First of all, my sister went to florida and didn’t tell me.
Second of all, I’m not jealous because it just barely started getting cold-ish here…*cough*
Third of all, it’s only day three and my novel is already eating my brain. Probably because I wrote 8000 words the first two days and am aiming for 12000 today. As in, 12000 total, not 12000 more…
Fifth of all, RebekahIcan’twaitforThanksgivingandnowit’sNovemberandI’mgonnadieeeeeeee. *nods*
And with that said, I think I might actually post part of my first chapter. Last year my chapters were like two pages long, and that’s too short. So now they are like six or seven-ish pages, so I’m not posting them all at once. I’ll post them in two or three parts. So yea.
Please. Feel free to let loose your inner editor on this trash and rip it to shreds. But don’t bother telling me it’s cliche unless you have an idea how to fix it…believe me, I already know ALL about its cliche-ness XD *facepalm*
I LOVE NANO. O_O
And just pretend the title is in a really cool font. I hate that I can’t change the font on here. -_- And feel free to make fun of my horrible poetry down there…I didn’t feel like taking the time to actually write something decent XD that will get changed to something far more cool when (read: if) I edit this after NaNo ends.
Twilight Of Silver
Noahryn tossed her head. The wind, from the east, fled down off the mountains, filling all the vast, rolling plains with the smell of rain. Standing atop the highest ledge of rock that sprang from the grassy hill, the young woman tasted the breeze. It spoke of freedom. Leaping down from her perch, the call of the wild horses on her lips, she broke the dusky waves of grass, waist-high and churning in her wake. The twilight sky whispered, and the horses answered her call. She flashed and passed in gloaming and wind-torn flight. And behind her, all was stilled.
The nomad camp awoke slowly, soft noises unfolding into the dim light. All about the encampment, tendrils of mist hung over the vast plains between the mountain feet. All was still, and all was dark. It always was. Waking and sleeping, in the work of the day or the rest of the night, the same, unending twilight prevailed. The nomads knew no other life. They simply lived, moved, and one day died in the dimness of a world untouched by light, the passing days signaled only by the rising and waning of the mists that covered the plains. This was their way. This was their home. The dark plains, sheltered by the jagged and encircling mountains, could offer no other life.
In the darkness of this new day, the nomad camp unfurled its wings, stretched and yawned, opened its eyes. First a single figure moved, an old woman stepping from one of the round tents near the center of the encampment, the swish of the tent flap falling shut behind her bent form lost in the hum of the grass. The bright spark of still-warm coals sprang out as they fanned to life again, and the crackle of young flames devouring dry wood rose into the dark. Soon a second tent flap stirred aside, held opened for a moment, and fell back. Then a third, a fourth. The shadowed forms gathered around the now-bright fire in the center of the camp. A child’s voice rang out; the gasping sob of an infant broke the stillness. The muffled beat of horses pawing the ground shivered beneath the other sounds, a restless ache for freedom.
Noahryn watched, and heard it all. She had awoken long before the rest of the camp was stirring, and crept out into the plains. The wind her companion, she had run with the wild horses, her kin. Yet quiet now, she stood alone in the grass watching her people rise and wake for a new day. Brushing cold on her skin, the wind made her shiver, and Noahryn began to walk back to the camp. Another day must needs bring with it another day’s work. She would be missed before long, and her father would be worried. Her family, her people, needed each other to survive. What was more, her clan would be travelling to the foothills soon, to trade horses for goods and much-needed supplies that could not be found out in the plains. Much work still remained to be done before such a journey, sure to last a few days at least, could be attempted. Many preparations still waited to be begun.
Noahryn’s face broke into a grin as she caught the familiar voice. She was already missed, and the day had not even started. “I’m here,” she called back, slipping between the tents and stepping into the central ring left open around the fire. She smiled as a figure broke away from the group gathered closely about the flames and came to meet her. “Dann, why were you not up this morning?” she asked, smiling at the young man who now faced her, grinning sleepily. “I’ve been out for an hour at least. You always sleep through the best part of the day,” she added, laughing softly at his drowsy face.
“No…I just don’t have as great an affinity as you obviously do for cold wind and little rest,” Dann answered, shaking his head. “You look cold. Come warm up by the fire. You’re in time; your father is just about to start the Ritual.”
