Worldbuilding

Do you remember how I talked about building worlds last week?

It's a rabbit hole that lasts for DAYS.

In case you're wondering.

The yellow islands are inhabited by dragons.

The blue island is the only sizable human kingdom out here.

Largest island - oldest clan. Clan name translates to "The Separate People" from their own tongue. They were originally a rebellious faction from one of the mainland colonies, and have grown so much since that point that none of them remember where they came from. They make up for this by inventing legends about their founders. The most popular is a variant of the creation myth from the mainland; that their original Patriarch (a dragon whose title was something like "He With Broken Teeth") was born from a stone on the mountain struck by lightning and given life by the elemental forces of nature. The tale of where his mate came from is... less cohesive. Different families within the clan have different versions of the story. 

Second-largest island - (triangle-shaped, southwest corner of Big Islands) second-oldest clan. Clan name translates to something like "Of the Sea" or something equally descriptive. Many of these dragons are descended from the same stock as their nearest neighbors, but deny any relation. They have been separated by so many generations that the resemblance has been lost, as those "Of the Sea" swim more often than they fly, and their physical characteristics have slowly changed to reflect this, helped along by the occasional dalliance with a Sea Serpent, with whom they share a common ancestor. 

Satellite island - (eastern island of the core four, and the smallest) third-oldest clan. Clan name means "Small Land." This clan is also a splinter group from the Separate People, and have done their best to more or less recreate the culture of the big island in miniature. Due to the separation of the peoples, some minor changes have taken place, and this results in disagreements between the clans about which is the "right" way to do things. The Small Land and the Separate People have the closest ties of any of the clans, and are more likely than the others to form an alliance in desperate situations. 

Third-largest island - (northernmost, wibbly-shaped) youngest of the Big Clans. Clan name means "Of the Stars" or something like it, indicating a grand destiny that never materialized. They are more immigrants from the mainland, more recent than those on the Big Island, and were the result of a religious squabble among the mainland clans within the last millennia or so. They refer to themselves as a "Roost" rather than a "clan," and believe themselves better than common dragons because of their close connection to "The Mother," who is supposedly the source of all creative strength in the world. Their island was the home of an active volcano* until about 700 years ago, when a largish earthquake plugged up the magma flow and allowed the volcano to cool. Many of their tales indicate that at some point in the future, the volcano will wake and The Mother will return to them in physical form, but no one knows exactly when this is supposed to happen. 

*It is because of this volcanic activity that the Small Land colony didn't make an effort to settle there. 

This is all rough at the moment, but it's beautiful and I love it so far. The best part is, of course, that none of this has anything at all to do with my main project, which is my novel. :) Yup. I'm really good at finishing things. Sure am. 

Don't judge me.

Planet of Hats

It's been a while since I posted (apologies to the Internet for disappearing during NaNoWriMo). I will get back on this horse and gallop off into the sunset next week, but for now, I'd like to talk a little bit about one of my favorite pastimes: Worldbuilding.

Some time ago, a friend of mine introduced me to a YouTube channel (oh, nefarious YouTube, why must I sacrifice my time to you?!) by the name of "Overly Sarcastic Productions." One of their more recent videos is one of a series called "Trope Talks," which I hold dear to my little literary heart. This particular talk was on the topic of "The Planet of Hats." I've included it here for your viewing pleasure.

This is a problem I've run into time and again, not because I'm a bad writer, but because the plots I try to tackle are sometimes simply to big for the story I'm trying to tell. I end up with fragments and glimpses that, while tantalizing and interesting, are not satisfying. 

And of course this, coupled with my apparent inability to write a satisfactory ending, leads me into the Pit of Despair to have the life sucked out of me by a Machine of my own creation. 

To address this gaping hole in my own education and skills, I have decided *dramatic uplifting music here* to apply some of Red's steps from her Planet of Hats video to my own worlds, especially the ones that feature in the novel I wrote last month. 

In the meantime, though, I created a nation of dragon clans on an archipelago in the southern seas of a fantasy world, far enough from the mainland that the smallish human kingdoms that sprang up there are almost completely isolated with their dragon neighbors. 

Because I'm nice like that. :)

I'll post some more about that world another time, since I think I've talked enough for now. Next week, look forward to some snippets from the rough draft of my novel. ;) 

In the meantime, have an awesome weekend, everybody! 

*runs off to pack like a madperson, preparing for THE MOVE*

The Stone Stable

This is a dream that I had a long time ago now, but the place I saw there has stuck with me. Someday, I think I'll use this setting. From what I can remember, all the animals that live in the Stone Stable are magical in one way or another, and their Riders live upstairs. There was a gal that ran the place... but I don't remember anything about her. *sheepish smile* Clearly, I need to work on this.

- - -

Standing just inside the West-facing double doors of the Stone Stable, you see an airy space, with a high ceiling and fluted pillars at regular intervals. The stone is pale grey, worn smooth under your feet and painted in fading shades of yellow and white in the grooves of each pillar. Scrolls and ivy are carved into the places where the ceiling joins the walls and the pillars, as though it were a celebration of the reunited stone.

To your left, you would see a wide hallway, flanked on either side by half doors of solid oak, stained in shades of light tan, panel borders painted yellow and fading with age. Rather than latches or knobs, there are short rope pulls that could be worked by a horse, and several of those beasts are looking at you curiously over the stall doors.

