In honor of my friends and fellow bloggers either taking part in the National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) or just writing for the pleasure of it, here is a special NaNoWriMo-sized entry. I now have even more appreciation for what those writers are going through 🙂 29 more like this one? Maybe next year!
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Nodding Fields was not the sort of place known for its nightlife. It wasn’t all that exciting during the day, either. If it hadn’t been Tournament week, even the most tenacious barfly would have stumbled his or her way back home before dark.
“Because of the werewolves?” asked Stout Henry, as he and the thief who had found him stumbling through the forest walked along the cobbled road toward the center of town.
“Werewolves?” said Marta, keeping her footsteps as quiet as she could make them, though given Stout Henry’s loud footsteps and louder talk, she needn’t have bothered. Habits are hard to break. “What an odd thing to say. Do they have many of those where you come from?”
“Where I come from, we have no werewolves,” said Stout Henry. “I used to live just outside Cotsberry, and we haven’t had werewolves in oh, ten years of more. Nope. Vampires ate ’em all, and then the vamps were quite a problem until the, uh, trolls smooshed ’em. Trolls,” repeated Stout Henry, with disgust. “I hate trolls. They take all the good women.”
“Uh huh,” said Marta. “Trolls. Right.”
There didn’t seem to be much to say after that, and so they both fell silent. The noises of the night rose around them. The loud croaks, the rapid clicks, the squawks, the rustling of something running through the undergrowth, the rhythmic crashing as something tore through the trees…
