Snippet from Heart of Atirien

Just a short something, rough and unedited, but at least it's a piece of that ever elusive fantasy novel I've been banging my head against for years.

Nick went to watch the snow fall. The deep windows of the keep made for convenient resting places and vantage points. The fluffy whites promised a time of calm as they spread over the war ravaged Sevenara plains. He reached out a hand and caught a few small flakes. The icy flowers melted quickly in his hand, but one lasted a bit longer where it lay on his index finger. He brought the delicate crystal to his face and gazed at it solemnly.

"My lord?"
The shout from within the keep had Nick scrambling down from the ledge, the snow forgotten.
"What happened?" he called while striding quickly down the hall. Jaro came into view from a side corridor with a frown on his face. The once quite jovial woodsman had become more and more dour the longer they spent cooped up in the fortress of stone. Nick figured he missed the freedom of running with the wolves in the forest, but there was nothing he could do about that right now. At least the interior gardens provided some greenery if not the space wanted.

Being that as it may, finding nothing else to focus his energy on Jaro had appointed himself Nick's chief adviser and nurse maid. It was good to have someone to fill in the obvious gaps in his education when it came to the cultures and geographies of the land they traversed, but Nick was afraid he would snap one day at Jaro's constant presence by his side. He didn't need a babysitter, he didn't need a bodyguard. Or, well, maybe he did that last. His sword skills were improving, but they were not enough to protect from a sniper or an ambush. Something that had become painfully obvious that day in Evril.

Snippet

A/n: Just an exercise in action oriented writing. Unfinished piece, but a beginning of something, maybe.

~*~

10 am and she’s so-very-late. Coldness burns with each breath of morning air. The backpack is heavy; straps forcing her shoulders back, cutting through her too-thin-jacket. Legs cramp and her feet scream murder on the cobblestones. The cell phone in her pocket beeps. Her stress levels go up anther notch. She resists the phone, but not for long. Two more steps and it’s in her hand.

“Where are you?”

A misstep, as she tries to answer the message while running. She falls to one knee and one hand. The pain travels like lightning trough her leg. Nasty, nasty bruise tomorrow, but she just doesn’t have the time. A grimace flashes over her face. Her eyes tear, but she’s up in a flash. The first few steps are halting on her stiff leg. Determination proves the greater force and she’s off again.

The traffic on the South Boulevard is in a stand still. She zigzags between cars and motorcycles, seeing the concert hall beckoning in the distance.