writing is fun

I'm pleased to say that I'm managing to keep in the running of National Novel Writing Month. I'm up to 21000 words. Yipee! I've been dedicating time each day and enjoying it. Usually, I don't give myself that much leeway to write. I guess I still feel that my writing is a hobby and not an ability worth exploring. *Makes me think I'm more like my Stalinesque father than I realize.*

I decided to rewrite a novel that I had once lost in a hard drive crash. It's mainly fantasy, but I'm all about the characters. I find myself getting sucked into the story and I have a feeling it will be pretty good after editing. I don't know what I will do with it once it's finished. Maybe do the happy dance?

The prologue:

The thunder had been of their making. It was the result of dream joining and shared prophecy. Now, they huddled together, a tight knot of limbs writhing, grasping at each other for comfort and protection from their combined anxiety. The prophecy had been unpleasant and as they gripped each other, they sobbed from the sheer weight of its implications. It was a dreaded foreboding and its evil clung to them.

They had been bonded at birth, the Three, in a ceremony that ensured peace and prosperity for the land. That divine bond was their source of strength, an almost infinite well of mutual respect, love and acceptance that they used to counsel the peoples. Now, it seemed even their bond could not offer comfort and salvation.

They continued to sob, until at last the shared vision faded enough for them to breathe deeply. They sighed in unison and untwined their limbs to sit in a tight triangle, facing each other on the floor near their shared bed. They clasped hands.

The tallest of the Three, Sto’men, spoke first, unfurling his majestic wings to envelop them. "We will have to tell them," he whispered, darkly. The erratic and blinding sparkle of his silky scales finally fading as he relaxed.

To his left, Yela released her hands from their grip. She reached to them and touched their cheeks, holding them in her gaze. “Yes, my loves,” she agreed. “It is our duty to guide and counsel. But, how to tell them this? How to tell them such darkness lies ahead?” Her voice was high, strained with guilt. With her breath was still rapid and her emerald eyes wide, a bright contrast to the ebony luster of her skin, she appeared fierce and beautiful.

A single tear slid delicately down her damp cheek and her gaze fell downward, her hands slipping from their faces to her lap in defeat. A beautiful, pale hand caressed the tear from her cheek, encouraging her to lift her eyes. She looked to final member of the Three, her eyes searching for hope.

Briten’s lyrical voice hardened with resolve. "Yela, Sto'men," he commanded them, "We are the Three. We cannot falter. We must walk the path we have dreamed."