It's business time

I am hoping that during the month of November there will be a lot more activity here. I've decided that a year of planning and dithering is enough and NaNoWriMo is the perfect excuse to cut loose with writing and not worrying over every tiny detail.

As I have mentioned everywhere else I've announced that I am participating in NaNoWriMo, I would beg for encouragement and support and pestering. I should be writing an average of 1,667 words a day and that's a big task.

But I am looking forward to it. Expect the new opening scene on Nov 1. I think I finally got it.

See how I plot

At was kind and chased down some free software for me to use for plotting the details of Emergent. I'm alternating between fleshing that out and actually writing. I still don't have any excerpts that feel complete enough for me to share here, but I did want to share how things are shaping up in XMind as I toss overall ideas onto "paper" and draw connections and flesh out the society of my world.

As to none of it being actually legible, well, it just seems like that would ruin things. The bones of a book feel really personal.

 

Trust Sanderson to get it right

Am still working on writing and trying to get something that I want to share posted. In the meantime, Sanderson captures a lot of my internal struggle very well in this post.

Particularly:

It seems that everyone I talked to had their own spin on how they were going to revolutionize the genre with their brilliant twist on the fantasy epic. Unfortunately, a lot of us were a little unambitious in our twists. (“My elves are short, rather than tall!” or “I’m going to make orcs a noble warrior culture, not just a group of evil, thoughtless monsters!”) Our hearts were good; our methods were problematic. I remember growing dissatisfied with this (specifically with my own writing, which was going through some of the same not-so-original originality problems), though I couldn’t ever define quite why.

Questions I am asking

Over vacation, I spent no time writing but a great deal of time thinking about Emergent. Much of my thought was prompted by an excellent book I chanced across - How to Write Science Fiction and Fantasy by Orson Scott Card. I make no bones about Card being one of my favorite authors, and while I have read everything he has posted at Uncle Orson's Writing Class, I thought there might be some things of value in a book written specifically on SciFi and Fantasy. I was not wrong in this assumption and strongly encourage anyone wishing to write in either genre to look at both resources.

One of the things that most challenged me were the comments about the clichés in the genre. Most fantasy novels - which is how I mentally classify Emergent - are set in a quasi-Medieval world. There isn't really anything wrong with this in and of itself, but I personally feel it's important to have as many unique aspects as possible in a story for it to be a cut above the rest. And even then, it's truly difficult if not downright impossible to achieve anything really new or unique.

With all of that in mind, I am leaning towards the following changes to overall format:

I am considering taking the setting of the book away from the quasi-Medieval setting into either a Victorian Era (but a less traditional Victorian era and with more of a Steampunk twist) or Ancient Rome. Clearly I have some issues. Maybe I'll attempt to mix them both. How? I've no idea.

Going back to the overall question of voice and POV, I am considering moving away from Jeyne as a character viewpoint at all and going solely to Mr. No-Name as a first person and primary (if not sole) character viewpoint. This might be indicative of my hating myself. I'm not sure.

Lastly, I need to narrow my focus somewhat. So far, this story has been about an odd love triangle (which isn't really a triangle because I like things to be complicated), the emergence of magic into a world (hopefully without it being too similar to X-Men), and the toppling of an empire. Not to mention all the smaller stray ideas I've had. I think there's room for everything in the story, but I need to really sit down and mentally trace each path and then work out how to weave everything together - and work out which ideas need to be abandoned and which need to be explored further.

Most of all, I need to sit down and write and make some forward progress. That's totally going to happen.  

     

New directions

I'm playing with a few things here. Still not at all certain I like the flow of the portion written in third person. It feels so stilted to me, not to mention repetitive. The good news is that I do think I know a little better what sort of person Jeyne is now.

Something I am considering is trying to adapt to the third person POV better while also having sections that are told from a first person POV. These sections would be 'written' by Nameless (that naked guy in the rain who still needs a name from me), who is a rather analytical sort. Anyhow, here's my paltry headway. Still chewing it all over, but I'm a fan of outside input.  

_______     

Jeyne peered out from the shelter of the guardhouse and sighed heavily at the prospect of stepping back out into the steady downpour of rain. Her shift had started several hours earlier that evening and it had been drizzling then, which was unpleasant, but not more than her oilcloak could handle. Then the winds had picked up and blown in a storm that had begun as a fiercely driving rain before settling down into a deluge with cold, heavy drops of water.

