Another Sneak Peak at my WiP

I’ve spent most of today rocking my three-week-old daughter. She is firmly in the stage where the only time she is happy is when she is being held. But, every now and then she falls asleep. I’ve used those precious moments to work on some editing of my work in progress, A Song in Darkness. I’m really enjoying the revision process and enjoying adding in new elements to really spice the story up. I just wish there was more time to devote to it.

Below is first 550 words of an early chapter. I guess I could be specific and just say Chapter 5. This will probably get little tweaks and changes as the book moves along. Nothing is ever perfect, and there are still likely typos lurking. Will get those fixed later.

Those that want to read the opening of the book can read it here.

The world had moved at a snail’s pace since the red elf appeared. Even as Lucas dove for where he hoped he had put down his sword, he was sure he could hear every individual crackle from the campfire. The crackle and pop flooded his thoughts as his hands frantically searched beneath his bag. Still time slowed allowing him to curse himself to choose such a stupid place to put his weapon. That he had lived this long most serve as proof that the Gods favored fools. 

He chanced a look over his shoulder. The red elf was closer, at least by a step or two. Maybe more. He shoved his bag away, not caring where it went just as long as it no longer smothered his sword.

He grasped the sword’s handle and yanked it into the air while spinning to face his attacker, only to curse himself as he realized that the sheath still concealed the blade and as long as the blade was covered it was little more than a poorly designed club. Each beat of his heart was a timpani drum in his ears as he struggled to free the metal from its sheath. When was the last time he had drawn his sword? Was it rusted shut? He made sure to frequently clean and oil his musical instrument. Would he lose his life because he had neglected his martial instrument? The slowing of time allowed him to make an oath that he would be more regular in such maintenance.

As he was finishing this oath, his legs started to remind him that he had spent the bulk of the night sitting. His sudden movement had started a wave of pins and needles attacking his legs. Did his entire body think that this was the moment to coax him into making oaths, oaths that would be worthless if he was delayed in defending himself?

As if in answer, his blade chose that moment to allow itself to be pulled free and at last he managed to draw his sword. He he raised the weapon to face his target, even as the pins and needles and numbing sensation continued to spread throughout his legs and into his feet as well. He began to worry that the sensation would send him clattering to the ground, or worse, into the fire. But he had to admit that setting himself ablaze was one way of warding off an attack. Still, that seemed like a defense that could only be used once, and what would be worse, would prevent him from sharing the story. 

Somehow he not only managed to stay on his feet, but a quick glance confirmed that he had also succeeded in fully setting himself into a decently intimidating attack posture before the rojgelf closed the distance. A smile jumped to his face as. He might have gotten older, but he had lost none of his luck, thought Whitehair as he waited for the inevitable attack.

As he waited, Lucas noted the peculiarity of the red elf still on the far side of the fire. Not only that, but he reckoned that it had not moved since he had first glimpsed it. It stood, gently swaying, there at the edge of the clearing, just inside the light of the fire.

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