Past them, you see a second set of double doors facing North, open to a packed dirt yard, where a single goat and several chickens are wandering. Above the door, you can see what looks like a wide stone walkway, set inside the wall. Now you notice that the walkway stretches all the way around the cavernous room, and there are large gaps between the walkway and the wall at the head of each stall. Wisps of hay hang from the openings, and from your vantage point, you can see the heaps of hay stored up in this wrap-around loft. The ladder to reach the loft is just behind you and to the left. You could climb it, if you wanted. It looks very sturdy.

Directly in front of you, a large alcove holds two wide doorways. One opens into a spacious kitchen, with a wrap-around counter and plenty of cupboard space. You can't see most of the kitchen from where you're standing, but you can see that the stone floor has a smooth, slightly indented path worn into the flat slabs, where hundreds of feet have walked from where you're standing to the homey room beyond, the source of all deliciousness and edible foodstuff.

There don't seem to be any electric lights. Windows let in streams of sunlight on the eastern side of the building, which you are facing, and there seem to be skylights in the kitchen. You find yourself wondering how this is, since there's clearly a second level.

You approach the alcove, thinking to explore further. On the left is the kitchen, its half door open and welcoming. You can see now that the kitchen is only partially on the left, beyond the door, and that it also wraps around to the right, under and beyond the ramp that leads to the second level.

After a moment of deliberation, you decide to take the ramp to the second level, curious about what sort of living quarters might be boasted in a stable made of stone.

The ramp curves to the left, and follows the outer wall upward to the level of the high ceiling. A handrail on your right keeps you steady, though the ramp itself isn't steep. At the top of the ramp, you find yourself standing in a low hallway. You could touch the ceiling without trouble if you wanted to. By the dark spot above your head, you can guess that many people have. There are windows on the right, facing east, and doors on the left. A close-cropped rug of dark red and creamy yellow runs the length of the hall, where maybe a dozen rooms stand open. Sunlight reflects off the pale stone in the hallway, bouncing into the rooms beyond.

As you pass the first room, you peek inside. It looks like something you might see in a brochure for a bed and breakfast. A fourposter bed stands in the corner, where a thick comforter patterned with fruit and flowers drapes over the mattress and nearly touches the floor. A solid, dark chest of drawers and a mirror are against the right-hand wall, and a desk is on the left. Surprisingly, there's a small lamp on the desk, its cord hanging over the edge and pooling on the floor, where it threatens to tangle around the wheels of a threadbare desk chair that looked like it had seen many years of hard use. In the middle of the room, there's a small clear space occupied by an oval braided rug, and near the foot of the bed, set into the opposite wall, is a deep window, with an upholstered wooden seat built into the alcove.

Each room you pass is more or less the same, with slightly different furniture, different bedspreads, and different chairs. Nothing matches, but everything is arranged the same. Some of the rooms have pictures on the walls, and personal items on the desks. Most seem empty, though. Unoccupied and forlorn.

The last room is a living room, with mismatched couches, a thick rug, and an old-fashioned TV, flanked by large bookcases filled with books and a few VHS tapes in ratty cases.

This, you think, would be a good place to live.

Cliff Palace

This piece was commissioned by a friend at work for use during a D&D campaign. I'm rather proud of it, actually. :) Friend has expressed interest in future pieces as well, and I'm excited to actually get to write for actual monies. 

- - -

The air is chill and damp, smelling of rain. Above you on the mountain slope, a sheer, rugged cliff face towers. At the base, a natural hollow is filled by a lopsided stump of a house like a lone, broken tooth in a dead grey gum.

Hardly a sound comes to you, even as you move toward the house - or is it a house? It looks small in comparison to the cliff, but as you get closer you realize the building is massive, built to giant proportions. Crumbly, grey-green moss is eating away at the warped facade, but portions of the stone door frame have been rubbed clean on the right-hand side. The door itself is reduced to large splinters, barely holding together with ragged flags of wiry hair clinging bravely to sharp tips. Thunder rumbles ominously overhead - there's no other shelter nearby and it seems likely if you don't go inside, you'll get soaked.

Nothing is moving on the other side of the demolished door, but the biting, eye-watering scent of rotting meat wafts out to greet you. Just inside the threshold, bare rock is exposed to the debris of many seasons, chaff and dirt blown through the open door on spring and autumn winds. A strip of the floor is clear of this evidence of neglect, as though something large was recently dragged through the door.

Will you go inside?

Possible Prologue?

So, to explain - this is the 2nd or 3rd draft of an prologue that I'm not sure I'm going to use for the purpose I intended. After some overhauling, poking holes, filling holes, and setting development, the novel for this year's NaNoWriMo has slid sideways out of the setting/plot that would have used this prologue. I might use it another time, but not for this novel. 

---

Space is a song yet to be sung,

Light is a story, awaiting a tongue.

You who have walked where I've never dwelled,

Shall hear as I tell you all I've beheld.

Who am I to tell you what no mortal ear

Would ever, could ever, be fit to hear?

I am a Star, and what I have seen

Is stuff of your dreaming, and all that can mean.

And so, here's my challenge; if you so dare

To write down this story and its wonder share.

Remember this tale and believe, my dear youth,

For all I shall tell you from here on is truth.

So says the star, barely audible over birdsong outside the window on a chill, early autumn morning.