The thunderstorm had at least been exciting, with the furious winds threatening to push Jeyne from the top of the city wall where she patrolled between the main gate and the guardhouse that marked the halfway point between the main city gate and the smaller eastern gate that mainly saw traffic from the fishmongers who came to sell their wares at the wet market.

Knowing that her few minutes of respite were over, Jeyne pulled the hood of her cloak forward and took up the spear that she carried with her on patrol and then stepped back out into the wet night.

Even while privately holding the belief that a person would have to be suicidal to attempt to come over the wall on a night like this, Jeyne was as alert as she would have been at the start of her shift and in fine weather. Although it was tempting to allow her weariness to creep over her, she moved briskly, eyes peering into the darkness and wet beyond the wall.

Every so often her gaze would sweep the wall in front of her. Soon, Jeyne was frowning.

Guards patrolled the wall in pairs of two at night. Jeyne and her partner, Vyl, always started at opposite ends, meeting in the middle and turning back. Because the main gate had two guard towers, always manned by their own assigned guards, there wasn’t a guardhouse on that end which could be used as a brief respite from foul weather. On nights like this, then, they would take turns patrolling the whole length of the wall, each of them lingering for a minute or two in the shelter of the guardhouse, holding their hands to the fire that was kept perpetually burning there, to be used when signals were needed.

Jeyne was well past the halfway point and should have seen Vyl by now. Wondering whether Vyl had perhaps slipped or stopped somewhere to investigate something, Jeyne hurried forward. Several yards further down the wall, Jeyne spotted Vyl slumped on the ground.   

Muttering a curse, Jeyne dashed forward and slid to a halt before dropping to her knees next to the other guardswoman.

“Vyl?” Jeyne called, searching for anything that might tell her what had happened. There were no wounds to be seen on the other woman’s body and she was breathing deeply, as though sleeping. When shaking and calling didn’t wake Vyl, Jeyne moved to slapping her lightly on the cheeks.

“Damn,” Jeyne cursed again when all her efforts failed to wake the other woman.

Pushing herself to her feet, Jeyne pulled off her own oilcloak and settled it over Vyl. The guardswoman would need to be moved and for that, Jeyne would need help. The gate tower was closer at this point and could be reached quickly at a flat run. Jeyne briefly considered leaving her spear behind to be free from it hampering her movements.

The delay, fleeting as it was, caused her to be looking towards the outside of the wall when lightning flickered briefly in the sky. A flash of something pale was illuminated briefly in the flicker and Jeyne moved closer to the wall’s edge to peer into the darkness. She couldn’t be sure, but it seemed that there was a body lying on the ground, not far from the wall.

Her alarm increasing tenfold, Jeyne delayed no further in sprinting towards the tower.

In less than a minute she was throwing the door open, ignoring the startled looks on the faces of the tower guards. “Vyl is down and I can’t wake her,” she reported swiftly. “There appears to be a body outside the wall. I need assistance with Vyl and the body. We might also want to dispatch some people to search the city and alert the guards that someone might have come over the wall.”

Her voice was calm, its steadiness surprising even her. Training had kicked in and the other guards were reacting with military precision, snatching up their cloaks and weapons and dividing into teams with only a few directions from their captain.

“Rif and Atino, alert the city guards and the other tower. One of you come back to man this tower after. Dox, you go to the next patrol down on this wall. Have them pass the word and look for anyone going over. The rest of you, help with Vyl. Jeyne, show me this body.”

In moments, they had all dispersed, Jeyne and Vern, the tower guard’s captain, heading out into the soggy mess that was the ground just outside the walls.

At first, Jeyne thought she must have been mistaken about seeing anything. The night was dark and the lanterns that lit the top of the wall weren’t enough to penetrate through the rain to reach the ground. Vern had a lantern of his own, but the light was feeble.

  

Just when she was about to admit that she must have been seeing things, Jeyne caught sight of a white hand, palm turned up as though to catch the rain.

“Over there,” Jeyne pointed. As she and the captain drew closer, they could see that there was a man there, lying sprawled in the rain. Gasping at his appearance, Jeyne hung back for a moment. Unhampered by any shock, Vern immediately knelt in the mud and placed his hand to the man’s neck.

