cicada
24th October 2005, 03:43 PM
Author's notes:
This fic is written in the late 6th Interval in order to take advantage of two things: time to advance what will hopefully be a series and the cultural changes post 6th Pass plague. Not much of this is seen in the prologue.
This prologue heavily needs criticism and help. I realize it's a bit stilted. Perhaps I should rewrite it entirely for more action. I was considering rewriting it from a renegade's point of view. I feel it's too long and needs to be culled, but if this prologue remains in an edited version there are some elements that need to be retained for the story's sake. Oh, and...trolls and their apprentices need not apply. I am not a fan of violence, but trolling will get you slapped.
Onward to the story!
Word count: 532
Prologue
Although still moist from the melted snows, burgeoning spring touched the fields of Meads Hold in brilliant splashes of green, white and pink. It stood out against the bleak slate walls of the busy hold proper in the distance but blended as a picturesque sight to the trio of a woman in a pastel linen dress, a small white runner and the giggling young girl on the runner’s back.
The woman held tightly to the lead rope, maternal joy lightening the lines of her face as she gazed at the girl. She stepped closer to the runner’s shoulder and positioned the girl's hands on the mane, giving them a firm squeeze. "Hold onto the mane. We’re trotting back, alright? And remember to squeeze your legs."
“Yes, mommy,” said the little girl, and she did as her mother instructed. The woman clucked her tongue and began to jog alongside the runner.
"Papa, papa! I want papa to see!" the girl exclaimed. Her wavy mid-brown hair bounced about her shoulders.
The mother laughed and then slowed to a walk; the runner followed suit. "Theristine, papa can see you tomorrow. He's busy today. He's healing pe..." she trailed off, the laughter leaving her voice. They were closer to the hold now, but everything was awry there. Her stomach dropped. "Theristine, love, I’m going to need you to stay right here. I'm going to need you to leave the runner alone..."
She let the runner graze as she lifted her daughter from its back and settled the rather disgruntled girl on the ground. "Theristine, no crying, be quiet." Ignoring the screaming child, she led the runner a few yards away and then turned back to her child. "Theristine, stay. Be quiet, love."
With that, she ran the distance to the hold proper. The entire place was more disarrayed than she had first supposed. The stables were wide open with hay strewn about the yard. The stable master lay bleeding against one of the mangled hay bales.
"Aneish? Your leg! Your arm! What has happened?" she kneeled beside him.
"Raided. Renegades. Don’t go into the hold! They’re still there!"
"But my children..." she said and stood, "My husband will be back tomorrow. He’ll set your bones. Where’s Lokaren?"
"Your boy is hidden safe, Hanaya," he said.
She glanced in the direction of the stables but at the sound of hoof beats she froze. Aneish's eyes grew wide. Hanaya felt a sharp pain in the back of her head. Her neck snapped forward. She bit her tongue and groaned. All went black.
She came to sometime later.
"Aneish?" she queried tremulously. She rubbed the back of her head.
"They're gone. You've been out for a while. The sun is setting," the man panted,"Lokaren is fine. We've been moved to the stable." He paused to catch his breath, "They took some of the runners and two of the younger boys from the hold."
"Did anyone find Theristine?" Hanaya queried as she painstakingly pushed herself onto her feet.
"Theristine!" she called, staggering out to the meadows. She continued to call for her daughter; she didn't find her. A search party of two able-bodied holders went out; they never found her.
This fic is written in the late 6th Interval in order to take advantage of two things: time to advance what will hopefully be a series and the cultural changes post 6th Pass plague. Not much of this is seen in the prologue.
This prologue heavily needs criticism and help. I realize it's a bit stilted. Perhaps I should rewrite it entirely for more action. I was considering rewriting it from a renegade's point of view. I feel it's too long and needs to be culled, but if this prologue remains in an edited version there are some elements that need to be retained for the story's sake. Oh, and...trolls and their apprentices need not apply. I am not a fan of violence, but trolling will get you slapped.
Onward to the story!
Word count: 532
Prologue
Although still moist from the melted snows, burgeoning spring touched the fields of Meads Hold in brilliant splashes of green, white and pink. It stood out against the bleak slate walls of the busy hold proper in the distance but blended as a picturesque sight to the trio of a woman in a pastel linen dress, a small white runner and the giggling young girl on the runner’s back.
The woman held tightly to the lead rope, maternal joy lightening the lines of her face as she gazed at the girl. She stepped closer to the runner’s shoulder and positioned the girl's hands on the mane, giving them a firm squeeze. "Hold onto the mane. We’re trotting back, alright? And remember to squeeze your legs."
“Yes, mommy,” said the little girl, and she did as her mother instructed. The woman clucked her tongue and began to jog alongside the runner.
"Papa, papa! I want papa to see!" the girl exclaimed. Her wavy mid-brown hair bounced about her shoulders.
The mother laughed and then slowed to a walk; the runner followed suit. "Theristine, papa can see you tomorrow. He's busy today. He's healing pe..." she trailed off, the laughter leaving her voice. They were closer to the hold now, but everything was awry there. Her stomach dropped. "Theristine, love, I’m going to need you to stay right here. I'm going to need you to leave the runner alone..."
She let the runner graze as she lifted her daughter from its back and settled the rather disgruntled girl on the ground. "Theristine, no crying, be quiet." Ignoring the screaming child, she led the runner a few yards away and then turned back to her child. "Theristine, stay. Be quiet, love."
With that, she ran the distance to the hold proper. The entire place was more disarrayed than she had first supposed. The stables were wide open with hay strewn about the yard. The stable master lay bleeding against one of the mangled hay bales.
"Aneish? Your leg! Your arm! What has happened?" she kneeled beside him.
"Raided. Renegades. Don’t go into the hold! They’re still there!"
"But my children..." she said and stood, "My husband will be back tomorrow. He’ll set your bones. Where’s Lokaren?"
"Your boy is hidden safe, Hanaya," he said.
She glanced in the direction of the stables but at the sound of hoof beats she froze. Aneish's eyes grew wide. Hanaya felt a sharp pain in the back of her head. Her neck snapped forward. She bit her tongue and groaned. All went black.
She came to sometime later.
"Aneish?" she queried tremulously. She rubbed the back of her head.
"They're gone. You've been out for a while. The sun is setting," the man panted,"Lokaren is fine. We've been moved to the stable." He paused to catch his breath, "They took some of the runners and two of the younger boys from the hold."
"Did anyone find Theristine?" Hanaya queried as she painstakingly pushed herself onto her feet.
"Theristine!" she called, staggering out to the meadows. She continued to call for her daughter; she didn't find her. A search party of two able-bodied holders went out; they never found her.