Author Journey: January 20, 2023

 Welcome back to Robin's scenic route, fellow writers and readers. No matter whether you're following my writing journey, looking for something to jumpstart your own creative process, or just looking for a short story to read, I'm happy you stopped by. 

Author Journey: 

This past week...

Writer's Life: 

This past week, I learned...

Just Keep Writing: Friday Fascicles

If this is your first time participating in this kind of writing exercise, you're in for a treat. If you've done this with me before, just keep scrolling for the prompt.

Rules:

1. You can use any/all of the words and/or the photo in the prompt below to create a unique written work. Fiction or nonfiction, poetry or prose, even lyrics are acceptable.  
2. Please keep the material you write clean (ie. nothing R-rated or worse) if you wish to share the link to your work here, as well as if you link back to my site. I strive to keep my site free of such things. My readers know and expect this. I respect your right to write whatever you feel you need to write. And you're free to use my prompts. But if your material is graphic, I'd rather not view it, and most of my readers will not wish to. 
3. Have fun! This type of exercise is perfect for growing in the writing craft, or for helping through a rough patch in your current WIP. If you're looking to push your author limits and you normally write in nonfiction prose, try a whimsical collection of lyrics. If you normally write poems about real life events, try your hand at a fanfic. Give yourself some room to explore.

Don't forget to leave a link to your creation (unless you're writing graphic material) so my readers and I can check out your work. I'd appreciate a link back to this post to help me reach more readers, but it's not required. 

Photo by Mitch Lally

Please do visit Mitch's gallery at Pexels.com. You'll find some wonderful portraiture and landscapes if you do. Today's photo is the one which caught my attention. I love seeing different churches in different places. This one's in an unexpected place, it seems. I love it! 

Just Keep Writing: The Return

This is another of the stories I wrote during Nanowrimo back in November. It's not one of my favorites and would need a good bit of work to make it so. Still, I thought y'all might enjoy what I've got so far. It's another snapshot, so don't expect too much closure. Here are a few things you might like to know before you start reading...

• Brog’ha - (BROHG hah)
• Nainda - (NIGHN dǝ) a week on Y’Dahnndrya, nine days
• Gehrli - (GAIR lee) like saying ‘gal’ but not in a derogatory way…usually. 
• Oris’l Vanz - (OH rees ǝl VAHNZ)
• Byoru - (BYOR roo)
• Arv’n - (ARE vǝn)
• Senya - (SEHN yah) a Shinnoahn title of respect given to the master of an establishment, a council member, etc.
• Moy’ri - (MOHyi ree) - mother in Shinnoah

Brog’ha entered the small tavern expecting to find it busy. The suns had only just set and the nainda was coming to a close. And not only that, one of the festivals celebrated by these Shinnoahn locals was happening soon. Brog’ha didn’t often pass this way, but last he was here, there was a comely lass serving the patrons. He hoped to visit with the merry gehrli once again. 

A quick scan of the room revealed four total patrons, all well into their mugs. They’d be no help in finding the maid. He sat at a table near a front window and waited. He was nodding in the chair before the sound of the tavern door opening jerked him from the brink of sleep. 

“Ah!” slurred one of the drunken men across the room, as he raised his tankard. “’S Oris’l. Sight for sore eyes, y’are, lass!” His grin was non-threatening and the maid responded kindly. 

“Byoru, it’s good to see you, too. My apologies for being late.”

Brog’ha had forgotten the hypnotic effect of her sweet, smooth voice. He wondered what had kept her from her work. He didn’t have to think on it for long.

“What kept ya gherli?” The tavern master stepped into the main room from a door that must lead to the cook-fire. Savory scents wafted through in his wake. Brog’ha’s stomach grumbled. 

When she spun to face the large man, her long reddish-blond hair flew out around her in a curtain. She’d wrapped a green cloth edged with fine embroidery around her head to keep it from getting into her eyes, but it allowed the hair to cascade past her shoulders to the middle of her back in gentle waves which caught and reflected what little light there was in the room. Her skirt almost matched the flight of her hair as it flared out from her waist. She was a little bigger than other serving maids he’d come across, but that and her shining, smooth skin bespoke strength and healthy habits rather than laziness. 

“My apologies, Senya Arv’n. My moyri’s health is failing dawning by dawning. The healers have done all they can. They all say she is in the hands of the Holy Breath. May Tugansol have mercy on her! There were things they bade me do for her before I could leave home to come here.”

