Our scribe was not feeling well this week, but she soldiered on and worked on Sundered. And we did what we do best—cause mayhem—and it looked a little something like this:
This is NOT scribe-approved yet, but I just had to show it to you. After all, Papa’s the secret-keeper, not me. 🙂
A little background about how this came to be:
One starry night, our scribe returned home from work to find an argument in progress, and some shady characters (the Adversary, the Ægaldar and Aralore, the villains of our last three books) trying to hack into our scribe’s laptop.
I *might* have sneaked between them, grabbed our scribe’s laptop and run out of the room with it to prevent those shady characters from writing an ending they like to my story.
I *might* have tripped over the cords connecting the boxes of colored lights that bring the internet to our scribe’s apartment thus knocking out her internet access in my haste to escape.
Papa might have chased after me. He might not have tried all that hard to catch me and instead, he might have acted as my rear guard and ran interference for me, Ran, his beloved and only son.
Uncle Miren might also have been there. I heard him yell something as my little feet hit the pavement, and I gave those shady characters a merry chase around the parking lot.
While all this was happening, our scribe pulled up the render test she’d run and played with it on her other pc. She was too tired from working all day to chase after us, and there were enough characters on my tail. Besides, we prefer she write or do book-related things anyway, and that’s where the above cover idea came from.
Worry not, Auntie Sovvan was on overwatch keeping an eye on me from the roof. She was ready to swoop in and save me if things got dicey.
So that’s what we’ve been up to.
P.S. this is just an idea our scribe was fiddling with not a final cover. Our scribe had to intervene and thus couldn’t go any further with this, but it’s still really cool for a first try. She’s getting better at lighting and posing us!
P.P.S. I did return her laptop and internet connectivity was restored. Once the magical laptop was safely back in Melinda’s possession, she resumed work on Sundered. We’re getting really close to the end, and that’s making some characters crazy. I’m typing this while my scribe is pummeling those last scenes into submission from my comfy seat on Papa’s chest. He’s catching some well-deserved sleep on our scribe’s couch and half-falling off it because it’s a lot shorter than he is.
P.P.S.S. Yes, Papa and I are guarding the magical laptop and the current draft of Sundered with our fictional lives while Melinda heads to work each day. Well, Papa’s doing the lion’s share of the guarding since he’s the adult in the room. I’m playing lookout.
Whatever you do today, be wary of shady characters! You never know when they will appear.
Last week, I asked Papa an important question. Maybe the most important question of my young life: who named me. Papa didn’t answer. His eyes turned sad and distant as he remembered events that took place four-and-a-half years ago.
Four years ago…
Awakening from a nightmare, Sarn looked straight into Shade’s eyes. A gaze lock seized him, dropping Sarn down a fiery well of pain. His flesh melted as the fire roasted him—no—Shade alive. This was Shade’s memory and it was shattering.
Something had interrupted the gaze lock. Sarn struggled to focus on the gray form leaning over him.
Words tumbled out of Shade’s mouth—baby—and Beku’s name and, “you must come now.”
Sheets scratched as they fell away. Cold metal met his bare soles when he descended the ladder from the triple stack of bunk beds in the Rangers’ Barracks.
Hurrying through empty corridors, the word ‘baby’ beat a metronome of doom in Sarn’s brain. Whose baby? What trouble was it in? Why fetch him?
Shade’s smaller hand grasped his, tugging Sarn into the dreaded infirmary to a cradle. The glow of his eyes had lit a tiny thing with stubby arms. Turning its lemon-shaped head, the baby looked right at him.
Those milky green eyes said in the language of blood and magic—I’m yours, and you’re mine—then the baby howled. Tiny fingers reached for Sarn, then he was sliding down a wall clutching the baby in his shaking arms. One thought beat in his brain—hold onto the baby. And he had.
Nearby someone was talking, the healer maybe. He was saying crazy things. How could his son have been dying before he’d come to the infirmary? It didn’t make sense and he couldn’t focus on it because the baby’s pale green eyes were locked onto his and nothing else mattered.
Sarn blinked away the memory. Somehow, his presence had saved his son’s life. He still didn’t understand why. Maybe it no longer mattered.
Sarn hugged his son who was still waiting for an answer, but the words caught in his throat. How could he tell such a sweet child that the mother who had abandoned him had named him?
“Well? Tell me why you look so sad, and where my name came from.” Ran poked Sarn in the belly.
Papa has one week to come up with an answer. Since he can’t lie, and he goes out of his way to never hurt me, his answer should be interesting. See you next week for more dragons, bears, and shenanigans! (And watch out for those shady characters!)
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Until next time, dear reader
This is your host, Ran, son of Sarn, “the asker of hard questions” wishing you a great week!
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