Story Excerpt: Bringing the Plants In

I love writing the future, but it's too hard because I've never seen it. I love writing complicated, realistic characters; but they come out flat and formulaic if I've never met them.

So, once upon a time, I started a story. It's set in the future--but not too far out. Just a generation or so. The main character, Kiera, is the same age as me with similar hopes, dreams, and fears. She has a very ordinary life--just a little more future-y than yours or mine. So I've been working on the story (7k words, so far); but I still have a bit of a love/hate relationship with it.

Here's the first scene...

The water came out of the spigot in a trickle that slowly filled the watering can. Remembering the old rule about watching a pot boil, the young woman rose to her feet and dusted the dirt off her denim skirt. It was obviously going to be a while so she should find something else to do while she waited for the watering can to fill with filtered water. Giving the trickling spigot one last glance, she left the porch to inspect her garden.

            Two large raised beds on wheels sat in the center of the lawn soaking up the afternoon sun. Small patches of lettuce, salsa greens, and tomatoes filled one bed while the other held her root vegetables and as many flowers as she had found room to squeeze in. Running her fingers gently through the soft, cool earth, she began to pull the tiny weeds that had come up during the day to make room for her vegetables to grow. One of her tomato plants had started a tiny green bud that she smiled in anticipation over. A few of the flowers had wilted, and she plucked their heads to make room for others to grow.

            Something made her remember the watering can, and she hurried over to turn off the spigot before the water overflowed. Lifting the much heavier can, she carried it across the yard to her garden and gave her plants their evening drink. She smiled when she was done, satisfied that all was well and wiped her muddy hands on her oversized sweatshirt.

            The screen door opened and a voice called out, “Kiera, there’s rain forecast for tonight. Do you need any help taking them in?”

            Kiera looking up to see her mom standing barefoot on the patio, and the screen door open behind her. “Sure, thanks for telling me.”

            Mom joined her on the lawn and together they rolled the raised beds onto the patio. Putting her watering can down next to the spigot for the next day, Kiera pulled the waterproof shades that covered all sides of the porch down and made sure they were securely hooked in place. She didn’t want to risk letting her vegetables get rained on. She’d have to start all over again if that happened.

            Following Mom into the house, she remembered to ask, “Hey, is Thorne able to come tonight?”

            “Pastor Silas has offered to lead the Bible study this time, so yes he is coming,” Mom said, rinsing her hands in the kitchen sink. “I’m so glad that he’s able to get the time off. We only see him during church now.”

            Kiera laughed. “Yeah, and that’s just from our pew. Let me know if you need any help with dinner.”

            “All right, I’ll tell you. Just as soon as I know what it is.”

Mom began to rummage through the refrigerator talking aloud to herself in an unintelligible murmur of different food all run together. Kiera smiled to herself and sat down in front of the computer. Opening the weather app, she saw that sure enough a storm front was coming towards their town; and she was glad they had brought the vegetables in when she noticed that the radiation levels were extra high.

“Really high radiation, Mom,” she mentioned aloud.

“Oh dear,” Mom replied with her head half in the in the refrigerator. “I guess it will all be indoors tonight then. No barbecue, so I’ll have to think of something else.”

She returned to her murmuring, and Kiera turned back to the computer. Since she was already on, she might as well check the other apps. Shifting that app to the side, she opened her journaling one to make sure no one was talking to her there. Nothing. No mail either. She scrolled through the old messages just to make sure she had replied to them all. Seconds later she spun around in her chair and slapped her palm to her forehead.

“What’s the matter, dear?” Mom asked, standing up with a head of lettuce in one hand and a half-empty jar of tomato sauce in the other.

“I totally forgot that since it’s Bible study night, Jade will be coming. Do you think Thorne will mind sharing his evening? It’s probably too late to cancel, and I’m not sure what else Brennan would do. It’s not easy to get a babysitter,” she thought aloud with a pucker in her forehead.

“Of course he won’t mind in the least,” Mom assured her. “Your brother loves that little girl like you wouldn’t believe.”

Kiera grinned. “Do we have enough food for that?”

“The three-year-old is on hunger strike, and she asks if we’ll have enough food,” Mom told the refrigerator and shook her head.

Now Kiera really laughed. “You’re right. I’m being silly. Sorry about that.”

“No problem. Just come wash this lettuce while I roll these meatballs, and we’ll say no more,” Mom said with a teasing smile.

