As ROW80 Round 4 has only been underway for about two days, my update will be brief. 🙂
All the social media! All the platform building! All the tweets!
Missed Monday session…but wrote two blogs so not all bad.
I’ve been participating in this thing on tumblr which is a sort of fledgling NaNoWriMo for languages so I created the sounds for one of my languages this week and worked out the pronoun system for it aswell.
On top of things! Revision for exam is under way and assignment 1 has been looked at, assignment 2 (a group project) is in the organisational stages. Everything is at the stage I hoped it would be. Yay! (Though to be fair, we’re only three days back into the term :P)
Exercise happened Monday and Tuesday.
So, on we hop to WIPpet Wednesday, hosted by the lovely K.L. Schwengel. This week I’m sharing something with you from Rebellion Rising which I haven’t shared for a while now. This is one of the earlier scenes when Tasyn first meets Tekmal (you may remember them from these posts). It is from page 8 of the document on my computer. 🙂 Just prior to this scene, Tasyn was flogged and dismissed from the army for disobedience the day after he received a nasty arrow wound to the shoulder. Bashraani horsemen escorted Tasyn from the desert where the army had left him to a nomadic settlement on the edge of the steppes.
Tasyn was led into a tent and seated on a pile of cushions.
‘Aline will tend to your wounds,’ the soldier indicated to an old woman standing in the shadows, ‘The chief will be with you shortly.’ He left.
Tasyn was left alone with the old woman who was now pushing and prodding at his face, a quizzical look on her own visage.
‘The wound’s on my back.’ He said.
‘Shush!’ Aline remonstrated, ‘Similar enough, yes…yes, those eyes…I’d know those eyes anywhere.’ she muttered to herself.
‘What did you say?’
Aline ignored him, digging through the pouch of pungent herbs hanging at her waist. She settled behind him and began to dab at his wounds with a wet cloth.
Suddenly, a large man, a huge broadsword hanging at his side, burst into the tent. ‘Well met, my friend! I see you are being cared for.’ he said by way of greeting before directing his speech to Aline, ‘Gentle with him, and make it thorough, can’t have him dying now, can we?’ He settled himself on a pile of cushions opposite his guest. ‘I suppose you have many questions.’
Tasyn looked his host up and down, wary of his friendliness, ‘I seem at a disadvantage; you know who I am but I don’t know who you are.’
The man grinned, ‘I am Tekmal, adopted chief of the tribes of Bashraan, leader of the rebel movement within Anrien.’
‘Dangerous claim to make.’ Tasyn observed.
Tekmal shrugged, ‘We live in dangerous times.’
Tasyn was about to reply when Aline began to dig around in his arrow wound, viciously extracting the barbed head. Tasyn cried out in pain, letting out a string of curses to make a pirate blush.
‘Ah, yes, the arrow,’ Tekmal remarked casually, ‘an unfortunate accident on our behalf.’
Tasyn glared, ‘I heard rumour you never missed.’
Tekmal’s eyes narrowed slightly, ‘We don’t.’