Lately I've found that at the end of a long day I don't really have much energy for reading. Strangely, perhaps, I've been writing a lot instead. If anyone's interested, here's an example, the first in a Sword & Sorcery series that I call The Tales of Henren the Bloody and the Cat.
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The gift of speech
A tale of Henren the Bloody and the Cat
I heard them long before they came into sight: first the piercing wail of an infant, then, as I drew closer, the raised voices of a woman and a man. Topping a slight rise in the road I saw them: a couple of pedlars standing beside a small but heavily loaded cart with a long-faced donkey yoked to it. The man was holding the infant in his arms and berating the woman, who was peering down at one of the cart’s wheels and snapping back at him.
They weren’t so preoccupied that they didn’t notice my approach, though. The roads were safer than they had been, but no experienced traveller would let a stranger come up on them unawares. The couple held off their arguing as I approached, the woman rising to move beside the man with a long-handled hammer in her hands and the man turning half away with the infant, as if ready to dash into the trees lining the road. Even the child stopped its mewling, as if sensing its parents’ apprehension.
I slowed my pace as I neared to give them the chance to look me over. I saw them take in the short spear and sword strapped to the flanks of the horse that I led and the heavy dagger at my belt – I lifted my cloak obligingly to give them a clearer view – before their gaze turned back to the horse. More precisely, their eyes were drawn to the Cat’s cradle mounted before the saddle. The Cat himself, black as coal from nose to tail, was out of sight for them, curled up in the cradle. It was a sunny day, so I’d folded back the cover that protected him from rain and cold.
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See the PDF attached to read the rest of the story.
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The gift of speech
A tale of Henren the Bloody and the Cat
I heard them long before they came into sight: first the piercing wail of an infant, then, as I drew closer, the raised voices of a woman and a man. Topping a slight rise in the road I saw them: a couple of pedlars standing beside a small but heavily loaded cart with a long-faced donkey yoked to it. The man was holding the infant in his arms and berating the woman, who was peering down at one of the cart’s wheels and snapping back at him.
They weren’t so preoccupied that they didn’t notice my approach, though. The roads were safer than they had been, but no experienced traveller would let a stranger come up on them unawares. The couple held off their arguing as I approached, the woman rising to move beside the man with a long-handled hammer in her hands and the man turning half away with the infant, as if ready to dash into the trees lining the road. Even the child stopped its mewling, as if sensing its parents’ apprehension.
I slowed my pace as I neared to give them the chance to look me over. I saw them take in the short spear and sword strapped to the flanks of the horse that I led and the heavy dagger at my belt – I lifted my cloak obligingly to give them a clearer view – before their gaze turned back to the horse. More precisely, their eyes were drawn to the Cat’s cradle mounted before the saddle. The Cat himself, black as coal from nose to tail, was out of sight for them, curled up in the cradle. It was a sunny day, so I’d folded back the cover that protected him from rain and cold.
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See the PDF attached to read the rest of the story.