​My morning meal is cold as I write this, and I must use short-hand simply to keep up with what the star whispers in my ear. Either I am going insane or this is the greatest thing that has ever happened to me. A scribe with little work, great aspirations, and rather empty coffers, I am not one to turn down inspiration when it gift-wraps itself for me. The morning sun has cleared the horizon now and the star is quiet again. I can only pray that when I break my morning fast tomorrow before dawn the star will deign to continue its tale.

You may not believe what I've written here. I hardly believe it myself. Perhaps when we have heard more, we will believe.

Perhaps not.

Please find enclosed the first chapters of what promises to be a tale for the ages, for no tale yet was told by a star.

No tale heard by men, that is.

Unexpected Hiatus

I took a look at my blog and realized that I somehow missed scheduling posts for October. Then I remembered beginning the process of sending off short stories to magazines for publishing and then writing the outline for this year's NaNo novel and commissions and things...

So, yeah.

No real reasons here. Only excuses and explanations. But I have something to make it up to you. Here's what's going to happen. I'm going to back-post the last two weeks (because I don't like gaps in my history - it's like retroactive guilt) and schedule posts for the next month and a half (because NaNoWriMo happens next month, and I doubt I'll remember ANYTHING).

Thanks for your patience, guys. I'm on this.

Dreamwalker and Seer

You might remember Jhett from another of the stories posted here - he's a personal favorite of mine, because he's so adaptable to different settings. In this case, I've paired him with another character that was developed more recently (you'll see her again later on, I'm sure) to see what would happen. More on the character mash-ups later. I have ideas about this.

*Back-posted on Oct. 18.

---

The girl woke to complete darkness. She could still see the wounded, bleeding man before her eyes, reaching for her, pleading for help - but his wounds were so gruesome that she couldn't choke back the rising panic in her throat. She screamed. It was a short, muffled sound, but it was loud in her ears. Ester clapped her hands over her mouth, heart pounding. She could hear someone moving nearby, felt the curtain sway, then grow tight at her side as someone fell against it, the curtain rod overhead creaking slightly with the strain. Her mind was still filled with the image of the man from her dream, and it was a struggle not to scream again. What came out was a sort of whimper.

"Ester, it's me. It's okay. It was only a dream." Jhett sounded half asleep. His words were slurred and she could tell by the difficulty he was having with getting up that he was tangled in the curtain.

"Jhett." Her voice broke with relief. Not the man from her dream. It was Jhett, and Jhett was safe. In a minute, having flailed about until the curtain was out of the way, Jhett took a seat beside her on the sleeping furs and put an arm around her.

"It was just a dream," he repeated soothingly, which she found somewhat ironic. She swallowed a hysterical laugh and pressed her face against the curve of his arm.

"Nothing is 'just' a dream. You're not 'just' a person and I'm not 'just' a girl, any more than Quinn is 'just' a dragon." Ester felt herself beginning to shake a little. It was too vivid to be "just" a dream, but she didn't want it to be a vision. She didn't want people to get hurt like that. "Tell me a story?" she asked, still shaking, even as she tried to calm herself down.

"You know I'm no good at telling stories. You just go back to sleep and I'll help you dream something nice."

Ester hesitated. "Are you sure? I think it'll come back if I go back to sleep now..."

"Go ahead. I'm a dreamwalker, remember? And if I'm right here, I can slip right in, no problem."

She still wasn't convinced. "If I go back to sleep now, he'll come back-"

"Who?"

"The man in my dream. He was hurt, and I couldn't help him."

"I can take care of him. Don't worry." He was rubbing her back, and slowly, she relaxed under his confident tone and gentle touch. "You just sleep now. I've got you."

It was hard to tell when they had shifted from sitting to lying down, or when drowsiness turned to sleep. Ester didn't try to fight it - at least, not has hard as she could have - and it seemed only a short time later that she was facing the injured man again. The space around her was dark, but she could see his face as clearly as if there were a lantern shining full on him, the light reflecting off the blood.

But then Jhett was beside her, hand extended. "Water. We'll need to wash him off first." There was a heavy water skin hanging from her belt. Ester passed it to him, admiring the rich brown of the leather, the coarse visual texture of the cork. She watched as Jhett bent over the man, cleaned the blood from his face, and, ripping a strip of fabric from the hem of his shirt, bound his wounds tightly. A man in a pale green uniform approached swiftly, his face haggard, but smiling.

"Thank the gods this mess is nearly over," he commented aloud to the three of them, and knelt to examine Jhett's work. "It's rough, but it'll hold until we can get him to a clinic." Jhett retreated a little and wrapped an arm around Ester's shoulders as a low-slung dragon wearing a pale green banner between his horns and matching harness. The dragon, too, looked tired, his legs spattered with mud and grime, his wings drooping somewhat.

"Can you carry this one, Mok?" The man in the uniform looked at the dragon with touching concern, but the dragon nodded firmly.

"One more, ten more - twenty more, if that's what it takes. At least now the treaty's been signed, folk will stop getting hurt." There was a measure of relief in that statement, mixed in equal parts with exhaustion.

"You two have done good work. Now evac with the rest of the civs, and let us do our work." The uniformed man heaved his patient up onto the dragon's back and strapped him into the harness. It was an unmistakable dismissal, and Ester was more than ready to take it, though her gaze lingered on the dragon, who was now striding purposefully away, his sinuous tail swaying through the air like a snake. Something about that had to do with Jhett... but she couldn't think what.