Her daughter stood up from the computer and took off her sweatshirt. Washing her hands in the kitchen sink, she began to rinse the lettuce. It would be a slow job since the kitchen’s filter wasn’t much faster than the outdoor spigot. Oh, well. Thorne wouldn’t be coming for another hour at least. 

So, there you are! That's a current story project.

What do you think? Does it sound interesting?

Story Project: The Twin Arrows

One of my numerous projects last year was writing the first draft of a novelette called "The Twin Arrows". (Last year should probably be named "Year of Three Novelettes and Three Short Stories", and this one is definitely "Year of Editing Six Large Works". Sorry, I'll get back to the what I was saying...) It was a medieval adventure. A journey of danger, hope, and most importantly trust. Each protagonist had to deal with their own doubts and fears in various ways along the journey. Disguises. Horseback chases through the rain. Dungeons. Silver arrows. A father who gave them the very gifts he knew they would need and the companions that would guide them best. That's the story. (And I probably made it sound cooler than it actually is...) ; P

I couldn't tell if the story was good or not (a mother is always blind to her children's faults); so I decided to put the first six chapters (out of nine or ten) on Noble Novels and ask the other authors their opinions. I've gotten some really good feedback so far that has helped me to craft the story better, and I look forward to seeing what they say about chapter six when it posts next month. ; )

Would you like to read them? Please be aware that you won't be getting the whole story, and it is an early draft. You are also quite welcome to comment on them and give your own feedback--everything helps! ; )

Chapter One: Father and the Sisters
Chapter Two: Boy
Chapter Three: A Place of Protection
Chapter Four: Anger
Chapter Five: Not a Sound

Next month I plan to have the next chapter up, and that will be the last one there is on the internet. I hope to publish it as a book someday, so in this "Year of Editing Six Works" I'll need to do some editing of the last few chapters. (I'm kinda' glad I won't be sharing them soon, because those parts need a bit more work.) ; )

I hope you enjoy reading these!!

If you were curious what last year's two other novelettes were, they are two companion stories set during the time of the American Civil War. What makes them different than all other books about the time period? War is wrong. Neither North or South will solve their problems by fighting. Only the Gospel is the answer. ; )

It's been fun. ; )

The Twin Arrows: Chapter one

Chapter one: Father and the Sisters
“I am giving you this with the prayer that you will never need to use it.” The knight took a long parcel out of his saddlebag and gravely handed it to his daughter. They had paused a moment before the walls of the convent to talk a little before it was time to go in, and the sound of peaceful singing rose up from the white-walled commune.
The girl took the slender leather case from him and asked softly, “What is it?”

Her look of uncertainty smote him to the heart, and he wished his errand were an easier one. “Open it.”

She fumbled to untie the thong that held it shut and unrolled the something bright and shining. A sparkle came into her eyes; and she gasped with delight at the silver arrow. The shaft was not much thinner than her smallest finger, but the head was tiny and very, very sharp.

“In the other half of the case you will find a bow, equally as delicate but very powerful,” he added, watching her carefully.

She unrolled it again and fingered the light bow that was at that moment folded with the string lying ready by its side. Vines and flowers had been carved into its soft wood making it beautiful enough to match the silver arrow. “They are beautiful!” she exclaimed, looking up at her father with blue eyes that sparkled even more than the gifts.

Her father smiled a little at her words, then placed his large hand under her pointed chin and gently lifted it so that their eyes were on the same level. “These are neither playthings nor mere decorations, but instead they are something very rare and special. Ryla, my daughter, for your protection you have been given one of the twin arrows.”

“Twin arrows?” She echoed. Something in his tone told her his next words would be very important.

 

Click here to read more. Thanks so much, Holly, for making me such an awesome blog post header!!

Story Excerpt: Climbing the Mountain

One of my favorite parts from my story "The Book of Dreams"...

              In less time than it takes to tell about the mountains of pancakes; the sweet, sticky syrup; and the fresh, creamy butter Gwenn had made that morning, it had all been eaten and the cousins set out on their visit.

            The sun was proclaiming itself to the world that morning, and patches of light illuminated the grass where it filtered through the trees. The twins each wore a light shawl on their heads, one green and the other blue. Aaron was very glad they had chosen different colors for he was often confused as to which girl was which.

            “Where are we going?” he asked Lindsay as they wound their way up the steep path that cut steadily up the mountain.

            “Grandma Rowanna lives up on the mountain in that little cottage,” she replied pointing to the wisp of smoke that was the only sign so far of her chimney.