Noahryn nodded, and followed Dann back to the fire, joining the standing ring of people about it. At the head of the circle, before the largest, most elaborately decorated tent, her father stood. He turned towards her as she stepped into the circle, his face questioning. Noahryn ducked her head slightly in submission and apology, smiling guiltily at him. Being the daughter of the chieftain of her clan, she of all people was not supposed to be late to the Ritual. Her father shook his head slightly at her, signaling his disapproval, but she could see the glint in his eyes. He was not angry.
Raising a hand, Noahryn’s father tilted his head back, gazing up into the cloud-swirled sky. Slowly and rhythmically, a drum began to beat quietly, scarcely more than a droning whisper in the background as the tall chieftain began to chant, his eyes now closed. The words, musical and sure, rang in the stillness.
Mist of twilight, darkness bare
Keep us from the waiting snare.
Mist of twilight, darkness fast
Keep us till the day is past.
As her father continued chanting, his voice growing stronger in the dusky light, other voices around the circle began to join in.
Starless cloud and circling night
Hold us safe in deadly fight
Starless cloud and circling wind
Hold us safe, our trials mend
The drum grew louder, and Noahryn could feel the words of the ancient song beating in her breast, each one so familiar and comforting. As the voices of the circle dropped to a murmuring whisper, her father continued, his words now carrying louder above the rest.
Voice of ages, past and done
Long ago your time was won
Voice of ages, past behind
Long ago, yet now we find
Voice of ages, in your hold
That which once we had of old
The drum beat stopped abruptly. All mouths were silent, all eyes riveted to the face of the chieftain. Noahryn felt her heart beating once, twice, thrice. Beside her, Dann shifted slightly, the soft noise seeming loud in the stillness. Then her father moved. Walking to the fire, his feet falling in the steps of hundreds of clan leaders now past beyond life into memory, the man knelt. He drew from his belt a small pouch, decorated richly with beads and filaments of gold. Slipping his fingers inside, he poured the contents into his palm. The firelight played over the shimmering powder, stirred by the breeze against his fingers. Raising his hand, Noahryn’s father blew softly upon the dust. It exploded into a cloud of golden sparks, each one illumined by the fire. It floated for a moment in the air before the breeze caught it up, pushing it into the flames. With a sudden burst of light, the powder ignited, flying in a million burning sparks up into the sky, shooting high, far above the plain.
Noahryn gasped, tilting her head far back to watch the burning ascent. Beside her, Dann reached out, taking her hand in his. She let him warm her cold fingers between his strong ones. Around her, her people still stood silent, gazing into the sky. The flicker of sparks blinked out slowly. In a few moments, they would all be extinguished by the wind or blown far out of sight. The Ritual was nearly ended, and work must begin soon.
As her father stood and stepped back into his place in the circle, the nomads joined hands, lifting their clasped fingers to the sky. A woman began to sing, her voice a single thread of wordless melody. Others joined in, their voices in harmony and discord with hers, until the haunting sound rang across the plains. Noahryn sang with the rest, yet her attention was elsewhere. Her ears strained for the slightest noise outside of the camp. She did not have long to wait.
The ground beneath her feet began to tremble. Where once a drum had beat out a rhythm, now the thunder of hooves sounded, softly at first, but growing louder with each passing second. Around her, Noahryn could see the faces of her people reflecting the anticipation she felt. From the smallest child to the old woman who had first ventured into the dark morning, each person fairly radiated with barely suppressed excitement. Noahryn had to struggle to keep her voice steady, to keep up the power of the song. Here, this, this moment, was what she lived and longed for. This moment…the scream of a stallion split the morning.
And in that instant the song ceased. As their voices fell dead, every person about the fire turned to the east. Like wind lords the horses came, thundering in a rush of pounding hooves and flying manes, right to the edge of the camp. In the lead, a great stallion tossed his black head, rearing up and trumpeting to the wind, his way blocked by the tents of the nomads. With a toss of mane, he turned, charging on, away to the north. His herd followed, a band of flying life that passed too soon out of sight into the mist. Yet the thunder of their hooves could be felt many minutes after their passing.
Noahryn let out the breath she had not realized she was holding. A minute passed before those around her began to stir. Her father moved at last back into the center of the circle, standing by the fire and raising his voice. He smiled, addressing his people. “Come. The mist rises. The horses wake. The day is on the move. And there is much to do before we can begin our journey to the foothills. Everyone to his own work! I want to move out by day’s end.”