"Come on, Ester. Let's go." His arm tightened around her and she glanced into his face. He was smiling and confident.

The hiss of steam in the distance told her a train was pulling into the station. She knew without needing to ask that they were going to get on that train, and it was going to take them away from this place.

"Okay. I trust you." His hand was warm as she held it between her own.

The train whistle blew. Jhett guided her toward the sound. "I'll do whatever I need to keep you safe." His promise was quiet, but her ears were keen.

"Thank you, Jhett."

"No worries. That's why I'm here."

It's Not Love

This is another of the short stories I wrote for that flash fiction contest back in August/September. Of course, as soon as the submissions were closed, I came up with several complete stories that were better than the one I submitted. *sighs* Oh well. Such is life.

*Backposted on Oct. 18.

---

Jack moved through his silent apartment, unbuttoning his jacket as he entered the bedroom, sliding it off his shoulders and hanging it carefully before he sat down to take off his boots. They would need to be polished again, especially if he was to see the governor at the social in two days. He had only just leaned down to take off his boots when he saw a faint sparkle from the shadow beside the leg of the bed frame. He paused a little, staring at the spot and moving his head slightly back and forth, trying to identify the source of the spark of light. It was reflecting off of something, but... what? At length, he leaned to the side and stretched to reach the spot. It was difficult, since the space was very small and his hand was... not. But he managed to squeeze his fingers into the gap and scoot the shiny thing out into the open. ​

It was a bracelet. At least, he thought it was. The chain was short and gold (maybe brass?) and the clasp was bent. He had it in his hand, curled in his palm like a tiny gold snake, before he remembered here he'd seen it. On her wrist. She had been on his bed (unwise, that) with her hair all tousled, her eyes red from crying, hugging his pillow - and the glint of gold on her wrist as she reached for him, for comfort.

The memory hit him like a 2x4 to the back of the head. He had a hard time breathing as his heart attempted to explode. It hurt to remember a time when he had been so... so close to her. Elbows on his knees, he cupped his face in both hands. The bracelet fell to the floor with a soft, tinkling clatter.

It wasn't love. It had never been. Love didn't die like that. Love didn't leave him feeling empty and hurt when she was standing there reaching out to him, trying to help. Love wouldn't do that. Love wouldn't feel like this.

But it hurt.

He had hurt her, and he hated to look of confusion and pain in her eyes.

"Are you saying you don't love me anymore?"

"I'm afraid so."

He had only said so two days ago. It felt like an eternity. ​But in his mind's eye, he saw the fire roaring up around the house - the fire he hadn't seen until it was too late. The screams of the children being held back by their father. Mommy, come out. Mommy, the house is burning. Mommy, please don't die. He felt the pain in his chest spasm, then turn to ice. He wouldn't let it happen again. If he'd been faster, if he'd been more observant, if he'd done something different. It had been so hard being away from her. All his spare time had gone into figuring out how to ask her father for her hand in marriage.

No more. He wouldn't let it happen. It all hurt too much, anyway. He didn't love her anymore, if he ever had. It hadn't been real love. It had died too quickly. It hurt too much.

Heavily, eyes aching with unshed tears, he moved over to his desk. A fresh sheet of paper. A new fountain pen.

Valerie,

I'm sorry. I don't think I can say that enough.

I hate that I hurt you. I hate seeing the look in your eyes every time I think about you.

I hate knowing that I put that look there.

It's not your fault. It never was. I didn't know what I was doing. Didn't know what I felt.

It was wonderful, what we had. I enjoyed being with you. I wanted to stay with you forever.

I see that Edmund has been walking you home from the school at night.

I hope you find someone to be happy with again. You deserve to be happy.

I can't imagine a world in which I don't care for you as much as I do right now. I want you to be happy,

and I want you to know that you will never be any less important to me than you are right now.

That will never change. Not as long as I am me.

Please smile again. Please find a reason to be happy.

The world is not right without your smile.

Yours always,

Jack

​What else could he say? Would he ever even send this one? Probably not. With a sigh, Jack folded the paper and slid it quietly into the box with the letter to her father that he would also never send. Everything hurt. Now, more than ever. He left the bracelet on the floor and made his way into the kitchen in his stocking feet. The whiskey bottle was half empty. Not a good sign. But what else could he do? He poured himself a glass and popped the cork back into place, putting it away for the night. At least it would take the edge off.

"I hope this doesn't become a habit." Jack tipped his head back, draining his glass in one go and hardly tasting the alcohol at all. Setting the empty glass on the counter, he retreated to the bedroom again and did his best to forget about everything until tomorrow, when work would start all over again. The world would keep going, whether he wanted it to or not. It was best to be ready for it. Whether he wanted to be or not.

He took off his trousers and pulled on sleeping clothes, crawling into bed without another word. But he thought about a heart-shaped face, framed with red hair, and fell asleep looking into sad, confused green eyes.

Dreamwalker in the Snow

For a writing contest, I was challenged to create a flash fiction piece in under 1000 words. I have a really hard time fitting beginning-middle-end into that space, so instead I ended up with a bunch of snippets like this.

---

Dreamer walk and children sleep,

Nightmare watch and starlight keep.

Bring the visions bright and new

For futures yet unknown to you.

The song was an old one and familiar, one of the Teaching Ballads they used to have the children memorize on long winter nights, when the world slumbered about them and the Others seemed so much closer than in the bright light of day. There was something about the icy stars on a night when one's breath clouded the air that seemed as close as the nearest rooftop. 

