So, it would appear to be Wednesday again. I’m not entirely sure how as it doesn’t feel like a week since last Wednesday. Oh well. It is time for Wednesday WIPpet, which is open to everyone to play along. There’s a linky thing somewhere but I am not anywhere near talented enough with computers to attatch it to my own blog. The rules are simple: post something from a current WIP, and share the link. Your exceprt must correlat e with the date somehow. For example, today is the 20th so you could post 20 words, 20 lines, 20 paragraphs, something from page 20, something from chapter 20 and so on.
Today’s excerpt is 20 lines from my WIP.
Tiemil wandered the halls aimlessly, putting off any meeting with his mother. Questions buzzed in his head like mosquitoes. Questions he cannot answer. Questions only his mother can. Who am I? Who is my father? Who am I? The first night he slept in his own bed. Lady Eanora was not home when he slips in but he can feel her presence and sleeps fitfully. On the second night Tiemil slept in the servants hall. They know him there, in that place where he runs to when his royal cousins look for someone to command. Am I a servant? I am Kara’s servant but is that all I am?
On the third night Tiemil’s feet carried him towards the rooms he shares with his mother. He could not stop them. His hand opened the door, though he willed it not to. Relief rushes over him when he enters the empty room. He woke in the early hours of the morning to his mother’s return. She knew he had returned. He could tell by the way she paused outside his door for a moment, as if thinking will I go in? She turned away and Tiemil heard the gentle click of her bedroom door as it closed behind her. In the morning, she was up when Tiemil woke, fresh as a daisy, with a breakfast tray set on the table and the news-sheet he preferd sitting folded beside it. She sensed he had something to say and knew, in that eerie way mothers do, that Tiemil would speak when he wass ready and not before; and so she waited. He gnawed at his breakfast and skimmed through the news-sheet, not taking in a single word of it. Still she waited. He sat down the paper and pushed away the empty tray, ‘Mother.’
‘Who am I?’ He wished to sound strong but his voice trickled from his throat, afraid and childishly unsure of itself.
Eanora looked at him with frank eyes, ‘Who are you? Or who are you the son of?’