It’s #WIPpet Wednesday –K.L,Schwengel’s brainchild which encourages writers to move their WIPs (works-in-progress) to publication by posting excerpts related to the date.

 WIPpet Math:

Today is January 1, 2014.

  • Today’s math is simple. 1 for the month, and 1 for the date, added to 14 for the final two digits of a brand new year (1+1+14=16).
  • Today’s WIPpet is 16 sentences.

Henry and Tisira have a bit of a fan club amongst the #WIPpeteers, so this week we’ll stay with my Trueborn Weft series fantasy WIP, Chameleon’s Dish.

In the dangerously superstitious past of Shakespeare’s England, an amnesiac girl and a foundling boy must keep her strange nature hidden as they stalk her lost identity.

We rejoin Nockatee and Henry at London’s White Hart Inn. Nockatee has found the words she was seeking, but now feels that she must look to the stars for her answers…answers that might not come in time to avert a disaster she can’t define.

This snippet occurs two weeks after my last WIPpet,Words – Eden’s Birthday Post.Chameleon’s Dish is the companion volume to Bounded by a Nutshell (Trueborn Warp series Star Trek fan fiction).

They’d been a fortnight at the White Hart, now, and had hired themselves out to do all the errands and tasks Goodman Thomas found too much for his aching back, in exchange for their meals. And they had their little room up under the eaves, where Nockatee could sit every clear night, and see the stars – the stars that still drove her, every morning, to try to force her remembering, the stars that still felt wrong, somehow.

She knew it was not in keeping with sima garo, this forcing; she could sense more of its shape, now,enough to know that she ought only to be open, and wait for it to provide answers.

But time was too short to wait. She knew it, Father knew it, and so did Mother. They were fixed on each other, but something was wrong, and they were not together. Could not be together…because of her?

It made little sense, but there it was, an idea that followed her everywhere, nipping at her heels, stalking her…

It haunted her, bringing unease when she was awake, and nightmares when she slept.

It was only one of the things that gnawed at her as though she was the last fresh bone of the kill.

She tried to keep the fears from Henry, lest he concern himself further over things she couldn’t even put words to, and could do nothing to change.

But he knew, and, in his own quiet way, tried to help. He arranged for them to run errands for the troupe from Shakespeare’s own theatre, the Globe, in barter for seats at the side of the stage when they were not working, because she loved the plays, and could forget, while the stories unfolded.

He took her to three dances – they could not partner, though, because she must pose as a boy to be accorded the right to work, – but she could not bear to see another girl touch him, and so they stopped.

“Henry,” she whispered, one morning, once the white searing pain of failing, yet, again, to remember her stars had faded to a place where she could think. “I must go Hunting.”

What is the mysterious trouble Nockatee senses? Why does she feel that the stars are wrong, and time is short? Will sima garo provide answers, or only more questions?

Come back next week for another installment – maybe there’ll be some answers then!

Here’s a tune that seems to capture a bit of Nockatee’s conflicts, and her mood:

Want more WIPpets? Click the cute little blue froggy to read and/or join in yourself!

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