Jhett shivered a little and rubbed his arms, lowering his gaze from the stars overhead to look around at the rest of the little gathering. There wasn't a soul here over 12 winters, other than their instructor, the old bard Mathius. Each of the children, boys and girls alike, were staring upward, held by the spell of Mathius' deep, authoritative voice. 

Seeing into sleeping minds,

You never know what you may find.

Feeler, Fighter, Walker too,

Bring to Dreamers what is true.

Jhett watched the clouds of steam hand in front of the mouths of those around him, and turned his attention to the houses of the village, half-buried in snow. The world was a thing of silver and white, too vast to hold in one small place. But for this instant, all that truly mattered were the Dreamers Jhett could sense behind each dark window, each locked door. 

It is your duty, you who Dream

To choose and take the path you glean

From stars that keep and songs that stay

In mind from day to night to day.

He would help the Dreamers. He would study the stars as the master instructed. Mathius was a good bard, and taught all the children what he thought they needed to know. And it was enough. 

Mathius looked over the heads of the children and met Jhett's gaze. He smiled slightly, and started a new chant. It would be the last for the night. Jhett could feel a Nightmare moving at the very limit of his senses.

Deep in the night-time, stars spinning overhead,

Rain on the night breeze, children in their beds,

​Shadows keeping watch over little human hearts,

Eyes always guarding the pieces and the parts.

There's nothing in the slumber that to the danger calls.

Nothing in the sleeping that causes pits and falls.

But something in the night-time, in the darkness creeps;

Over hearts and minds, into dreams it leaps.

We call this thing the Jester, for he needn't do you harm.

You are just susceptible to his songs and wily charm.

He tricks you into seeing things you never saw before;

Opening dark windows, unlocking hidden doors.

Let the Walker guard the door, Feeler choose the way,

Fighter come do battle when the Nightmares choose their prey.

Make the Dreamers safe at night, learn to work as one

To show the Dreamer what we see the stars have said will come.

When the Dreamer's sleep you guard and paths illuminate

Be careful not to take the place of Destiny or Fate.

The Jester will make sweet the plans of Nightmare or of youth,

Whose gifts are often tainted with that twisted, Shadowed truth;

Control is sweet as nectar when its reins are in your hand,

But nectar turns to bile when control is in command.

Choose wisely then, young Walker, Feeler, Fighter, all,

And think of what will catch you when at last you fall.

There​ was a moment of silence after the old bard had finished his chant, while all of the children digested the lesson it contained. Jhett glanced around at their faces, and saw most of them staring contemplatively at their own toes. 

"Will you remember this lesson, when I see you again tomorrow night?" challenged Mathius, and the whole class jumped at the sound of his voice, too wrapped up in their own thoughts to realize he was still watching them. 

"Yes, sir." Jhett was the first to speak, and he lifted his chin stolidly to show he meant it. Mathius smiled. 

"Good. What is your duty?" His keen gaze swept over the group, and they answered together;

"To protect the Sleepers." 

"Excellent." The flash of Mathius' white teeth in the twilight assured them that they had answered well. "Now, your homework." The class groaned as one, which only prompted the old bard to laugh. Jhett listened with half an ear, but turned his head a little to look at the houses about them, buried to their window sills in snow. They looked at him like dark eyes in the night, and he could sense the Sleepers inside their walls, safe and secure. 

"Now, get out of here, you underfed hatchlings," chuckled Mathius as his class grumbled about their assignment. "The dawn will come early, whether you're ready for it or not." Jhett stuffed his chilled hands into his pockets and started to follow the others toward their shared bunk house. It would be warm, at least. 

"If we protect the Sleepers, who protects us?" One of the younger girls was asking the bard plaintively, and Jhett paused to listed to the answer. 

"I do, little one. Now off to bed with you, and I'll keep the Jester away." 

Jhett smiled. Yes. Protecting the Sleepers was worth it. He would make Mathius proud. 

Carol's Story; Epilogue

And this is the end! The epilogue, actually, but close enough! Thank you for sticking with me through this adventure!
This also marks the very first time I've stayed on a single story (on this blog, at least) for more than a month! This is Week #10 - that's 2.5 months! o.o I'm so persistent, and I never even knew it.

---

"And that's all there is to it." Carol finished her story with a shrug, smiling in spite of the spreading bruise on her face. She could feel Jake's hand around her own and it was such a comfort to know that if there was a monster over the next dune, he would be at her side. It was better like this, in so many ways. 

The man shook his dark head slightly, looking impressed. It was very satisfying to know she'd given him something to admire about her very own self, though she wondered if this was really the way it would have worked out the best. Were there other ways she could have accomplished this? Maybe. Did it matter? Not really. 

"You're amazing, did you know that? I mean, I must have told you that at least once." He gave her hand a squeeze, and Carol felt her face grow warm, but before she could reply properly, she heard something to their collective left, a rustling in the dune grass. Thoughts of human-faced spiders and giant lion monsters made her heart beat faster. The grass waved wildly for a moment - more than long enough for her imagination to invent a hundred new beasts coming to eat her - and then a smallish creature tumbled out of the tall stalks onto the sand near their feet. It looked like a cat, except its fur was all gleaming gold, and it teeth were silver like polished steel. Despite how cute it was, Carol didn't feel at all relieved. 

