The Maidens and the Bloodstone

31 Aug

((Here is an excerpt of a story I’ve been working on for a while, which [I feel] finally has a decent opening.  It still needs work, though.  I’ve entered this piece into a contest, earlier, and thought I’d share it here too.))

 

The woods beyond were somehow darker and colder than the enveloping night, and twice as still. Dorathy shuddered. She shouldered her raven, Tota, then joined the rest of her squad by the fire. No one had their backs to the treeline, including Dorathy as she sought a place beside Eirig.
Eirig sat hunched with his hands clasped and resting against his chest. His left forefinger tapped against the knuckle of his right and he didn’t look up as Dorathy dropped down next to him. Still trying to make the pieces of their mission fit, most likely. Anomalies bothered him.
Cameron sat on Eirig’s left. His eyes reflected the fire’s and a pinched grin fought to spread into his cheeks. At any second his vanity would bubble over, spill its musings, and heartlessly stain the silence.
The last of them was their Commander, Arnald, who sat just off from Cameron. Twice as old as his mid-teen charges, he was nearing retirement; but it was doubtful he’d follow through. Too much pride.
Their newest target, Big Bahad Wulf, was no ordinary Lycan. Skilled and strong, it was rumored he was also delving into the dark arts. His last victims, a trio of brothers, had their homes collapsed in with hurricane-like winds before they each died in a fire at the eldest’s stone home. The fire bespoke of an accomplice, possibly the witch Rydenhood, and that only complicated things further.

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bottledworder

easy reading is damn hard writing

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