            They continued to climb until a perfect sea of wildflowers stretched out before them. Rising out of the flowers as if it had been planted there, stood the cottage. Its windows looked back at them like two bright, happy eyes watching as they made progress through the sea. A small dog rushed towards them and jumped happily around, barking as loudly as he possibly could.

            The door opened just as they reached the porch and an old woman said with a bright smile, “Hello girls! And Aaron, how good to see you! Come in everyone, and don’t let Cinnamon get you absolutely muddy. She loves hunting in the marsh these days.”

            Following her bidding, Aaron and the girls found themselves in a cozy sitting room and kitchen. The walls were painted in the cheery colors of spring, and flowers from the field were arranged in various vases all around the room. Aaron couldn’t help but wonder if this house knew any other season besides spring; and it did seem that the little old lady with her happy talk and light step couldn’t fit into any other time.

            Gwenn set down her basket on the kitchen table and drew out a jar of jam and a jar of butter. “These are for you, Mother sent them,” she said in her quiet way and held them out to the admiring lady.

            “Thank you very much, dear girl. Please be sure to thank your mother for me,” Grandma Rowanna said holding the jar up to the light streaming in through the windows and admiring its deep purple color.

            She gestured them over to a little sitting room she had set up across from the kitchen, and the girls seated themselves on the couch beside her. Aaron took a place on the rug where he tussled playfully with the dog and only half-listened to their conversation. His ears perked up when Lindsay said, “Grandma, I went to read the Book of Dreams last week.”

What do you think? Would you like to see more excerpts from this story or any of the others?

Story Excerpt: Wildflowers

A scene from my story "Mara"...
          

Other days, they did have “interesting subjects” that Sienna knew something about and could enjoy a little more. Still Mara's attitude was a mystery, and she found herself admiring her new teacher while watching her carefully for any slight sign of fault.

            “I say, Mara, the fields are just full of wildflowers. In fact, they are trying to take over the whole wheat field, and Father and Mr. Rhames are fighting hard to keep them out,” Jesse said breathlessly one afternoon as he appeared during their lessons. He had been busily working on his own that morning but had taken a break to bring lunch to the laborers.

            “What kind?” Sienna was first to speak, and everyone was surprised.

            “Foxglove, daisy, ferns, and all sorts of them. I brought you all some since you are stuck up here,” Jesse replied and held out his little bouquet with some pride.

            Mara took the flowers appreciatively and arranged them in a vase he had fetched for her from the kitchen. “There, that’s lovely. Thank you, Jesse.”

            The little boy smiled and ducked inside the house to finish his own work. Mara watched him go then turned back to Sienna who was idly stroking one of the foxglove petals.

            “These flowers are just like the ones that grow in mother’s flower boxes. People said she was strange to grow wildflowers, but she always replied that they reminded her of the mountains she came from.” There was a faraway look in the girl’s eyes, and a small smile played about her lips making her face look almost beautiful. “Should we press those?”

            Mara looked up awakened from her musing. “Sure, if you step inside into the dining room and ask Jesse for the flower press, he’ll get it for you. He is a gentleman even if he doesn’t look like one.”

            Sienna laughed and turned to go into the house. She emerged a little while later with the flower press, and they set to work pressing the tiny blossoms. After a time, they both fell silent before Mara ventured to say, “What was your mother like?”

            “She was beautiful. Her hair was just as dark as mine, but her skin was as light as yours—no, lighter. Her eyes were always sparkling and snapping, and she used to laugh merrily whenever Father made a joke. They would ask me to play the piano--that was back when we had one, but I couldn’t play very well anyway--and they would dance together all about our little house. She was always singing it seemed. She was no lightweight either but was right there to help Father when he lost his job. She even took in washing and stayed up into the hours of the next morning.” Sienna spoke with as much reverence of her mother as others would talk about a queen.

            “She sounds wonderful,” Mara replied after a while, not daring to break the happy, wistful mood that had come upon the girl. Something in Sienna’s face changed suddenly, and Mara knew that she was thinking about her mother’s untimely death.

            “Yes, she was,” the younger girl said in a hard, even voice that signified she was unwilling to say anymore.

Would you like to read more?

