filled out applications, did paperwork of all sorts, all the time with me holding my breath. Then it happened.

“Hon, we qualify for a home loan.”

I didn’t know what to say. I just sat there looking at him. I was shocked, elated, astonished and frankly, terrified. I thought he must be joking with me. I wasn’t going to be amused when he said, “gotcha!”  But he never did. He smiled hugely and gave me the number.

“We qualify for $250,000. We just have to find a realtor now.”

After I recovered, which took a while, we laughed like children and started talking about all our long put away ideas for our home.

———-

CHAPTER TWO

Your dream come true! Right? Well, yes and no. Yes, you are going to start looking for your beloved little nest, but as they say, you have to kill a lot of frogs before you find your prince charming.

House hunting is a lot like that. Once we found a Realtor we thought we were set. I mean after all, hadn’t we watched a million house hunting shows all those years earlier? Hadn’t we seen how the process works? They show us an array of lovely houses and we get to sit back, talk about it, make our pro and con lists and then, and only then, make our decision which seller to bestow our money upon. Right?

Wrong!

Ok, in all fairness to the Real Estate institution, maybe when you are lugging around your bag of money you can do things that way. From talking to friends, we discovered that our experience with house hunting isn’t very unusual.

“Hi! This is Realtor X. I have a couple of homes to show you. Can you make it today?”

“Um, well no, hubby is working today.” Duh, I thought to myself.

“How about tomorrow?”

“How about Saturday when he is off, ya know, work?”

“Wellllll…” long pause followed by a voice now just ever so slightly less chipper and just a bit more peeved. “I suppose we could do that. If they are gone already though it will be a waste of time for both of us. I mean they could go just like ‘that’.” Sound of finger snap in the earpiece.

“We’ll have to take that chance. After all, its because he HAS a job that is enabling us to buy a home. It would sort of stupid to lose it now, wouldn’t it?”

“Fine, I’ll see you on Saturday. Goodbye.” Click.

Now you may think this a rather ludicrous conversation, but it was one that was repeated many, many times in the next 3 months. Apparently the only people who house hunt are those who have jobs they can just walk away from at a moment’s notice. Silly us.

Eventually we got to actually go look at homes, though. Armed with pages from various real estate web sites, after we found out that our Realtor doesn’t use ALL sites to find homes, but only certain ones, we happily packed ourselves up and headed out to view our array of dream homes.

Let me stop here a moment to clarify something that became VERY important to us right about this time. When you apply for a mortgage its like a check with no signature. The mortgage company checks you out and then tells you how much money they will be ever so glad to loan you. For us it was $250,000. Yes, that is a quarter of a million dollars.

They will tell you that you can have that much because you can afford that much. Uh huh.

With your mind full of images of getting everything on your want list,  your would like but could live without list, and your no way in hell list, you sit down with your Realtor and start running numbers. It is at this point that you find out how much of that money is going into things that are NOT your house. Then there is the list of things that are going to be charged on TOP of that money. When all is said and done, you realize that their being willing to offer you that much money is a far, far cry from how much you will be able to truly afford. Reality is like a bucket of cold water as you start lowering the amount you can spend on a house. Once you figure out what you really can afford, you can start hitting the pavement to look at homes in that price range.

So off we went, to look at homes in our price range. I’m not sure at which point we started to cry. There was no array of beautiful homes lined up for our leisurely perusal. There were houses alright, but the tours consisted of opening the door and letting us find our way around.

There was the house that was half caved in on one side. The wildlife certainly found it a nice place to live, but somehow it felt short of even our ‘no way in hell’ list. It had a little property but it was shaped like an arrow head with a highway on one side and a main road on the other with the house plopped into the middle of them. You could stand in the middle of your land and wave to the occupants of the cars on both roads.

There was the farmhouse on a beautiful piece of property which felt so creepy I wouldn’t even let the hubby go down the basement.

At this juncture let me give you another small tidbit. Don’t negate the little “feelings” you get when you are walking around a place. Call it what you will…intuition, discernment, willies, whatever, but don’t just rule it out. Remember you are spending a lot of money and are going to be here day in and day out… and NIGHT in and night out. If you are not comfortable in there when you tour it, pass it by. It won’t get better later.