“He’s alive.”

----------------

My story begins with an unusual set of circumstances. They say it is best to start from the beginning when trying to explain something difficult, and as I can scarcely imagine a tale more difficult than mine to tell, I will begin with my first memories of the events that propelled me into a life of intrigue, danger and magic.

I came to in the rain, lying flat on my back in a sizeable puddle of mud, with what appeared to be at least a dozen people either leaning over me or moving around me. 

“He’s awake,” one voice said, cutting stridently through the noise of the rain and making me cringe back. I was still befuddled, having no idea where I was or how I had come to be there. Rain drops spattered in my face, and I squinted in an effort to be able to see.

 

A new face came to peer down at me, this one female. She blocked the rain from dashing into my eyes and I was able to see her clearly. She had regular features and wore a grim expression, but I could see a glint of some excitement in her grey eyes. In a carefully neutral tone, she addressed me. “Who are you?”

“I’m –“ I started to say, but then stopped abruptly, shaking my head slightly as though to break a thought free. “I’m naked!” I blurted, having caught sight of the rest of myself. My hands went automatically to cover my groin and I made to get to my feet, but was restrained by a hand on my shoulder.

“Easy,” warned the man who was attached to the hand holding onto me. His voice was a low growl, and the implicit threat caused me to wordlessly subside back into the mud.

“I think we can let him up.” This came from still another voice, this one sounding amused. “I don’t think he could be hiding anything.”

“Didn’t I tell you to get back to the guardhouse, Atino?” Growly Voice questioned.

“No, Sir. Rif is there.”

“Well, why don’t you go get something for this guy to cover up with, hm?”

While this exchange took place, I cautiously eased up into a sitting position, feeling embarrassed. This time, I was allowed to stay up, and I looked around in utter bewilderment. There was little to see, other than a massive stone wall and the detail of guards that were more or less occupied in eyeing me with speculative looks.

Aware of my nakedness and the coldness of both the ground and the rain, I shivered and began rubbing my arms for warmth. The guard called Atino was turning to leave, presumably to fetch me something to wear. I hoped it was warm.

The female guard caught my eyes again as I shifted uncomfortably in my puddle. “You can stand up,” she told me, darting a look at Growly Voice as though to dare him to contradict her. “We’re going to need to have you answer some questions. Can you walk?”

I nodded, relaxing slightly at her manner. When I stood, though, it seemed as though every eye that was on me traveled downward and I flushed, covering myself with my hands again.

I caught a glimpse of the female guard rolling her eyes and my embarrassment ratcheted up a notch. “Could you all grow up?” Turning away from me, she snatched at another guard’s arm. “Give me your cloak. You don’t even need to be out here.”

The man she was addressing made a face of distaste at her, but didn’t bother to argue. He merely removed his cloak, thrust it ungraciously in her direction and then turned to stalk off into the night.

“Here,” she offered me the cloak, a full-length and hooded garment crafted from oilcloth. I took it gratefully, noticing how she turned tactfully away while I put in on but still seemed to know the exact moment I had covered myself.

“Thank you,” I offered.

She studied me for a moment by the light of a lantern. Then, without acknowledging my words, she turned away, saying, “Follow me.”

With her fellows falling in around us, I did as commanded, wondering at the circumstances in which I found myself. Although I couldn’t have said where I was or how I had come to be there, there was still a nagging familiarity to the smell of the cloak enveloping me and the way the wall angled just so at that point.

The guardswoman had asked my name. She had promised further questions, which would doubtless be about my appearance in such a place at such a time, without a stitch of clothing to my name. Not that I had any notion of what my name might be. 

     

As we trudged together through the mud, Growly Voice leaned close to the female guard. “What are you planning, Jeyne?”

“I am following procedure, Sir” she replied briefly. “We found nothing at the site and until Vyl wakes up, we don’t know that this is anything more than strange coincidence.”

Her words made no sense to me, but Growly Voice had at least provided me with a name for the guardswoman. Jeyne, a plain name, much as she herself was plain. I filed the information away, along with the fact that she seemed to be Growly Voice’s subordinate, or was at least affording him the courtesy of someone who had a higher rank without actually deferring to him.

These thoughts distracted me for a few moments, but as soon as we neared a gate, I went back to worrying over how to explain myself to these guards when I couldn’t remember anything of how I had arrived at their wall, undressed and unconscious.