The Red Notebook

        The rain pounded against the roof, and a young girl delighted in the way its presence made the attic feel even cozier. It ran down the windows in little streams, and she paused a moment in her work to look outside.
      “There’s something so wonderful about the attic,” she sighed happily and sat down next to her mother who was sorting a seemingly endless pile of papers.      
      “Mmmm,” Mother agreed smiling. The attic was full of an assortment of old furniture, cardboard boxes, and everything else unusual and interesting. “Your Grandmother thought so too, Allyson.”
       Allyson smiled involuntarily. She had been sorting a box of old pictures and had run across several of her Grandmother. “She wrote a lot up here, didn’t she? Before it was crammed with old stuff that is,” she said brushing a dust bunny out of her curly brown hair.
       Mother laughed. “Well, we’ll soon fix that problem; and maybe we’ll do things up here again. Yes, she did.”
       “Could I read some of her stories this winter?” Allyson asked with new excitement in her eyes.

       “That would be a fun idea. Maybe after that you could choose a few of your favorite stories for me to read aloud to everyone,” Mother said labeling her box as “burn”.
       Allyson smiled and glanced at her watch. It was very close to the ending time Mother had chosen for this session of work. There was still definitely plenty to do, but it would have to wait for another day. “I can’t wait to start reading!” she said moving faster in her excitement.


Read more: http://noblenovels.weebly.com/kates-stories/the-red-notebook

My World of Words

Last June, I had the amazing privilege of publishing my first book The Treasure Hunt. Since then I have finished the first drafts of three more stories I hope to publish in the near future.

First there was "The Book of Dreams". This is one of my stories that just thrills my heart more than all the others. It is based on all the concepts I have ever learned or loved from C.S. Lewis' The Last Battle and his essay "The Weight of Glory", Andrew Peterson's poetic songs, and a bit from George MacDonald's At the Back of the North Wind. This is when I first discovered the power of setting the mood with a little description. I started with a small concept and then let my mind run wild with the possibilities.

From the beginning...

Now she sat in the front room with her own book in her hands. The firelight danced on the walls and caused her hair to shine golden. A little table separated her chair from the one belonging to the Keeper of Dreams, but he was near enough to watch her closely as she read. And watch her closely he did. From the first moment she had opened the golden pages, his eyes never moved; but his smiled deepened.

             After admiring the cover for a long while, she finally flipped open the book and fingered the first page as she read the words written in golden script. Here and there throughout the book there were pictures and her smile would grow as she murmured pleasantly, “Yes, that is how I remember it.”

            The shadows grew and still Lindsay read. As she looked at all her dreams from the time she was a baby until the very night before, she realized that they all wove together into one big dream. The Keeper of Dreams still smiled on her and watched as she read on, caught up into the story.

            All before she wanted it to the book ended, and she closed it with a happy sigh. When she looked up she saw that the Keeper of Dreams had been watching her and she said politely, “Thank you very much for letting me read this and especially for recording it all.”

            He smiled and took the book from her outstretched hands then showed her to the door. The spring day was as lovely as when she had come to his house, but now it seemed all the more beautiful. The sky was a clear blue dotted with puffy white clouds, and a slight breeze blew across the flowers making them dance together. There were ever so many colors to look at as she walked home: greens, and blues, and every shade of pink imaginable. The apple and the pear blossoms rained down about her onto the path, and each thing her eyes lighted on reminded her of something she had seen in one of her dreams.

After that I worked on a story called "Letters for Victory" a mixture of my own experiences of home life and fictional story set during World War II. It was a lot of fun to write and (at that point) my longest story yet. I loved the story so much that instead of doing a typical epilogue narrating everything in 50 or so words, I wrote a (really long!!) bonus chapter to give myself a chance to say "goodbye" to the characters. : )

Here's a snippet...
“So you think we should write to him,” Jake stated with excitement written all over his face.

            “Exactly! I asked mother and she said we could as long as we pay the postage and let her look over the letters first. This all depends of course, on if Tommy wants to be pen-pals,” Kathryn answered in a business-like tone.

            “Let’s do it!” Jake replied, jumping up from the couch.

            “Can I draw the pictures?” Hanna asked.

            “Yes, dear,” her older sister said and was rewarded with a toothy smile.

            “Kathryn should be the ‘editor’,” Jake offered, taking a huge bite of his apple at the exact moment that everyone looked at him.

            “What do you think, Avery?” Kathryn said and they all turned to look at him.

            Ever the practical one, Avery stroked his chin and said, “And how will we pay for the postage?”

            Kathryn answered by reaching up and taking their general piggy bank off the mantle and emptying it onto the floor. “There’s enough here to send a few letters and then we’ll have to figure out some way to make money,” she pronounced.