Anyway, we passed on that farmhouse needless to say. There was the small victorian gingerbread house. It was very pretty inside until you reached the kitchen. Apparently this was a room they never used because while the rest of the house looked adorable, the kitchen looked as though a pack of dogs had been living in there. It was so tiny you could barely move. This wasn’t helped by the fact that the refrigerator was some sort of mutant monster-sized ancient affair. Just change it out, say you, right? Wrong. It didn’t fit through the door. It had been there when they moved in and someone had built the small kitchen around it. Even if you took off the door it wouldn’t come out. We would have had to take a saw of some kind to it and render it into pieces to get it out. And the back yard, which wasn’t big enough to plant more than a few tomatoes, backed up to a wall which, if you looked up 6ft, was the storage part of a car repair place. It was a lovely view.

And not to be forgotten was the house which was about the size of our trailer I think. It sat on a truly spectacular piece of land with a bubbling creek behind it. And, the Realtor told us before we got there, it is filled with homemade charm and hand crafted furnishings. This is Realtor speak for the old man who lives there did all the repairs himself but really hadn’t a clue what he was doing. It was truly a sight to behold, let me tell you. There were materials used in places that no manufacturer had even intended. Four steps took you from one room to the next. Two rooms took you across that room.

If you were planning on bulldozing it and building something that was bigger than a Barbie and Ken size it would have been ideal, but otherwise, forget it.

And there was the mobile home. Again nice piece of property, but not much room to actually live in, It was not a double wide, by the way. It was single wide, fairly old, and although nicely kept up with a nice little outbuilding off to the side, it wasn’t going to work.

Right about now the sunny little smiles on our faces as we go out for another round of houses to look at, are pretty much gone. They are replaced with a quivering lip and frown lines that go practically through to the back of our heads. The Realtor wasn’t looking much happier.

You are probably wondering if we actually put in any bids on these prizes? Yes, we did. Desperation, compounded with our Realtor’s pessimism at finding anything better, actually led us to make bids on two of these places in hopes of being able to salvage them into our dream home in some way. By now the little pieces of papers with our lists carefully written on them, are laying on the floor of the car with all the other detritus of our trips; tissues, maps, soda cans, printed house specs, etc. Now we had a new list. It was the “can live with it” list. It was a sad, pitiful thing, wrinkled badly, tear stained and altogether just pathetic.

Finally, one Saturday, just before we were getting ready to go look at more houses, the hubby did one final look on the website and a small house had just been put up about 15 minutes before. He printed it off and brought it with us, telling the Realtor that we wanted to see this one, too. To be very honest, it was not a good picture and the house looked bare and not particularly attractive.  We did our round of Realtor-picked houses then went on to the one hubby had brought with him.

It was a small cape-style house that sat on a corner lot. There was lawn in front and a little on the one side. But it went back to a very nice back yard with a large fenced-in kennel/run. Did I mention we had a dog and wanted another one? There wasn’t much landscaping or exterior love given to it, but it had potential to be cute. When we went in we found out what it means when the ad says “as is”. Most of the work had been done, but it was the finishing that had not been. New drywall was up, but not finished off or painted. A new staircase was put in but had no treads yet. It was two story and the upstairs was a large open room with a small bedroom at one end. The ad said it was a 200 year old post and beam. Turned out that someone had put up vinyl siding so that it looked a lot newer.

A New Weapon

Originally this scene was in my book, “Ogre Clan Chronicles: The Prophecy”, as is. I needed to make a few small changes, however, so that it would fit better and the keep the flow of events moving. Still, I always did like it and wanted to save it. A little background as you read it. Dualta is a kind of spiritual leader for his people. He is a Spirittalker. Khellian is the leader of those people and they are very close. Chakai is an ogre War Chief thrown into the discovery of who else she is, and not happy about it. Here she is “learning” how to use, what to her, is just another weapon to master, though it is far more than that. Chakirra, briefly mentioned, is a really bad guy.   The conversations that are in ::  ::  are not spoken aloud, but in their minds. Think telepathy of a sort. Enjoy!))

