Happy Wednesday. No pictures of cuteness today. Sorry. Although you never know what might turn up next week.
It’s been a bit hectic around here. We have a whole list of ‘house projects’ that we’d like to tackle in the next month, and then there was other assorted running around and happenings. So, of course, other things fall by the side.
This week’s WIPpet is from something that is a side WIPpet. Meaning, I occasionally work on it on the side and have some notes about what I’d like from it, various scenes, and it’s high on the list of projects that will move into the Full Blown Wip Stage once room clears. That means no Roe and Fader this week.
*ducks assorted thrown objects*
Whatever. I give you the first 7 paragraphs (2+5) of… As of Yet Unnamed Stuff. Very rough draft stage. Which is why there are only 7 paragraphs. On reading through, I should divide up at least one. Oh well…
Horban glanced at the three women surrounding him, and thought little of his chances of seeing mid-day. Outside of the fact they were on horseback and he had only his feet, they were also well-armed. Horban had… well… arms.
He shifted his pack across his shoulders. If they were thieves they would be sorely disappointed with what little he had to offer, which meant they would likely kill him. Or perhaps torture him first. Sweat broke out across his brow, and not just from the heat of the summer sun — which had grown significantly hotter since their arrival. He had seen them approaching and could have avoided them by getting off the road, but it already looked like he wouldn’t reach Glenhill before dark. Now it looked like he may not reach the border town at all.
“Can we get on with this?” That came from the woman furthest back. Of the three, she had barely spared Horban a glance. Her features may have been pleasant with a softer expression other than the bored disdain they now wore. She sat astride her grey mount with her arms crossed over the pommel, the fingers of her right hand drumming lightly against the grip of a ghastly long sword hanging off the saddle’s side. She had other weapons. Five that Horban could spot. She seemed the type to have more that he couldn’t. “I’m getting awfully thirsty.”
“You’re always thirsty,” replied the tallest of the three. She carried only two weapons, which had the illusion of making her less a threat. In Horban’s experience that often meant quite the opposite.
“That I am, and not getting any less so.”
“Do you know the road to Dunruebin?” This came from the third woman. Shorter, rounder, armed with only a slim dagger at her waist, and a short staff tied across the pack behind her saddle. Her voice held a slight northern accent, and her blue eyes were the kindest of the lot.
Horban decided he liked her, and so turned his most sincere smile toward her. “Yes. Of course. I would be happy to point you in the right direction.”
I’m off. Once again like the White Rabbit in Alice in Wonderland.
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