The title pretty much says it all. Here’s a snippet from a draft that may as well be seen, because who knows when it’ll come to fruition?<\/p>\n
–<\/p>\n
Shale\u2019s hooves thump against the ground. The field is nothing. Dirt and roots break under every steady hoof for miles and miles on end. The snow rolls in ridges and craters from where it\u2019s filled undone earth. It\u2019s as if the cloudy sky crashed down in swathes of churned dead gray and fascia white, meaning what they\u2019re walking on must not even be land at all. It\u2019s a corpse. Hugo sees the same scenery no matter where she turns her head, and it\u2019s all the same. She thinks that no humans could have done this. They are not possibly so powerful they can create this distortion; rend this land until it\u2019s so out of reach. This must have been the battleground of dragons. This field is a setting in tales of draconic warlords.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Then Hugo sees little feathery tips sticking out of the snow, cast about as if they were the same as the twigs buried in the snow. But there\u2019s no forest here. They\u2019re iced over arrows. Some are so shattered and strewn they\u2019re no better than splinters. Hugo flicks her eyes to Shale\u2019s hooves, the bumps in the snow, and feels the way she jostles in the saddle. There could be anything in the snow. Rusted spears crafted for human hands; ripped off chest plates forged for human figures. Rot. Bones. Hugo\u2019s mind flicks to Brutus.\u00a0<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Brutus.<\/span><\/i>\u00a0<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Hugo could have done this with her. Hugo should have done this. But this isn\u2019t the work of Derecho, it\u2019s the work of humans, and Hugo feels pressure building behind her skull. She wants to run, she thinks, and she doesn\u2019t know why. She keeps running to how this could have been her, but it wasn\u2019t her, wasn\u2019t even a dragon, should have been her, and all of it fills her lungs and makes her want to crumble to snow. Snow is a nothing of a thing, in her mind. She listens to the way it crunches beneath Shale\u2019s hooves, and to her it sounds like final, choked breaths. Maybe she heard the same sound in the moments when Brutus died. Felt it in the lightning and the reverberation of the ground. Maybe this is what Hugo choked on that day. But then why didn\u2019t Derecho choose her?\u00a0<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Why is she still here?<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Because she could never be chosen. She isn\u2019t enough\u2014 she\u2019s destined for too little, and anyone who\u2019s heard her sister\u2019s tale knows. Derecho saw the destiny flowing\u00a0through Hugo\u00a0and saw it wasn\u2019t incredible, nothing with luster nor impact, and showed the world just what a sorrow that is. Brutus was worth all her mother\u2019s grief and more. Even her death was bright. Hugo can only follow her, like back when they were young.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cFor the love of our sanity, be<\/span> careful,<\/span><\/i>\u201d Ailith spits out the words as if they were bile, \u201cThere\u2019s all sorts of sharp things in the snow here. Shale just nearly got speared and you didn\u2019t even blink.\u201d<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Hugo curses, \u201cI didn\u2019t mean to\u2014 I\u2019ll keep my eyes sharp.\u201d<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cSharp,\u201d Ailith huffs in passing, \u201cI\u2019m holding you to your word. Shale is, too.\u201d<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n With a nod, Hugo\u2019s guilt moves her hand to softly stroke Shale\u2019s neck. Right. She wouldn\u2019t forgive herself if Shale got hurt from her carelessness. She hopes whoever buys her after Hugo\u2019s gone will give her all the luxuries Hugo can\u2019t.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n For now, though, Hugo needs to make sure they make it. Ailith rides a little ahead as to get a view that isn\u2019t half Percheron flank, Hugo assumes, so she stays a bit back. If she were alone, she would run, but she has three lives around her she can\u2019t go on without. She bears the burning in her eyes from scouting the shining snow. <\/span> They can\u2019t go fast because then they\u2019ll up their chances of injury, but they can\u2019t go slow because of the sun. Getting caught out here in the darkness would either give the horses frostbite or, again, impale them. Hugo pats Shale again in apology.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n She begins to wonder how many horses died in the battle that took place here, but Hugo locks away the thought for Shale\u2019s and Lumber\u2019s sakes. It\u2019s a disturbing thought and she has to focus. She notices now that some of the large lumps beneath the snow are darker than others, and she avoids them without mind of what may be underneath. They must be getting into the real thick of it. Hugo sees the way Lumber\u2019s nostrils flare and Shale\u2019s ears perk.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cWhere\u2019ddya think they were headed to?\u201d Ailith cuts in. Hugo turns the question over in her brain.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" The title pretty much says it all. Here’s a snippet from a draft that may as well be seen, because who knows when it’ll come to fruition? – Shale\u2019s hooves thump against the ground. The field is nothing. Dirt and roots break under every steady hoof for miles and miles on end. The snow rolls … Continue reading “A Snippet From a Draft That May as Well be Seen.”<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":88,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[5,3],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/blog.msabrookhaven.org\/literary\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20810"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/blog.msabrookhaven.org\/literary\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/blog.msabrookhaven.org\/literary\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blog.msabrookhaven.org\/literary\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/88"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blog.msabrookhaven.org\/literary\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=20810"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/blog.msabrookhaven.org\/literary\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20810\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":20811,"href":"https:\/\/blog.msabrookhaven.org\/literary\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20810\/revisions\/20811"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/blog.msabrookhaven.org\/literary\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=20810"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blog.msabrookhaven.org\/literary\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=20810"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blog.msabrookhaven.org\/literary\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=20810"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}