“Show me how to ‘find’ you.”

“Find me?”

Dualta’s brow furrowed as he tried to figure out what she wanted to be taught exactly. She closed the distance between them again and reached down and took his hand in hers, the grip tight and unrelenting, but not painful.

“I followed what Taishan did when he was healing a wound on me. Show me how to do that when I want.”

“War Chief, what you ask isn’t that easy and in your current state of mind it could be dange..”

“Ye be a teacher. Now teach. If what ye say is true about me then show me.”

:: This would be a good time for you to be paying attention to me, Spirits. :: he prayed hopefully.

“I’ll try, but not many get it right away and I won’t make you a promise I may not be able to keep. If you don’t get the hang of it don’t say I didn’t tell you that was a possibility.”

“Agreed. Sit and we start.”

:: Khellian? ::

:: Yes, I’m here. ::

:: Monitor me, dear friend. If I go silent send Lyrith to Chakai’s tent. ::

:: What?? What’s happening? Do you need me to come? ::

:: No. I want no one else here but us, but please do as I ask. ::

:: Yes, yes, of course. Please be careful! ::

Dualta sat down on the longer couch. “Sit beside me please. I know you’re used to giving orders, but in this, you must do as I tell you. I don’t want either of us to get hurt. Will you do this?”

“Aye. A good leader knows when it be time to lead, and when it be time to follow. I will follow.”

He smiled at her and took both her hands in his. “Try to relax. It will be easier for you to concentrate if you aren’t a raging storm inside.” For the first time a ghost of a smile touched her lips and he smiled more broadly at her. “Now I want you to listen to me carefully. It’s your will that guides and directs the power to the use you wish to put it. In your case there is no problem with strength of will, so it’s more a matter of teaching you how to direct it.”

She nodded, listening, and Dualta could feel a lessening of the chaos inside her. She was doing something proactively instead of just being acted upon and she preferred that. It was calming her somewhat.

“I use a mental picture of something like ivy. It sends out tendrils that weave in and out of other things and holds on tightly. Later you won’t need the visualization, but in the beginning it helps. I’m going to reach out with my mind, with my will guiding it, and touch your mind. I don’t want you to be surprised by it so expect it, alright?” He smiled and squeezed her hands, falling into the mode of teacher to a nervous student as he had thousands of times before. Gently he reached out and encountered the walls he knew were there. They were less prickly than they had been earlier.

“You have strong defenses up around your mind, which isn’t a bad thing, but in your case, you need to learn how, and when, to control their reaction to someone else’s touch. There are times you will need to let others in so you can work with them. It doesn’t mean you are helpless though. You can slam them shut anytime, and you only have to let them in as far as you’re comfortable with, but you cannot mentally attack everyone who tries to work with you or teach you. Picture your mind as a fortress with high strong walls, for that’s what you have. Now form a door, a small one, and with your mind’s eye, open it when you feel me.” He gently touched the walls of her mind and exerted a small amount of pressure against them. At first they resisted and he felt them grow spiky again in defense, but then he felt the spikes withdraw and saw a “door” open just a crack. He gently slipped inside and remained still, letting her get used to the feeling.

:: You can hear me? :: He kept his ‘voice’ pitched low and gentle so that it wouldn’t sound threatening. He knew Taishan said she was able to speak to him, but he wasn’t prepared for the great booming sound of it.

