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 8, 2014.

  • Today’s math: (1+8+ 1= 10). 1 for the month, 8 for the date, and then 1 more to make 10, because today is my daughter’s half birthday…in six months, she will be 10 (also, stopping at 9 would leave us all in an awkward spot.)
  • Today’s WIPpet is 10 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 find Tisira alone, Hunting and remembering in the common woodlands outside London.

This snippet occurs a few hours after my last WIPpet,Hunter and Prey. Chameleon’s Dish is the companion volume to Bounded by a Nutshell (Trueborn Warp series Star Trek fan fiction).


Tisira Hunted only scents, for several sunlengths, delighted to be at last alone, free from the city with its noise and stink, and, for now, with the liberty to be just as she was. She had found her inner Huntress, and she remembered that there had been other times when chill air had ruffled her fur as she ran and climbed trees she could almost feel the shape of.

When she tired of exploring this new and yet known form, she took a rabbit for herself, gorging upon its blood organs, savaging it in frenzied play simply because she could…

Dimly, because her animal sensings were different, she could feel Henry trying to understand the changes he felt in her – the Changes he felt in her. But she could not share this part of her nature with him; he would need to find his own peace with all of her, else not.

Tisira was all but certain, now, that the place where she had been was very unlike this one. And what she was was nothing that was meant to live here, in these strange Huntlands.

After she tired of her sport, she found a mossy and sunwarmed boulder, and draped herself over it to clean herself of all traces of her kill, and the lulling motions filled her with a longing for others of her own kind, to share in the communal washings that she half remembered leading to tangled, purring sleep or rollicking play.

She caught a faint spoor on the passing breeze, and wrinkled her nose as she turned toward the scent.

She – almost – knew it, in some memory still shrouded from her, but becoming slowly clearer, as though emerging from a low, deep fog.

 What does Tisira smell? Will the trail lead to answers, or more questions? Safety, or danger?

And here’s a song to celebrate Tisira and her inner Huntress’ return:

Want more WIPpets?

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