It’s #WIPpet Wednesday again!
Today is July 10, 2013.
- Today’s offering is from Scene 7, for the month of July. Today’s date is the 10th, which gives us ten paragraphs.
Throughout July, I offer my current NaNo effort, Trueborn Genesis WIPs, The Stars are Fire (Niaan), and Perchance to Dream (Spock), loosely based upon the 26 flash fiction piecesI wrote for the 2013 Blogging from A to Z April Challenge.
Today, meet Vaara, the mute and mysterious child, who has committed a protective act that has had unintended and troubling consequences in The Stars are Fire, Book 1 in theTrueborn Weft fantasy series.
Next week, we will begin at the beginning with my Star Trek fanfic, Perchance to Dream. I am so looking forward to exploring Spock’s childhood! =D
Vaara scratched at the low door that led outside, but the tender did not come to open it, as she had not for a threeday now. She seemed not to notice Vaara, or her yearnings for the world beyond this chamber
This was a new variable, and one she didn’t understand. They had been meant to leave, a twoday since, and always, they had gone when the time to go had come. Vaara didn’t know how she knew when they were to go; she simply did, and had since she was first able to walk. She had never been wrong, before this.
But now the tender simply continued on with what she was doing – this breath, she was writing in the leather book she kept near to her sleeping nest, or the chairs that Vaara had no use for, when she sat there, which she did now. There was a cup of tea at her elbow.
She sipped, and wrote, sometimes staring off as though scenting, before the pen went back to scratching at the page in a way that pierced Vaara’s ears, and set up an ache between her eyes. Finally, it was enough so that she had to leave off the wolfshape and her scratchings – which, at any rate, seemed to be returning a null sum.
She went to her own place, then – she had moved, lately, from the far secluded corner, to the place where she could most easily scent the air than beat in hotly through the three narrow slat windows high up on either side wall of the chamber.
It helped with the sound to be in her natural form, as she could hear thrice as well in wolfshape, but not enough, and the headache had settled already, so that even the smells of the woman’s inks were beginning to make her guts twist in protest.
To shift her focus, she sampled the scents at the window – not as potent, by far, as they would be with her wolf’s nose, to be sure, but it helped her to soothe the stink of the inks, and gave her something to do that took her mind from the incessant scratching of quill tip on roughened paper.
But there was, again, nothing new in the scents, and no sign either of the huntbreaker. Eventually, Vaara settled to sleep, curled around the nagging ache of a belly emptier than she was used to – the tender had been counting the food carefully, she noticed -they were meant to have hunted, a twoday since, and to have fresh roasted meats and the roots, nuts, and berries to be found by foraging along the way, but, as they had not been outside, there was no fresh meat, and the supply of other things was dwindling – and the other woman, who brought other foods, strange breads, cheeses, and sweetings with her when she came – had not come since the day that she had lashed the tender,and Vaara had leapt for her, to stop her, and instead been pinned herself.
There had been something in that act, in her instinct to try to protect the woman from harm, that had altered nearly all of the equations that Vaara lived by, in ways large and small. She did not understand this; it seemed like such a small and natural act – she had seen, within the pack, many times, a similar leaping in to protect one who was in some danger. In those cases, all had, fairly soon, returned to the typical stream of variables and constants.
But, for them, here, in this chamber, it had changed much, and this was a thing that Vaara could not understand. Why had it been different, here? Was it that they were not in the huntlands, but in this chamber? Did it have to do with the other woman, the one with the lash, who had no smell of wildness whatever about her? Was it something in what Vaara herself had done, in her instinctive leap to protect the woman who had tended her as far back as her memory reached?
There we have it – another ten paragraphs of The Stars are Fire, barely two days old, and already right here on your screen! Now, that’s service!
And now – release the comment hounds ! =)
Want more WIPpets? Click the cute little blue froggy to read what other #WIPpeteers are writing, or to join in yourself!
- WIPpet Wednesday for June 26: The Bear Pit (shanjeniahstruebornjottings.wordpress.com)
- WIPpet Wednesday for June 19: Edge of Madness; Edge of Desire (shanjeniahstruebornjottings.wordpress.com)
- WIPpet Wednesday: Soulwounded (shanjeniahstruebornjottings.wordpress.com)
- #WIPpet Wednesday: Of Parenting and Passion (shanjeniahstruebornjottings.wordpress.com)
- WIPpet Wednesday: A Slightly Racy Beginning… (shanjeniahstruebornjottings.wordpress.com)
- WIPpet Wednesday: After the Fall (shanjeniahstruebornjottings.wordpress.com)
- Reflecting – WIPpet Wednesday (elainejeremiah.co.uk)
- WIPpet Wednesday: Upon Waking (shanjeniah.com)
- Noveling Action Plan Progress: Revised June 24, 2013 (shanjeniahstruebornjottings.wordpress.com)