:: I hear. This be Spirit gift? This way of talking? ::

:: Yes, although not all can do it. The stronger you are, the more likely it is that you will hear easily and be able to speak to othersmore easily. Do you understand how you are able to respond to me? :: :: Nay. ::

:: It is your will to answer me. Your will chooses to answer me this way and the power that is within you, and around us, gives you the “voice” to do it with. The closer you are to someone, both in distance, and personally, the easier it is to speak to them like this and to hear their responses.  Now let yourself feel me, feel my touch in your mind. Try to respond to that touch with one of your own, like a handshake. ::

Whatever he’d been expecting it wasn’t the image of the heavily armed and massively muscled woman that appeared in his mind. She stood, sword drawn, before him as if challenging him. They were standing in a black space with flashes of images that came and went. The events and memories those images represented played out like bits and pieces of vignettes then were gone as quickly as they came. More surprising was that she had projected an image of himself so that she had someone to actually look at. He was fascinated. Perhaps it was the very literal nature of ogres that caused her to automatically seek a non-nebulous representation for both herself and him. Whatever the reason  it seemed to work well for her. He moved forward, doing it as he always had, but now he saw an image of himself walking towards her.

:: Now what? ::

His mind self smiled and chuckled. He let more power flow along the tendril that was holding the door open, though nothing of that increase showed in the image they were viewing.

:: I am here by your invitation and I’ll leave when you ask me to. The images you see flashing around us, are memories of events, people, place that have shaped your life. The deeper the contact with the person, the more private and personal the images would be. Also, things that have happened most recently, if they affected you strongly, would be more vivid than old memories. ::

As if his words had triggered the memory of earlier he saw a picture of a robed male ogre with dark hair and dark eyes. He smiled but it was a calculating, cold smile. He felt “wrong” and Dualta knew he was looking at Chakirra. Chakai looked at the image of the male and then looked back at Dualta, knowing the Spirittalker had seen the image.

:: There is less ability to hide your true nature when you are with someone this way. Look at me. What do you feel from me?

:: The Chakai image walked around him, her eyes thoughtful. :: Ye feel warm, steady. I can feel power in ye, around ye. :: Then her images eyebrows rose. :: Ye be worried, too. No, more then that. Ye be afraid but I can nay tell what ye are afraid of. Ye be afraid of me? ::

Dualta smiled, but he felt his own body tense. She was far too intuitive and was feeling more from him than he’d thought she would.

:: Who is that robed man, War Chief? :: She looked at the image which had yet again appeared.

:: I met him this afternoon. He had a lot of interesting things to say. ::

:: Like what? :: Instead of answering though, she held out her hand and stared at it and a long dagger formed in her palm. Dualta could feel the power around the two of them, in the physical realm, gathering and building. He also felt a curiosity and joy start to rise in her.

:: I can create things here? ::

:: Yes. Not many can do that. You must be careful though. ::

:: Why? ::

He felt the power swirl around him and he looked down to find a sword in his hand. By the Gods…

:: This is serious, Chakai, you should not take this lightly. What happens here can have repercussions outside of our minds as well. ::

But Chakai was enjoying herself now. He knew that for all the discipline and rules she lived her life by, this touched the wild heart of the ogress and she reveled in it. He could feel her gathering the earth powers to herself and knew she could feel it now as well.

:: Come. We play. I want to learn. ::

Dualta moved back a step and felt himself starting to grow angry.

:: This is no game! ::

The image of the male ogre appeared, closer to her this time, and she frowned at the Dualta-image. She tilted her head as if considering how do do something. Moments later, Dualta felt the gathering power swirl around his feet and looking down, he felt cords of power vining around his feet, holding him in place.

:: What are you doing? :: the Dualta-image demanded. Why are you restraining me? ::

:: Do nay be afraid. :: the cords let him go and it was as if they had never been.

:: I did nay hurt ye. Ye know how to do that when we nay be in here? ::

:: Why do you want to know this, Chakai? ::

:: Someone told me these.. gifts.. be no different than learning to wield a new weapon. ::

:: I wish to leave now. We will discuss this outside of here. :: He started to withdraw, cutting off the flow of his own gift gradually so that the withdrawal would not hurt her and suddenly he found himself stopped. The Chakai-image held her fist in front of her and the image of the door that she’d formed to let him in, was gone. On his end it felt as if the flow of power had been cut off entirely and he was trapped in her mind. He tried not to panic.

:: Khellian! :: he shouted as loudly as he could but had no idea if it had reached his friend or not. He struggled and he felt himself grow furious.