“If you can’t get to work on time, then you can just stay home. I’ve no use for unreliable workers.” The gruff rebuke coupled with the maid’s stiffened spine and look of shock stirred Brog’ha’s ire. But his was nothing compared to that of the lass. 

“Senya Arv’n,” she snapped, her cheeks aflame with her fury, “I have always been a faithful, efficient worker. I don’t skip work like some have done in the past. I’m never late until this dawning. And with one instance you aren’t happy with, you would send me away without my due pay? What kind of a Child are you?” 

She gestured wildly with her hands while she spoke. Brog’ha felt one corner of his lips tilt up in a smirk. He squashed it before it could fully grow into a broad smile. She was something else, this lass. He wished he knew her full name.

The man drew breath as his face darkened to a red so deep it was almost purple. Before he could spew more vitriol, Brog’ha decided he would help.

 

“If you send this lass away from her work after she’s gone to great lengths to come to work in spite of her moyri’s failing health, I’ll take my coin elsewhere.” He kept his tone even, his voice low, but firm.

“Who are you?” the man sputtered. “I don’t know you so why should I care whether you spend your coin here?”

Byoru spoke up again, the drunken slurring of before miraculously cured. “If you send that lass home and refuse her work after all she’s done for this place and you, Senya Arv’n, you’ll lose more coin than this stranger’s.” 

Brog’ha risked a glance at the maid and found her studying him with glassy eyes. He frowned. He hadn’t meant to make her cry. He only wanted to help. How could she care her moyri without coin?  She walked up to him and he had to look down to look into her eyes. Her short stature surprised and delighted him. 

“Byoru, I know well. But you,” she allowed her eyes to scan his length, “I don’t really know. Your face, though, I remember very well. You stopped in two tsimikin back, drank two mugs of ale, ate your supper and bedded down in the livery before traveling on. The beard is new,” she stopped and smiled. “I had just started working here.”

Brog’ha risked a small smile. “Your memory serves you well. I don’t often stop here, but I remembered your cheerful conversation from my last visit. I’ve had a rough go this round and needed some encouragement.”

“A pity, then, when it seems all is doom and gloom,” Senya Arv’n growled from behind the bar as he wiped several platters and stacked them roughly nearby. 

Brog’ha’s stomach growled louder than before, and he felt the heat climbing into his cheeks. 

“Oh, my. Well, we should get some food into you.” She turned, Brog’ha assumed, to go get something for him to eat. 

Senya Arv’n stretched one arm out, blocking her entrance to the back room. “I meant what I said gherli.” 

She stared at him for a long while. Then nodded roughly once. Spinning on one bare heel, she headed for the tavern door. Brog’ha collected his pack and noticed the other patrons tossing a coin or two to their tables, ready to follow the lass out the door. These were good men.

As they filed through the door, Senya Arv’n sputtered and cursed. It didn’t matter. None of them would be back. But what would happen to the maid?

Brog’ha waited until the men had said their farewells to the lass before approaching her. “What will you do now, lass?”

She looked away. “I’m not sure. Tugansol opened the door for me to work here when I needed it most. But this message from the Holy Voice can’t be ignored. Tugansol must have some other work for me to do. I just have to find it. How I’ll do that in time to pay our healer, I’m not sure.” Her voice trailed off. 

Brog’ha’s stomach growled again and he chuckled. “Well, it looks as if I’m still in need of a meal. I’d pay for it, if you’d be willing to prepare it.” 

“But where will you eat?” She seemed genuinely worried. 

“I’m used to eating outdoors as my life’s work takes me all over our beautiful world. I’m outside more than I am under a roof.” He chuckled and she smiled. “I can wait for the meal outside wherever you need to prepare it.” He hardly dared hope he would get to have that much needed conversation with her. How he needed more cheer in his dull, lonely life.

 After three heartbeats, she nodded and said, “Follow me. What’s your name?” 

“Everyone calls me Brog’ha. What should I call you?” 

“No family name, Brog’ha?”

He shook his head, then realized she was facing forward. “No. None that I claim.” 

When she still hadn’t replied, he prompted, “And your name?”

“Oris’l Vanz.” She sped through the streets and he had to work a little harder than he expected to keep up. She was full of surprises.