"That's... not a natural creature." The cat thing was shaking its head, looking dazed and upset. When it saw them, it mewled hungrily and staggered to its too-big paws, stumbling toward Jake to sniff at his pant leg. 

"It looks like a lion cub." Jake sounded awed, but he wasn't entirely sure what to do with the thing as it reared up on its hind legs, pawing at his leg plaintively. It was scrawny and in bad need of a bath. "Where's your mama, little one?" As he started to crouch, intending to touch the cub, Carol's hand tightened convulsively around his. 

"I think we should go. That thing's mom might be around here somewhere, and that would be bad news for us." 

"I think it's alone, Carol." He gave her an encouraging smile, then released her hand. Just losing contact with him in that small way shot a spike of fear through her. 

"But you know what this means, don't you?" Hastily, she stepped behind Jake as he crouched to fondle the cub's ears, checking it over for ticks or whatever it was that he did when he found strays. "This means we're not home. We're still somewhere monsters live and things want to eat us instead of just steal all our income." 

Jake was still for a moment, but she could feel that his back was still relaxed under her hand. He wasn't tense or afraid, though she thought he should be. Maybe he hadn't had to face down as many monsters in the past 24 hours as she had. 

Starting with the cheesecake devil, she reflected, and smiled a little at the thought. "We should go, Jake. Maybe we can find somewhere safe to-"

"No." Jake straightened, and now he had the cub in his arms. It hooked its paws over one of Jake's shoulders and tried to climb him like a tree, wanting to perch on his shoulder like a pirate's parrot. The man winced, but held on until the cub settled. "If there's one thing I've learned from this, it's that it's never worthwhile to leave an innocent behind. We'll find somewhere safe to sleep and see if we can catch something to feed to this little guy." He studied her with eyes so steady they were like an anchor to Carol's quaking heart. He stabilized her. 

"You're... probably right. If this place is anything like what the Sphinx had mocked up, then it's going to be like one of those stories, where if you're nice to the bees, they help you find the princess later on." 

From the strange look Jake gave her, it was clear he had no idea what she was referring to. With a shake of his head and a crooked smile, he gave her a nudge and nodded toward the hills further inland. 

"We'll be better off finding shelter away from the beach. We'll take things as they come, and no matter what, we'll face it together. Right?" He looked so confident, so self-assured, that she couldn't help but believe him. Carol grasped his hand with a watery smile. 

"Right." 

They walked silently for a while, weaving their way between the dunes and staying out of the dune grass as much as possible to spare Jake's bare feet. The cub, though squirmy at first, eventually calmed down and even went to sleep in Jake's arms. Carol watched it for a while. Jake had been right. It was an innocent, no matter how dangerous it (potentially) was. 

By the time they reached the inland hills beyond the dunes and the dune grass, it felt like they had walked several miles. Considering all they'd been doing over the past 24 hours, maybe they had. At the first relatively sheltered copse of trees, Carol threw herself down on the heaped pine needles with an exaggerated sigh of relief. Jake sat down beside her, and the cub woke from its nap, springing out of Jake's arms to chase what looked like an ordinary squirrel. 

"Maybe he'll catch it, and then we won't have to feel him." Carol grinned tiredly up at her... what was he now? She propped herself up on her elbows. They would need to talk about this one way or another. "What are we, now? I mean... 'friends' doesn't cover it. Not anymore." 

There was an expression of surprise on Jake's face as he glanced at her, then he smiled. "No, it doesn't." For a moment, the silence settled between them, comforting and warm like a blanket. Accepting. Words weren't necessary. Good, but not needed right this very instant. It was nice. 

Finally, Jake spoke again. "We both could have died today. It would be stupid not to say it." 

"Say what? That we might have died?" 

"No. That I love you." 

Carol stared at him. She felt like the world was tipping on its side, like an enormous plate. Not that she hadn't suspected - even hoped! But to actually hear him say it was a horse of an entirely different color. 

"I... love you, too." It was surprisingly easy to say. All the stories made it sound like it was this huge struggle to say for the first time, especially when one was caught by surprise. But this felt... like a release. Carol smiled. "Thank you. I mean... for... everything." When he smiled back, she felt warm inside. Then she decided it was time to lie down, because her head was spinning. Right. Still hadn't found water. 

"I don't know about you, but I'm really thirsty. And hungry. Survival is a blast. Love it." 

Jake laughed quietly. "We'll survive. Give me a couple minutes, and I'll see if I can find something."

Carol's Story; Part 3

Things were... better now. Carol took a deep breath, one hand tracing the wall, and followed the turn to the left. There was a pattern, the Minotaur had told her. A pattern to the turns that would take her into the center of the Labyrinth, where the exit was. There was also a pattern to where the monsters tended to hide, though they could move, and often did. 

The Minotaur, once he'd put his ax away, had actually been a very decent fellow, and while he couldn't actually tell her how to get out of this place, he had been able to give her some solid pointers. 

Pick a wall and stick with it. Don't second-guess yourself, just go for it. No matter which wall you pick, you'll eventually reach a place that will help you. If you last that long, then you'll do just fine.

For a bull-man, he had a nice smile. Carol shook her left hand a little, then returned to trailing her fingers lightly along the stone. It made her hand tingle, after a while, but it was good to have some idea of what she was doing in here. Her main priorities would be food, water, and weapons. Anything else was more or less extra. 