We passed through the gate without fuss. Growly Voice spoke to the detail of armed guards who held a defensive position, asking whether they had seen anyone else. When their answer came back in the negative, he ordered the gates closed and the watch doubled on the wall. Everyone escorting me was dismissed to their duties with the words, “Jeyne and I will be taking this one to the barracks for questions. Send word there if anything changes with Vyl.”

Before we set off, the guard Atino arrived with a small bundle of clothes. He passed these to Jeyne who eyed me briefly but did not surrender them to me. Without further ado, I was led deeper into a city that, though it seemed familiar, I couldn’t have named for anything.         

         

O, is it all forgot?

I have not forgotten Emergent. Honestly, though, there would not have been an update here if Chas hadn't come by, read, commented and re-sparked a series of thoughts I'd been having. (Thanks for that. And for freaking me out. I'll never get published.)

Very little in the way of actual writing has taken place since (eep!) January, although I have turned over many mental stones and poked at ideas until I've more or less arrived at a system for magic that will hopefully be lots more interesting than mana pools.

There are still a number of problems I need to resolve before delving too far into writing.

Firstly, I still haven't gotten to know Jeyne at all. She's a mystery to me, so perhaps sticking with third person isn't the worst idea in the world.

Secondly, I have some notions as far as the major events in the story, but I want to be able to fit several rather large pieces together and I'm not sure I have them all assembled in a way that I understand how the presence of one will affect another or even where the major alliances will fall. (Which is to say, in as unclear a fashion as possible, that I need to settle in my mind how the military, clergy and ruling powers all interact. And whether there are more factions to consider, such as merchants or even the peasant classes, etc.) (To be even more succinct, I want the world to be rich and varied but clearly understood.)

Thirdly, and perhaps relating to the first point, I need to determine from which subset of the overall populace Jeyne comes from. The more I consider, the less I like the idea of her being an inn-keeper's daughter. I want to stay away from the most common clichés as much as I can, and I feel that "commoner who rises to power and/or glory," "girl who stands on her own in a man's world," and "princess who doesn't act like a priss" are all done to the point of being somewhere well past dead.

In fact, most fantasy novels also contain patriarchal societies, except for the ones that are matriarchal and usually very bad due in large part to the fact that they seem to be written by bitter women who hate men and make their male characters whiny, emo bitches.

I don't want either, thanks.

In fact, I really enjoy Scott Lynch in that regard. His books have a refreshing lack of gender bias, in my opinion. Men and women alike are sailors and soldiers, powerful and powerless, thieves and nobles.

With that in mind, I am thinking of moving Jeyne closer to where the heart of the story will take place - the seat of power in the realm - and thrust some events on her swiftly enough that perhaps it won't matter what she started out as.

Although, you know, I am thinking maybe she's a palace guard. Standing in the drizzle on a cold autumn's night and about to find some naked dude. Because for whatever else I don't know about this story, I do know it should start with a naked dude. And rain. Naked dudes and rain are where it's at.            

An experiment in voice

When I was getting to the part of the plotting stage of this book where I was trying to get inside my character's heads and figure out who they were in terms of personality, I was running into a block as far as Jeyne was concerned. I knew her name, that she had brown hair and hazel eyes. I knew she worked in an inn and that she was rather boyish. I thought she was an only child. I thought her parents would be mostly warm towards her. But I could not get into her head to the point where I thought I could tell this story from her perspective. So I started it off in the more traditional omniscient third person and... found I really am quite bad at that. So I took the little I was able to force out and changed it all to first person. It might just be that I tend to like first person better, but I think it flows more nicely. What do you all think? Which is better?

Emergent - Chapter One Excerpt -Third Person

Jeyne peered out her attic window and groaned, unable to keep the sound of dismay from escaping her lips. A violent storm - too violent for what was normally a gentle harvesting season - had blown through the previous night and it trailed destruction in its wake. She knew without asking that it would be her duty to clear the small yard in front of her family's wayside inn, and to assist whatever townsfolk were unfortunate enough to have to deal with the muddy mire that now scarcely resembled the only road in town. 

