…Mainly because I love that word, woe. I suppose Tuesday’s Teaser could just have easily been full of grace, the way the old song goes, but that probably wouldn’t have been nearly as accurate.
And, really, woe is just such a great word.
Anyway. Going full-bore on the WIP, still so swoonily happy with the work I’m doing that even I’m a bit sick of hearing me go on about it. It’s classic honeymoon phase, when you just can’t believe how wonderful everything is, and the wonderfulness of it all can only be expressed with lots of italics, and you have to tell everyone over and over again, and maybe you even pull a little of this:
–Or, well, maybe you just want to but it’s winter and you’re wearing layers, and also there aren’t really any hills around where you live, making it mercifully impractical. (And don’t feel obliged to listen to more than half a second of that: believe me, you’ll get the idea.)
The other shoe usually drops with impressive force from this state, so I’m just going to enjoy it while I can, mkay?
Anyway, a short teaser, and then I’ll go back to rubbing my hands with glee in between typing paragraphs.
Kyali drew her sword, heard the whisper of steel clearing sheaths all around her, and hooked her heels in the stirrups. Her pulse began to pick up. Her fingers clenched on the grip of the sword.
Snow, she told herself. Ice.
One day, if she kept trying and kept as far away from Devin and Jessica as she could, she might learn to feel nothing but cold. It was a worthy goal. It would be so much better than the fire waiting for her every night when she finally let herself sleep.
The crackle came closer. Closer.
Then the brush exploded, disclosing a man on horseback, a man doubled up in the saddle, clinging to the pommel and swaying loosely with every stride. Danyn Jerin’s-son rode close enough that Kyali could see the arrow, the blood coming from where he had his arm wrapped over his middle. His eyes locked on hers, full of a dazed distance that told her just how bad the wound was. She wrapped her fingers tighter around her sword and looked past him to where the trees were beginning to twitch and shudder and the sound of hoofbeats was rolling toward them.
Wedge formation, she signed, and took point without waiting for her men to move around her as the first of the Western band chasing her unlucky scout came rattling out of the woods.
They shouted, seeing her waiting for them, and raised shields. They never slowed.
“No prisoners!” she shouted, and kicked Ainhearag forward already swinging the sword. The first man died under the edge of her blade, still trying to get his sword into position.