She had asked him if he wasn't supposed to be the scary thing in the center of the Labyrinth, like in the old stories, but the Minotaur had laughed. 

Maybe back in the old days that's what it was like, but the Guardian position is managed by the Sphinx, and he's more interested in keeping you lot alive than in feeding you to the monsters.

That was comforting, in a lot of ways. 

​Something moved in the shadows ahead, and Carol paused a moment, trying to figure out what it was. There were gaps between the torches on the walls, wherein shadows collected like discarded laundry in the corners of her bedroom. Ahead of her, near the next corner (not all of them were right angles, which was a relief, but a large proportion of them were). The person or monster in the corridor ahead wasn't as big as the Manticore or even as large as the Minotaur. More human-shaped, but somehow too... long. 

While she stood there, trying to figure out whether or not the figure ahead was a threat, it started to move toward her, and she realized immediately that there was something off about the way that the thing moved. Well, by "off," she meant "not human." Rather than walking, like the Minotaur had, or like she did, it - there was no other word for it - glided. She heard the dry rasp of scales against stone, and felt the memory as though it were a physical thing, pushing at the back of her mind in an urgent plea for attention. Standing in the sun with her father, leaning over the pile of rocks, listening to the snakes nesting inside, hiding from them because they were big and loud. It was the same sound. 

Hear that, Carrie? That means there are snakes in there. They might be rattlers, and that could be bad for you and me, right love?

Carol felt herself react, even though she hadn't actually thought through what that meant. If there was a snake that big in here, then it could eat her whole, and could probably move faster than her in any case. Already she was turning, starting to flee -

"Wait!" The voice brought her to a standstill. It was sweet and young and not at all what she expected from a man-eating monster. Carol half turned, looking over her shoulder at the approaching monster and wondering to herself if this was smart at all. Was anything in here safe? The Minotaur had been alright....

"Please, do you know where I can find water?" The figure was moving into the light now, and she saw that the monster was a young woman from the waist up, clean and well-dressed. Her face was heart-shaped, but the large, dark eyes were concerned, the pale brow furrowed with concern. From the waist down, though, or at least what Carol could see below the hem of the girl's long brown tunic (belted tastefully just under her bust - she would need to remember that style if she ever got out of here) there were large, overlapping scales and a single sinuous tail, weaving to and fro on the smooth stones as she slithered nearer. Some kind of a snake monster, but not a monster in the way that Carol had ever used the word before now. The woman stayed where she was, torn by indecision. How was she supposed to deal with this? 

"Um... no. I haven't found any water yet." Carol was surprised to note that her voice didn't shake at all, which was a nice change from the squeaking and unintentional screaming that she'd subjected her listeners to earlier. The snake-girl stopped, looking disappointed. 

"I was hoping someone would know where the water was," she admitted, and her tone was so downcast that Carol found herself taking a step toward her, wanting to comfort the poor girl. She didn't sound much older then fourteen or fifteen, though she looked older than that. Maybe she was an "early bloomer," as her mother would have said. Younger than she looked. 

"The ones that know where the water is won't tell you, that's for sure," she pointed out with a faint smile. "But maybe we can help each other. You came from that direction and didn't see any water, right?" Carol pointed unnecessarily back the way the snake-girl had come. The girl nodded uncertainly. "Which turns were you taking?" 

At this, the snake-girl recoiled a little, looking more than a little nervous. "What do you mean?" 

"I mean, did you always turn left, or did you always turn right?" Carol was beginning to think that the girl was in the same position that she herself had been in until a few minutes ago, running blindly through the maze, looking for a safe place. 

Before the girl could answer, there was a low hiss from the way she had come. In a moment, something low and scuttly, with too many legs, rounded the corner and started toward them, hissing excitedly. 

"Run!" Carol didn't hang around to see if her new companion had taken her advice. Pivoting toward the way she'd come, a decision passed briefly through her mind to just skip this turning for now. If necessary, she could backtrack later. She'd almost made it to the second corner when she heard the scream. She knew that sound. It was the sound of a girl in pain. She'd been making that sound not very long ago, when she was face to face with a Manticore. Carol skidded to a halt and looked back. The snake-girl, face contorted with pain, was straining to get away from the thing with too many legs - a thing which was holding her tail between its pincers. 

There was a moment of agonizing indecision, where she wasn't sure what to do. But she knew what Jake would do, if he were here in her place. With a groan and a feeling of imminent pain, Carol turned back and started running toward the monster. She had clearly just lost whatever marbles she'd had. But at least she was losing them for a good cause. As she passed the girl's upper half, still leaning forward and straining against the weight holding her back, Carol saw the look of stunned surprise on her face, her mouth partially open and showing several sharp teeth. Then Carol was past her, pelting along beside the length of her huge, scaly tail. The monster that was holding her looked something like a crab, with wicked claws and a weirdly leonine face. What was it with Greek monsters and having faces that didn't belong to them? 

A second after that somewhat disturbing thought went through her mind, she collided with the beast, which was apparently just as surprised as the girl it was holding, because it didn't immediately move to attack her. Instead, as she collided with it, it released the snake tail it had been holding, and flipped over backwards, landing with a weird, unpleasant crunch on its back. 