            “Then I’m all for it,” Avery replied, with vigor.

            And so they decided to write the letter. After several minutes of haggling, crossing out, and rewriting Kathryn was ready to read the finished project aloud.

            “Dear Tommy,

            We are the Moorbank children—Kathryn (14), Avery (12 ½), Jake (8), and Hanna (4). We live on Currant Street in Willoughby Village with our mother and older sister who is married to a soldier, Peter Kilroy. We have a nice big house with rose bushes that bloom pink when they do. We also have the best tree house in the neighborhood that we love to play in. We can’t play in it right now since it is raining so much, but we have grand times during the summer. In autumn and winter we play in the living room. That's where we're writing this letter from now.

            We were wondering if you want to be pen-pals. We are quite sure we can think of plenty of interesting things to tell you, though you should have some things to say too. Don't worry about postage, we have it all figured out.

            Enclosed is a photograph of us all and Avery would like you to know that he has grown a whole inch since that was taken so Kathryn isn't really so much taller than him. Kathryn says that doesn't matter much. Jake would like to know what war is like. Hanna says that if you will pretend to be her big brother she will send you a piece of her candy on Christmas.

            Please write back as soon as possible, though we will be patient since you are probably busy. Goodbye now, we have to go snap green beans.

             Sincerely,

            Your Friends"

After that I started a story called "Mara". It was once again a mixture of lessons from my life and story I came up with. Wonderful experience, and I was so excited to finish it last December (in the midst of moving and Christmas). It's my longest story ever, but I hope to break that record someday once I get over my writer's block. : )

An excerpt for ya'...
Sienna stood near her father with her hands clasped around the handle of a small brown satchel. Her thick black hair was parted in the middle and pulled back from her face by a dull colored ribbon. Her dress was a sort of golden brown that would have been nice if it had been paired with another color, but the fact that it was too big and too brown made her look almost swallowed up by it. The only thing interesting about her were her eyes. They were dark brown and very big and stared at Mara with admiration and contempt.

            Mara was reclining on the low-backed couch with a white crocheted afghan tucked around her. Her dress and her cheeks were the color of the roses on the table beside her, and her eyes held a bright sparkle of welcome for the timid young girl that stood in front of her. Beckoning, so she would not disturb her parents’ and Mr. Rhames’ conversation, she smiled at her new student and prayed that they would get along.

            “Just like a queen,” Sienna thought as she studied her new teacher and her thought was seemingly rationalized by Mara’s kind beckoning. “I wonder if she can actually teach. She looks as if she had never worked a day in her life.” Sienna’s mind sped on in this disagreeable fashion, but she made her feet walk towards the young woman.

            Mara tucked a pile of letters that had occupied the footstool into a basket nearby, and said, “There, would you like to sit down? We have so much getting acquainted to do.”

            Sienna sat down stiffly on the footstool but turned her face in undisguised interest to the speaker. The frank, welcoming words spoke somehow into the lonely girl’s heart and softened it a little.

            “So, you are Sienna. I’m Mara (it’s said like mare with an ‘a’ on the end), and I am so excited to get to be your teacher,” Mara said smiling and tucking her light brown hair behind her ear.

 

 

So which story do you think sounds the most interesting?

Story Excerpt: Now Is Not the Time

I thought I would share a little bit of one of the stories I've been working on...      

        By the end of his second day of travel, Justus was now in the area commonly known as Ashland Waters, and he was never without his dagger. As he looked down the dusty road a welcome sight met his eyes—an inn, a familiar one too. Dismounting, he led his horse into its roomy stable and flipped a coin to the stable boy who caught it eagerly.

            Inside was quite the contrast to the solitary woods and the even more solitary stable. Being the last meal hour of the day, many travelers had gathered to refresh both body and spirit. Seating himself at a table close to the wall, he waited for someone to come and take his order.

            A young woman with an apron tied loosely over her stomach came up to his table with a smile and a word of welcome, "Hello, Hugh, what brings you here?"

            "Oh, just a little errand for my uncle, and a good meal at this fine inn. When will your little one come?" he said matching her smile.

            "Any day now. Morgan and I work hard to keep this place pleasant, therefore the meal comes at a price," she said still smiling. "Will you take the usual?"

            He nodded and withdrew a leather bag from under his tunic pouring a few coins into his palm and watching closely as they shone in the firelight. Out of the corner of his eye he made sure to see whose eyes glinted at the sight of gold.

