Weekend Writing Warriors – #8sunday

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Another week, another piece from In Pain and Blood releases. Got my candles done (or at least one of them). Just waiting for the labels and map posters. The extra short story has ballooned into a novelette.

Onwards to the piece for Weekend Writing WarriorsSnippet Sunday and Rainbow Snippets.

This piece skips a few dances from the last two weeks’ posts to the next chapter, where they’ve all returned to the tavern for dinner…

 

Dylan spun on his stool, leaning back on the table and listening to the music. A few minstrels had made their way inside as the daylight turned grey. They played softly, barely heard at times over the ruckus of a few nearby dicers, but the notes had been familiar. This new song was not.

A woman stood up near the minstrels and, as she plucked on a small lyre, Dylan heard Tracker humming a few bars. When the woman began to sing, so did the hound. Albeit, quietly.

Dylan listened to the song, twisting in his seat to hear Tracker better without the man knowing, and quickly realised why he’d never heard it before.

The song spoke of an innkeeper’s daughter who’d fallen in love with a rogue spellster. The man promised her a life where she would want for nothing, if only she would run off with him on the first night of the full moon.

Don’t forget to check out the other excerpts.

 

In Pain and Blood is releasing in December and is 50% off until then…ipab-promo2

32 thoughts on “Weekend Writing Warriors – #8sunday

    1. Given the years of mental and physical torture the King’s Hounds are put through… Tracker probably learnt that around age fourteen after being forced to watch/kill his lovers.

      On a lighter note, one of border collie’s can howl with his “inside voice”. But he also once managed a very clear “hallo” with a Scottish accent much to our amusement, so he’s probably not the best meter stick to judge by.

      Liked by 1 person

    1. Thanks.
      Honestly, I tried muddling through a few lines, but I suck at song lyrics and my singing is atrocious. Wound up half-writing a poem instead… At midnight, because that’s always a good idea.

      Like

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