:: Chakai let me go, Now! I do not find this honorable or amusing. ::

He felt honest surprise from her and she raised her eyebrows.

:: I be nay hurting you. Why ye be so angry? I just wanted to see what would happen. I would nay harm ye. Why ye be afraid? ::

Immediately he felt himself filled with the power that he himself had been trying to call on and he left quickly, not worrying about if he hurt her or not. The wince on her face gave him a shameful second of pleasure which he quickly scolded himself for. He pulled his hands out of hers and stood, walking across the room from her.

:: DUALTA! :: He winced at Khellian’s scream in his mind. :: I’m fine.. I think. I’m here at least. I cannot talk now though. Please.. Gods Khellian… we underestimated her… ::

Chakai stood also, watching him closely.

Looking back at Postaday/Postaweek 2011, how did you do?

Well, you made it to the end — congratulations! Now is the perfect time to reflect on your 2011 in blogging, and your goals for 2012.

Here are eleven questions to help you determine your blogging strategy for the new year:

1. Why did you start the Post a Day/Week Challenge?
2. Describe the state of your blog at the time you started the challenge.
3. How did your blog evolve over the course of the challenge?
4. Did you post as often as you had hoped? Why or why not?
5. What type of blogging strategy works best for you?
6. If you could go back to the beginning, what would you do differently?
7. What are you most proud of accomplishing this year?
8. Name 3 great blogs you discovered through the challenge.
9. What surprised you about the challenge?
10. What advice would you give to others who want to blog regularly?
11. What are your blogging goals for 2012?

1. I was looking for something to help spur me on with ideas and to make sure I didn’t get too lazy.
2. My blog was, and still is, pretty new. I am not an experienced blogger so there is a learning curve to be sure.  My blog was fairly bare.
3. I think my blogging has improved somewhat. I try to make sure there is some direction to my post, something worth reading. Sometimes I fail at that and its just a rambling mess, but I’ve been trying to improve on that.
4. I’m part of Postaweek and yes, I’ve kept to that. I often post more than one thing, but so long as I make my one a week, I’m happy with myself.
5. I don’t have a strategy really. I blog what comes to me or what has inspired me; prompts, events, others posts, etc.
6. I wish I would have found this sooner.
7. What I’ve been learning as I tried to make the blog better. It’s fun to have something to aim for.
8. I didn’t understand, and am still trying to learn how, to find other blogs. I spent the first couple months not really seeing anyones blogs unless they found me first. Now I go out looking for them and am having fun discovering new blogs. I spend a lot of time over at Whimseytopia@wordpress.com  and Northernnarratives@wordpress.com . Two new blogs I’ve been enjoying is cozyrambles@wordpress.com and ramblingdesigns@wordpress.com . All of them are run by folks who seem to be as quirky as me and good senses of humor about things. We all need a laugh now and then and to know what we are not alone in our oopsies, booboos, uhohs and wow cools.
9. How much I’ve enjoyed doing it. I wasn’t sure I could. I failed rather miserably at Nanowrimo, so I was nervous about trying this next.
10. Read others blogs. You would be surprised at how many ideas spawn from reading others experiences, insights and ramblings. Also, watch the prompts. I don’t use them all the time, but sometimes they are just the push I need to think of something to write.
11. I truly would like to expand my subscriptions and make my blog look its best. Its nice to say, I’m going to blog for me, to write my own thoughts down, but it really does make one feel good when others read your stuff and can find something in it that speaks to them, encourages them, makes them laugh, etc. I’ve found that far more fulfilling than I really thought I would. I also want to become a better subscriber and do the same for others folks out there.

Even if you didn’t do the postaday or postaweek thing you could answer these questions. How do you feel about your blogging experience over the last year? or more?

Jeanie

The Freak

((This very short story came to my mind while I was writing my book. There was no place for it in the book, but I liked the story so much that I kept it as a short.))

 

“Freak! Beast! Brute!”

The words followed him as he walked down the street, but she ignored them, same as always. Ignoring them was getting harder and harder of late. Loudest of all was Kerg’s voice. Of course. He would be leading the chorus, as usual.