            The woman left to prepare his meal and while she was gone a newcomer seated himself across from Hugh. "Mind if I sit here, I don't know anyone in this vicinity and I'm up for a good dish of gossip myself," he stated rather than asked, and immediately leaned his elbows comfortably on the plank table.

            Hugh's mouth smiled and said, "I don't know very many people here either so I'm pleased to meet you. The name's Hugh," but his eyes asked the question of what would happen next.

            The waitress arrived and gravely set down Hugh's plate in front of him. He looked at her and nodded his thanks, and then his new friend gave his order.

            "So where are you from, Hugh?" the man asked, as he watched the boy begin to eat.

            Hugh laughed, and replied, "If I were brave enough to tell of the little town I'm from you wouldn't even recognize the name."

            The man laughed and took a drink from his mug. "Now that is a good way of explaining the very plight in which I find myself caught," and he laughed again.

            Although there was laughter at the table, Hugh found himself ill at ease with this jolly man who invited himself into everything. Even when he laughed, his eyes were steadily searching out what was below this man's jokes.

            "I've just come from one of the smallest northern towns there ever was and I am brave enough to tell—it's Harvest," the man said taking a huge bite of the food that was just brought him.

            "Well, then I see I shall have to be brave myself—Wilsy," Hugh said, for it was true that he had been born there. He studied the brawny man before him more carefully now that he knew he claimed residence at a town recently destroyed. His hands were rough and horny, possibly from farming but something about the man's eyes told him that there was some other explanation.

            "Wilsy, eh? And what brings you to this fine inn?" his questioner asked.

            "I've friends here," the boy said simply. He grabbed his napkin and placed it in his lap, perturbed that the man continued to stare at it. While he told a long story about the former farm he had lived on, he worked it open and felt a piece of rag nestled inside.

            "You have much money for a farm boy," the man stated, as if relieving his mind of something he had much thought on.

            Hugh shrugged and nodded, pleased that he was finally learning something more about this man's character. "One of the fortunate to have a new opportunity."

            Something in the man's face changed, almost as if for the better. "You have a new opportunity," he said softly half stating and half questioning.

            "One of the fortunate," Hugh repeated, lowering his voice confidentially.

            "And does this opportunity happen to be in Ashland Waters?" the man asked almost excited, but still wary.

            Hugh shrugged again with a slight smile. His meal was finished and he rose to his feet placing the empty napkin beside his plate. "Good to meet you." Then he turned to go.

            "Wait, do you know about the trail?" the man asked almost urgently.

            "Now is not the place," Hugh said wisely.

            "Then you recognize the danger?"

            "That is why I am leaving." He turned swiftly on his heel and left the inn, quickening his pace as he reached the stable.

            The lanterns inside the stalls had been put out, but the sound of soft footfalls caused him to pause and hide behind a stack of hay. A low murmur of voices and a scuffling of feet sounded, along with the whinny of a horse, in the next stall over.

            "You know what will happen," he caught the words. The horse that shared the stall with him moved uneasily and let out a whinny.

            "Something's in the next stall over, quick!" one of the voices said louder.

            But even as they were quick, they weren't quick enough for the intruder was now occupying the stall they had just left.

            "Quiet, girl," he whispered soothingly, and stroked the frightened mare's neck. In the half-light that filled the stall he could see that someone had been rummaging in his saddlebags and he was immediately glad that there had been nothing to find.

            Putting on his cloak, he mounted his horse and left the stable before anyone could know he had been there. They galloped along for a time, putting as much distance as possible between them and the inn. In the light of the full moon, he finally thought of looking at the message the waitress had given him.

            "Hugh, I've become more accepted within their ranks and have gained the respect of the captain. They have captured more travelers, and are gaining more strength. We just received a shipment of weapons, anonymously. Now is the time. You know what to do. Be careful at the inn and the crossroads especially. Signed, Uncle."

            Pocketing the piece of rag, he rode on in silence with one hand holding the reins of his horse and the other resting on his dagger. His keen brown eyes searched the darkness before him for any lurking shadows or glint of steel in the moonlight. A cold shiver, not unknown even to the bravest of warriors, crept up his back and he looked to the only thing he could find real comfort in—prayer.

And just for fun I thought I'd share the really silly picture I drew of this character. Please note that all of this is purely representational, and my brother drew his sword and advised me on the armor. : ) If the boy on horseback is real, my apologies to him for drawing him so badly.