They reached a small stone hut on the outer edge of the village. A thin plume of smoke escaped the single chimney and drew his eye to the thatched roof in need of repair. 

The door clunking shut drew his attention to the fact that it now separated her from him. He sat under a nearby shade tree to wait. The music of the darkness swelled around him, night creatures wooing a mate or setting out on the hunt in pairs or groups. There must be a shallow stream nearby for he could hear the happy trickle of water running steadily over rocks. 

He nodded off again, in spite of his hunger. When he felt a nudge at his booted feet which he’d crossed at the ankles and stretched out in front of him, he woke with a start. Brog’ha looked up to see a vision of beauty and then remembered this was the serving lass he was fond of talking with. 

“Oris’l,” he sat up straight and continued, “my apologies. I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“You have nothing to apologize for. If an apology is needed, I should be offering it. I took far too long putting this meal together.” She handed him a platter not quite as large as those used to serve patrons at the tavern. He settled it across his thighs and hummed in appreciation of the savory smells coming from it. 

“It’s not much, but it will fill you up.”

“It’s perfect. I’m going to enjoy this. How much do I owe you?” He looked up to see her shaking her head. 

“It’s my fault you missed your meal. You owe me nothing.”

 

Before she finished he was scowling and shaking his own head. “I won’t eat it if you don’t let me pay for it. I can see you have troubles of your own to deal with. I’d rather not add to them, if you please.”

Her eyes turned glassy again in the silvery light of Dahl as that moon was shining brightly in the gathering dark. She was slow to agree, but she sank down next to him. “I will accept as payment a replacement of these goods. Your coin means nothing to me.”

He bowed his head in acceptance and resigned himself to staying in the village an extra dawning than he’d originally planned. It was possible he could find the healer and settle the account without her knowing. Then again, small villages like this made keeping secrets difficult. 

“If I stay in town longer, and if I provide my own goods, would you consider making meals for me? I have to eat somewhere and I know a little of your need, at least until you are able to find another place to work.” He may yet be able to help her.

To give her time to think it over, Brog’ha bowed his head to ask the Creator’s blessing over the food. Then he kept his focus on the delicious meal. He didn’t want to witness pain or distrust or any kind of negative emotion on her face where he was concerned. 

“I can do that, Brog’ha of Tugansol.” She sighed and gasped a wobbly chuckle at his look of surprise. “You are a true Child, aren’t you?”

“I suppose I am. I serve the Creator with my best effort, making sure I am following the tenets of the Holy Voice. So, yes. I think you could safely say that.” He adjusted his gaze to meet hers, then smiled.

Taking a huge chance, he said, “I’ll come back tomorrow with the goods I promised. I’ll also bring some items to work on your roof.” When she opened her mouth, eyes flashing in protest, he waved away her words. “I’ll be here, anyway, and while you certainly have friends, I hardly thing the four from the tavern are in any shape to help fix the roof of your home.”

She clamped her lips together so tightly, the color bled out of them. Then she shook off her annoyance. “Where will you stay?”

Brog’ha shrugged. He hadn’t originally planned to stay in the village. He thought he'd be camping somewhere further down the path. 

“Our barn isn’t in the best shape, but there’s hay aplenty for a somewhat comfortable, warm bed. You’re welcome to stay there, as long as you’re determined to fix our roof.” She bowed her head. When she raised her eyes again to meet his, tear tracks glistened on her cheeks, but she wore a smile. “I thank Tugansol for sending you when our need was so great.”

Brog’ha smiled, broadly this time. It was good to feel useful to the maid, to be able to return some of the good she’d done for him in the past. 

When he finished the dessert, a simple, unadorned sweet round cake about the size of his palm, he offered the platter back to her and rose. “I better get to this barn of yours. The suns rise early and so will I.” 

Smiling, Oris’l led him to his sleeping quarters. During the walk, he also lifted thanks to Tugansol. It would be a joy to work at a job for this person who had done so much for him and who had taken some pains to remember him. Life seemed less lonely, if only for a dawning or two. 

Who knew what further blessings Tugansol would bestow? The thought had Brog’ha smiling as he settled down to a peaceful sleep. 

Thank y'all for stopping by today. Your support and encouragement are so much appreciated. I hope you'll visit again next week. I'll have more beautiful writing prompts, book reviews, and perhaps another short story for your enjoyment. 

Until next time,

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