Beside Jeyne, her sister was smirking. Tiny, with just the right amount of plumpness to her frame, Toria would never be considered for such rough manual labor as hefting fallen branches or dealing with the muck of a muddy road. Such things, along with the care of animals, the scrubbing of the huge pots in the kitchen and any other chore that might be considered menial were for Jeyne. All Toria need do to earn her keep in the inn was to smile at guests, make up fresh beds and help with the baking and cooking.

"I doubt many people will want to leave today," Toria observed, peering at her faint reflection in the window, patting her blond curls into place.

"You say that like it means extra work for you," Jeyne groused. "We have four guests and it's not likely any more will arrive." She was braiding her own dense brown hair as she spoke, not at all mindful of how it looked but only that it was all tightly secured. A look at the trees with their branches of colorfully dying leaves still quivering in the sunlight told her that it would be windy. Everyone else would praise the wan sunshine and the constantly blowing wind as means of the road drying sooner; for Jeyne, it would only mean chapped skin and a cold morning.

"Aww, don't be so sour," Toria mock-pouted. "Everyone can already tell by looking at you that you didn't get your beauty sleep." 

Jeyne rolled her eyes, ignoring the dig. Her plain looks were something Toria brought up as often as she could, despite the fact that Jeyne had long ago given up on giving her sister the reaction she was after. Retaliation, whether it was verbal or physical, only ended in Toria's blue eyes filling with tears just long enough for one of their parents to notice and then she would smile slyly as Jeyne was scolded and given additional chores as punishment. Tying her braid off, Jeyne turned from the window, snatched up her cap from its hook on the wall and made her way down the narrow and uneven stairs to the kitchen. 

Her mother looked up as Jeyne clattered down the last few steps and gave her younger daughter a disapproving look. She firmly believed that the thumping sound of Jeyne's footsteps would disturb their guests, although there was only one room next to the servant's stairs and it was only used on rare occasions when the rest of the inn's six other rooms were full. Jeyne always took care to move silently past the second floor's door but took the last few steps at a bound out of habit. So far, there had been no actual complaints about noise and so Jeyne did as she pleased.

A moment later, Toria entered the kitchen behind Jeyne, taking care to exaggerate her ladylike steps, smiling sweetly at their mother as she did so.

Jeyne simply rolled her eyes again, turning away as the other two women greeted each other with good morning's and started discussing the previous night's storm and the implications that would have on their day. The washing would have to wait, they decided, as it was unlikely that anyone would be coming or going anywhere, for who would choose to travel on such a terrible road unless they were in a very great hurry to get somewhere? Shrugging on her coat and stuffing a freshly baked roll in either pocket, as well as cramming half of a third into her mouth, Jeyne exited the warm kitchen and made her way through the deserted dining area and past the front desk to exit the inn.

"Jeyne," her father called to her from where he sat at the desk as he did each morning, going over accounts.

"Yes?" she asked around a mouthful of bread.

He ignored her rudeness. Unlike her mother, Father tended to view Jayne with less disfavor when she acted in an unladylike manner. She was, after all, the closest thing to a son he would ever get and so while he did not encourage her in her rude behavior, neither did he discourage her.

"I'll see to the animals right after this," he gestured at the account book in front of him with its tidy rows of names and columns of numbers. "If you could start in on clearing the yard, I'll be along to help clear away that debris if any of those branches are too heavy for you. Take what you can around back and we'll have to chop it up some other day."

"Alright," Jeyne nodded and was out the door, determined to handle as much of it as she could on her own. Working hard enough that Father noticed it always meant that she would get an extra hour of free time in the evenings, released from chores that could wait until the next day. It was one of her few chances to read and be free from distractions and interruptions occasioned by her family.

As soon as she stepped outside, the wind sliced through Jeyne's clothing like a razor. "I should earn two extra hours for this," Jeyne muttered, surveying the damage from this closer vantage point. "Goddess, there must be an entire forest's worth of limbs here."

Suddenly the small stables and whatever animals might be penned there overnight seemed like the very height of desirable locations in which to work. Her father wasn't doing her any favors by offering to see to that chore before helping her. Cold as the stables might be, with the poorly fitted window and door, at least there were walls to cut down on the vicious wind and no one would expect her to drag any of the beasts anywhere.

