Not His Forte


A small check-in for the ROW80 before I get to the WIPpet. Except that I’ll be hitting my 50K for NaNoWriMo today (if I can get my head into actually writing… today the procrastination beast has decided to hold me captive), there isn’t much to report. It’s been a very distracting week, and I’m dearly hoping that I’ll be able to recover some energy after Turkey Day to prep for our move. At the moment… things just feel overwhelming.


Today’s WIPpet continues from the opening chapter of Marche/Promenade of my Swan Song Series. We start with Val talking to his camp-mates over breakfast. The group has a lot of its mind.

As with the last few weeks, this section starts with the last line of last week’s post. I also have a small scene break here. My maths are: November (11th month) has 30 days, subtract the 21 to get 9 sentences. Or… you could just add the 1+8 for the year to get the same thing. 😉  So let’s add those together for a total of 18 sentences.

“Elsn’s been saying that nonsense for longer than I’ve held the Oath.” Val scoffed.

Jalla nodded. “Longer than that. Elsn’s spouted the same since his last Renewal at the least. If it were just him, no one would be listening.” He shrugged, fidgeting with the leather ring about his index finger. “I overheard some of the pups in the parade tents talking about it yesterday, laughing as if they expected it to be the greatest show they’d ever see.”

Val felt his expression sour along with those of his tablemates. Jal’s words couldn’t be less unpalatable than the truth of the lordlings macabre mirth. To them, a few hundred men at arms spilled out on the field was sport. Blood sport that was all too likely ended with a friend’s death, if not his own.


Within the glass, Val found himself riding up to the mount overlooking the field his commanders had agreed upon for the morning assault. Lan Kailiis and Torniir were already there, their aides already scurrying off to deliver orders, their dassii settling after stamping fits as their masters steeled themselves for the conflict to come.

Val drew up the reins of his own dass, until the mare’s horny head aimed to the ground before he finished his approach, only releasing the reins when his commander’s personal aide stepped forth to retrieve them. He even accepted the man’s assistance in dismounting, though if he’d thought about, he would not have been able to say why. Normally he would make a show of knowing what he needed for mounted combat even though it was not his forte.

“You’re late, Major. Head on up. The Katsdan wants you to liaise for him.”

If you enjoyed that (hope you did), you can find more snippets over at the WIPpet linky. Additionally, many thank to Emily, our gracious host. 😀

4 responses to “Not His Forte

  1. Yes, wars are always much different for the people who plan them as opposed to the people who actually have to fight them.


  2. Ugh, that first part–I know people who have that view of violence, who get excited by that kind of thing. Probably because they’ve never experienced it themselves.