“Tessa, can ye come help me for a second?” Calger’s voice called out from their house just down the road.

“Coming mother,” she called back and broke into a jog, reaching the house quickly. “What do you need, mother?”

“Will ye please play with Sarth for a few minutes? He’s driving me out of my mind and I be trying to get dinner finished. He adores ye and yer so good with him.”

“Sure,” she said as she looked down at the large, chunky toddler who was even now reaching towards her.

“Tessss!” he said and she giggled, flopping down in front of him and starting to play with the small sword and shield their father had given him.

Tessa knew she was loved, but sometimes she wished she wasn’t so different from everyone else. Her mother had been Calger’s friend even though Calger was of the ogre clans and Tessa’s mother, Theria, had been human. Theria was the daughter of a traveling merchant and they passed close enough to Calger’s clan lands on their trade route to trade with the ogre clan. They often stayed several days and Theria and Calger had hit it off as children and become fast friends, all differences aside. That friendship had only grown deeper as they grew. The road could be a rough place to live and raise a family, however. One afternoon while Theria was off with her daughter gathering herbs and roots for dinner a group of bandits had attacked the wagon and killed Tessa’s father, taking with them the horses and wagon and everything the family owned. Theria was alone with a baby and only the clothes on their back. They walked to the closest town and Theria had “borrowed” a horse from the inn and they made their way to Calger’s clan.

Theria had gone to live with Calger and Starak, but she never truly recovered from the shock of finding her beloved husband in the shape he’d been in after the bandits were finished with him. It had been a gruesome sight and Tessa was glad she had been too young to remember the scene in any detail. When her mother died, Calger said of a broken heart, they had taken Tessa in as another daughter. They loved her as much as any parents could love a daughter and Tessa adored both of them. She was raised with love, tenderness, and enough rules to keep her safe. Most of the clan accepted her as readily as had Calger and Starak, but their children, as children tended to be, were often mean to her because she so different.

Looking at Sarth more closely Theria compared the boy to her own remembered features. Most of the ogre children were large, chunky and big-boned. Even as children they had big hands and feet and had heavy, though not overhanging, brows. Tessa was small boned with a piquant face. She would have been considered petit even among her own race. Sarth innately had the hard, aggressive nature that was so rewarded in an ogre clan, whereas Tessa had been a gentle and pliable child.

Growing up, Tessa had never been able to keep up with the others in the rough physical play of the ogre children and she didn’t have the strength to win in the “mock” battles they waged endlessly with each other. While she trained in weapons and fighting along with every other child, she couldn’t master the heavier weapons they favored and special practice armor had had to be made to fit her since nothing they had was made for someone of her size.

Their eyes were generally brown and black with a different color showing up but rarely, but Tessa had bright green eyes like fresh spring dandelion leaves. The clan’s hair mostly ran to shades of brown, black and dark blond, but Tessa had bright red locks that were always unruly.

In every way, she stuck out like a sore thumb in the clan and she wondered often what she would do to make a place for herself here. The children aside, this was still her home and the only one she really remembered. She just wished that Kerg and his group didn’t make her life such hell.

A gong rang out loudly and everything came to a standstill in the house. It was the alarm gong. Something was very wrong.

“Stay with Sarth,” her mother said, “I’ll go see what’s happened.”

Tessa waited impatiently for her mother to return and when she did, her face was grim.

“I need ye to go to the Chieftain, Tessa. Kerg has fallen into a crevice and canna get out. No one be small enough to reach him but ye. I know how much ye hate him, and for good reason, but . . . “

“I may hate him but he is strong and my clan brother. I will not let down the clan who took me in and has made me their daughter, no matter how I feel about Kerg personally.”

Calger smiled and hugged Tessa tightly. “No mother could be more proud of a daughter than I am of you, Tessa. Go now, and please, be careful. I’ll be out there soon as I find someone to tend to Sarth for me.”

Reaching the Chieftain’s tent, Tessa was quickly apprised of the situation. She and several of the men, Kerg’s father included, ran to where Kerg was stuck. They could hear him shouting to the others already gathered around the crevice as they arrived.