With a grim sign of resignation, Jeyne bent to the nearest fallen branch and tugged on it. It moved reluctantly, weighted down by soaked leaves and half buried in mud. Grunting with the effort, Jeyne dug the heels of her boots into the soft ground and nearly lost her footing as the ground shifted softly underneath her. But the branch was moving now and it was easier to keep up the momentum. Dragging it step by mired step around the corner of the inn, Jeyne took it very nearly to the kitchen door and then dropped it.

The damage was nearly as bad back here and as Jeyne straightened from the end of the limb she had just dropped, she surveyed the wreckage. That one there is twice as thick as any out front, she thought. There would be no moving that on her own, but perhaps it would keep until things had dried out and it could be chopped into smaller segments.

As she walked back around to the front of the inn, Jeyne could not help wondering at the fact that no windows had been smashed through in the middle of the night. Glancing up and down the street as she approached the front yard, she realized that the inn had been extraordinarily lucky. Darryn [], the shopkeeper, was assembling boards to nail over one of his east-facing windows. A little further down, Jeyne could see that an entire tree had toppled into the road from where it had previously stood sentry in front of a small house. Had it fallen in the other direction, Jeyne was certain the family would have been crushed.

Turning around and craning her neck, Jeyne peered up at the roof of the inn. She had heard several ominous thumps during the long night and the storm; between that, the howling wind and the booming of thunder, it had made for quite a racket. Her current spot in the yard made it impossible to see all the way to the peak of the roof so, without thinking about it, Jeyne backed up several steps. Her last step sent her sprawling over backwards into the mud.

Cursing through gritted teeth at her own carelessness, Jeyne reached out a hand to brace herself against the tree limb she had fallen over in order to steady herself as she obtained her feet. Even as she pushed against the tree however, she realized that something about it felt wrong, even through her gloves. Her eyes immediately sought out the reason for this and she felt the breath catch in her throat as she realized that she hadn't grasped a tree limb at all, but instead a human limb.

Choking back her shock, Jeyne sucked in a deep breath and cautiously maneuvered herself to be able to see more of the still form that was more than half buried underneath a particularly large and still-leafy branch.  

Emergent - Chapter One Excerpt -First Person

I peered out my attic window and groaned, unable to keep the sound of dismay from escaping my lips. A violent storm - too violent for what was normally a gentle harvesting season - had blown through the previous night and it trailed destruction in its wake. I knew without asking that it would be my duty to clear the small yard in front of my family's wayside inn, and to assist whatever townsfolk were unfortunate enough to have to deal with the muddy mire that now scarcely resembled the only road in town. 

Beside me, my sister was smirking. Tiny, with just the right amount of plumpness to her frame, Toria would never be considered for such rough manual labor as hefting fallen branches or dealing with the muck of a muddy road. Such things, along with the care of animals, the scrubbing of the huge pots in the kitchen and any other chore that might be considered menial were for me to do. All Toria need do to earn her keep in the inn was to smile at guests, make up fresh beds and help with the baking and cooking.

"I doubt many people will want to leave today," Toria observed, peering at her faint reflection in the window, patting her blond curls into place.

"You say that like it means extra work for you," I groused. "We have four guests and it's not likely any more will arrive." I was braiding my own dense brown hair as I spoke, not at all mindful of how it looked but only that it was all tightly secured. A look at the trees with their branches of colorfully dying leaves still quivering in the sunlight told me that it would be windy. Everyone else would praise the wan sunshine and the constantly blowing wind as means of the road drying sooner; for me, it would only mean chapped skin and a cold morning.

"Aww, Jeyne, don't be so sour," Toria mock-pouted. "Everyone can already tell by looking at you that you didn't get your beauty sleep." 

I rolled my eyes, ignoring the dig. My plain looks were something Toria brought up as often as she could, despite the fact that I had long ago given up on giving my sister the reaction she was after. Retaliation, whether it was verbal or physical, only ended in Toria's blue eyes filling with tears just long enough for one of our parents to notice and then she would smile slyly as I was scolded and given additional chores as punishment. Tying my braid off, I turned from the window, snatched up my woolen cap from its hook on the wall and made my way down the narrow and uneven stairs to the kitchen. 

My mother looked up as I clattered down the last few steps and gave me a disapproving look. She firmly believed that the thumping sound of my footsteps would disturb our guests, although there was only one room next to the servant's stairs and it was only used on rare occasions when the rest of the inn's six other rooms were full. I always took care to move silently past the second floor's door but took the last few steps at a bound out of habit. So far, there had been no actual complaints about noise and so I ignored my mother's disapproval and did as I pleased.

