I was planning originally to return to Courting the Swan’s Song for these posts, but well… after fighting with several transition scenes in CTSS that I had set a goal to finish by August (not gonna happen, nope, no way), I just want to spend sometime doing something fun. And playing in the sandbox is pretty darned fun, IM(not-so)HO. So here is yet another piece from my Was Long Variation fanfiction.
For the maths, I have 7 for the month of July; I’m subtracting the 2 twos from the day. Then I am multiplying the remainder by 2 and then 0, getting an answer of zero. And then I figured since a zero word entry would make crappy reading, that I should use the 1 and 5 of 15 to make six.
Six small paragraphs from the Was Long Variation:
She nodded. Her reserve grew as she took his hand in hers. She ran a fingertip over one of his healed wounds. A sting of fresh injury lashed through him where she touched. “A fighter knows another fighter. Even Silav, with his trainer’s grace and pampered beds of silk and feather, had spent years dancing with knives.”
She removed her hand, but a fire coursed through him until the line where her fingertips had touched felt etched in his very bones. “Silav?” he asked, needing to redirect his attention from her touch.
She opened her mouth then stopped herself. A tear formed at the edge of one eye. “Nothing. He doesn’t matter now.”
Someone she loved? She clearly remembered this Silav with more than simple fondness. He wondered if it was a reflection of her shadow-self, but there was no darkness in her gaze. “If you need to talk…”
“No.” She straightened and eased back. “I would just like it if you would spar with me. I haven’t had a real opponent in a long time, not since Alanii Vestimiir and I last crossed blades. He beat me actually–the only person I can remember doing so—though maybe your kinship to him will give you an edge.”
For some reason he knew he couldn’t explain, his grandfather’s name struck him akin to salt ground in the fiery wounds he’d just imagined. The pain, while insubstantial, was indistinguishable from reality. “If I beat you, it has nothing to do with that man.” He echoed her withdrawal and shrugged. “I’m up for your challenge. When?”
For those who are curious, this scene comes just a few short paragraphs after a scene called The Arc of His Own I posted for the Weekend Writing Warriors bloghop in June. It’s a short piece (for the WeWriWa, snippets can’t be any longer than 10 sentences, preferably closer to eight), but a lot of people seemed to enjoy it.
And if you like this sort of thing, why don’t you head over to the WIPpet linky and visit some our other awesome members. You can join us while we shower KLSchwengel with praise and chocolate for hosting this bloghop and putting up with all our silliness. 😀