“Kerg, ye will be quiet and listen now. We can nay reach ye. Ye ye be down too far for any of us to come in without also getting stuck. We have one chance. We be sending down Tessa. She be smallest. She will slather ye with lard and hopefully we’ll be able to pull ye free. Ye ken?”

“Aye, Chieftain, I ken,” came the muffled reply.

“Tessa,” the Chieftain said, bending down so that only she could hear his next words. “Thank ye for yer willingness to do this. All know how ye feel about each other. Kerg will be needing to learn a lot of lessons the hard way in his life because he be selfish and nay secure in himself. He WILL learn, but he has nay yet. Ye may think we do nay notice his cruelties but we do and it be partially because he gets angry about being caught and punished for it that he takes it out on ye. He is nay very bright.”

The Chieftain grinned and winked at her and she stifled a giggle.

“Still, he be a member of the clan and a strong lad. Ye are also a clan member and I want ye to always remember that yer home be here with us. Thank ye for putting yer feelings behind to do what be best for the clan and for that foolish cub.”

Tessa beamed at the ogre Chieftain. He epitomized in looks all that outsiders feared most about ogres, but his heart was kind and gentle where his own were concerned.

“I’ll do my best, Chieftain. I promise.”

“I know ye will, cub. Of ye I never doubted anything less.”

He coughed and stood, gruffly shouting for someone to wrap a rope around her waist and give her the lard.

The trip into the crevice was slow but without incident and when she reached where Kerg was stuck she hailed him.

“I’m here Kerg. I’ll have you covered with lard in a few minutes and they will haul you out of here as slick as a dart through a blowpipe.”

“Tessa, I . . . why are ye here?”

“Because you are my clan brother no matter what else you do or say, Kerg. You will be a good, strong hunter for the clan and I would not deprive them of that no matter how I feel about you.”

“Oh . . . well, thank ye. I be sorry that I’ve . . . “

“Don’t go saying anything you’ll regret later,” she said wryly.

“Just don’t fall in any more crevices. There . . . you are about as greased as I can manage to get you. Pull him up!” Tessa shouted the last part upwards and immediately she saw the rope around Kerg’s arms tighten.

She pushed and pulled him as best she could from her own dangling position and after a lot of grunting, groaning and abrasions she felt him break free and start to rise. She could hear the cheering above and felt her own rope start to rise, lifting her out of the rocky space. When they were both up on solid ground and untied, Tessa started to walk towards her mother, who was waiting for her in the crowd that had been watching.

“Tessa, wait . . . “ Kerg said gruffly.

She turned and faced him knowing he wouldn’t say anything mean in front of so many witnesses.

“I was wrong. Ye look different, but ye be nay beast, nor ugly. I have been the beast. Ye be clan and ye belong here. I will nay say otherwise ever again. I owe ye my life and I will nay ever forget that debt.”

Tessa couldn’t have felt more shocked. She looked around at the brutish, rough, heavy features of the ogres, who she knew outsiders called beasts and savages and smiled. She was home. She could take whatever names she got called, just as they did, for she knew her place and she knew her home and family. She would never ignore the taunts again, but stand up for herself because she had the right to do so. She was as beautiful as they were and belonged here just as they did.

Nanowrimo starts tonight at midnight!

Yep, its that time again. I’m signed up, have my ideas ready to hit paper and am getting little bits of nerves. Will I make the entire 50K word count? I don’t know. I like my book idea, but is there enough to fill that many pages? (approx. 200)  I guess I’ll find out. I really should have taken the time to do more of a layout for myself, but one thing or another keeps taking precedence. I’m going to remember now to be too hard on myself if I don’t make it. It’s my first time doing this and will be a learning experience no matter how I do. I’m not being defeatist, but I’m also not going to beat myself up or make myself sick as has happened on other projects too numerous to count. I’m going to view this as a fun adventure and not a matter of life or death.

Wish me luck all. I’ll keep my word counts posted. I’ll try making a text box down the sidebar and see if I can keep it updated there.

Jeanie