A moment later, Toria entered the kitchen behind me, taking care to exaggerate her ladylike steps, smiling sweetly at Mother as she did so.

I simply rolled my eyes again, turning away as the other two women greeted each other with good morning's and started discussing the previous night's storm and the implications that would have on their day. The washing would have to wait, they decided, as it was unlikely that anyone would be coming or going anywhere, for who would choose to travel on such a terrible road unless they were in a very great hurry to get somewhere? Shrugging on my coat and stuffing a freshly baked roll in either pocket, as well as cramming half of a third into my mouth, I exited the warm kitchen and made my way through the deserted dining area and past the front desk to exit the inn.

"Jeyne," my father called to me from where he sat at the desk as he did each morning, going over accounts.

"Yes?" I asked around a mouthful of bread.

He ignored my rudeness. Unlike my mother, Father tended to view me with less disfavor when I acted in an unladylike manner. I was, after all, the closest thing to a son he would ever get and so while he did not encourage me in my rude behavior, neither did he discourage me.

"I'll see to the animals right after this," he gestured at the account book in front of him with its tidy rows of names and columns of numbers. "If you could start in on clearing the yard, I'll be along to help clear away that debris if any of those branches are too heavy for you. Take what you can around back and we'll have to chop it up some other day."

"Alright," I nodded and was out the door, determined to handle as much of it as I could on my own. Working hard enough that Father noticed it always meant that I would get an extra hour of free time in the evenings, released from chores that could wait until the next day. It was one of my few chances to read and be free from distractions and interruptions occasioned by my family.

As soon as I stepped outside, the wind sliced through my clothing like a razor. "I should earn two extra hours for this," I muttered, surveying the damage from this closer vantage point. "Goddess, there must be an entire forest's worth of limbs here."

Suddenly the small stables and whatever animals might be penned there overnight seemed like the very height of desirable locations in which to work. My father wasn't doing me any favors by offering to see to that chore before helping me. Cold as the stables might be, with the poorly fitted window and door, at least there were walls to cut down on the vicious wind and no one would expect me to drag any of the beasts anywhere.

With a grim sign of resignation, I bent to the nearest fallen branch and tugged on it. It moved reluctantly, weighted down by soaked leaves and half buried in mud. Grunting with the effort, I dug the heels of my boots into the wet ground and nearly lost my footing as the ground shifted softly underneath me. But the branch was moving now and it was easier to keep up the momentum. Dragging it step by mired step around the corner of the inn, I took it very nearly to the kitchen door and then dropped it.

The damage was nearly as bad back here and as I straightened from the end of the limb I had just dropped, I surveyed the wreckage. That one there is twice as thick as any out front, I thought. There would be no moving that on my own, but perhaps it would keep until things had dried out and it could be chopped into smaller segments.

As I walked back around to the front of the inn, I could not help wondering at the fact that no windows had been smashed through in the middle of the night. Glancing up and down the street as I approached the front yard, I realized that the inn had been extraordinarily lucky. Darryn [], the shopkeeper, was assembling boards to nail over one of his east-facing windows. A little further down, I could see that an entire tree had toppled into the road from where it had previously stood sentry in front of a small house. Had it fallen in the other direction, I was certain the family living within would have been crushed.

Turning around and craning my neck, I peered up at the roof of the inn. I had heard several ominous thumps during the long night and the storm; between that, the howling wind and the booming of thunder, it had made for quite a racket. My current spot in the yard made it impossible to see all the way to the peak of the roof so, without thinking about it, I backed up several steps. My last step sent me sprawling over backwards into the mud.

Cursing through gritted teeth at my own carelessness, I reached out a hand to brace myself against the tree limb I had fallen over in order to steady myself as I obtained my feet. Even as I pushed against the tree however, I realized that something about it felt wrong, even through my gloves. My eyes immediately sought out the reason for this and I felt the breath catch in my throat as I realized that I hadn't grasped a tree limb at all, but instead a human limb.

Choking back my shock, I sucked in a deep breath and cautiously maneuvered myself to be able to see more of the still form that was more than half buried underneath a particularly large and still-leafy branch.