Unfortunately, Carol's forward momentum threw her forward with the monster, and she landed on its belly, between the flailing, claws legs. The monster shrieked, making her ears ring and her head ache, and the many-jointed legs curled in on her, its claws catching at her clothes and hair and slicing into the first layers of her skin. When it realized that she was there (which took about as long as it took Carol to realize this had been an absolutely terrible idea) the monster started to claw at her more intentionally, digging the razor points deeper into her flesh. And just as Carol started to fill her lungs for a proper scream, hoping to stun the creature long enough to wriggle free, a pair of hands grabbed her legs, and she felt herself yanked free. 

Carol slid off the monster's belly with a very undignified noise that wasn't really a scream and definitely wasn't a squeak (but it sounded a lot like a squeak). Then she was looking up into the face of the snake girl, who was pale and scared-looking. 

"Run," wheezed Carol, whose eyes were starting to water with pain. She felt like she'd done a swan-dive into a blackberry thicket, and none of this was at all helpful to getting on her feet and moving. The snake girl, though, was surprisingly helpful, pulling her upright and starting them moving away from the monster. When Carol glanced over her shoulder, the thing's legs were still waving frantically in the air, and it was squealing like a wounded rabbit. 

When they were far enough away from it that they couldn't hear the horrendous noise it was making, Carol stumbled to a stop and leaned against the wall. "Okay. Okay. I need time to breathe. And figure out what we're doing, other than wandering aimlessly through a giant maze, looking for food and water." 

"I don't think trying to avoid getting eaten is completely aimless," muttered the snake-girl, looking a little defensive. 

Carol might have replied, but they were interrupted by something she hadn't at all expected to hear in this place. Music. She glanced at her companion, half checking to see if she heard it too, and half warning her to be silent. It seemed the second was completely superfluous, but it was better to make extra sure than to not and regret it later. 

Drifting on the still air, the sound of strings being plucked in what might have been an African sort of rhythm reached them faintly from afar. Honestly, Carol couldn't identify it, but it sounded like something she might hear in a restaurant, playing in the background under other peoples' conversations. She glanced at the snake-girl again and raised her eyebrows. 

"Think we should check it out?" she asked in a hushed whisper. Rather than answering yes or no, the snake girl just looked uncertain. 

"Are you sure it would be safe?" Her rebuttal was completely legitimate. 

"No more unsafe than staying here, I think," Carol decided, and nodded a little. "Come on, then. We'll just... stay quiet." 

"Like we would do anything else." 

They traded a quick smile. Carol was somewhat surprised to find that she already regarded this half-snake person as a friend. Trauma bonded people in unusual ways. As silently as they could manage, the two girls moved along the corridor, following the sound of the music. Rounding another corner cautiously, they heard some sort of breathy reed instrument (a wooden flute, maybe?) join the tune, underscoring a melody that seemed more and more like a lullaby. When the woman noticed that she was beginning to have trouble keeping her eyes open, she started to suspect the music was bad. 

"You feeling tired?" she asked, and muffled a huge yawn. It had been a long day, and it wasn't even sundown yet. At least, she didn't think it was. It didn't feel like it. Then again, that was a ridiculous thought - who knew if this crazy place even had a sun? They were underground. "This music is... funny...." Carol trailed off into silence and found that she was standing still. When had that happened? The snake-girl (she really needed a name, but they hadn't really had time for introductions) was ahead of her now, and turned back to look at her with a frown. Then, in growing alarm, she slithered back, her eyes wide in her pale face, one hand outstretched. 

"Don't go to sleep! This place isn't safe for sleeping!" 

Wasn't safe for anything. Silly girl. Carol swayed a little, disoriented by how sleepy she felt. The girl's hand on her arm steadied her a little, but didn't rouse her tired mind at all. 

"It's the music. It's making you tired. Come on - we need to get away." 

As the girl pulled her away from the music, half supporting her weight and half propelling her along on her own legs, Carol wondered to herself if the trap had been laid for humans alone, or if this was simply a fluke that snake-people weren't affected. 

"You will find another ally." The voice was familiar​, and Carol searched her mind for the memory. Something about cheesecake? She staggered and fell as the girl released her suddenly, and the stone floor slammed painfully against the side of her face, momentarily waking her again. With a yelp of pain, she rolled up into a sitting position and cradled the side of her scraped face, wincing. 

"Sorry." The snake girl bent down to help her up again. "I didn't mean to- I mean... that voice startled me and I-" 

"Do not worry, little one. You will find a new ally." The voice spoke again, nearer this time. The music swelled, and Carol was swamped with sudden drowsiness. Vaguely, she thought she saw a figure approaching from down the hall. The snake girl's long tail coiled around Carol's waist, and for some reason this didn't make her at all nervous. She knew, in the way a dreamer knows, that she was only trying to protect her. 

"What are you going to do with her?" 

"I am here to take her out of the Labyrinth. Her freedom has been won for her by one dear to her." 

"And... what about me?" 

Maybe it was Carol's imagination. The girl's tone was almost painfully wistful. She felt bad for her. She didn't want to leave her behind. 

"Your cunning will serve you well. Water is near. Do not lose hope." Something heavy and soft came to rest on her shoulder. A paw. A really big paw. Carol blinked sleepily up at the figure. The Sphinx. With the collar. She blinked again, and this time things wouldn't come into focus. It would be so much easier not to fight it anymore. Carol let her eyes close again and didn't bother trying to open them again. He was taking her out of here. Someone had rescued her. Jake? She hoped so. 

The paws lifted her, and she was so close to sleep, she didn't even think that lions couldn't carry things like that.