Camp NaNoWriMo

BUT HEY.

I managed to make my goal for Camp this time around!  It was a teeny baby goal, but I made it, albeit just BARELY. 

*cue laughter again*

As you can see, I may have had quite the dry spell for the whole middle of April... But somehow, I made it, and although I don't feel like much progress was made, I am pleased with what was written (whether or not it'll stay in the story is another thing).  I still love the story and I still love my characters---it's the plot & climax that's giving me trouble... (Anyone else have this problem??)

The almost four chapters I worked on this past month for Camp turned out to be a refreshing twist in that the story turned more towards Brom's POV, whereas for a good portion of this draft, it was either from Noya's perspective, or that of the Beast.  Working with Brom is always a delight, and I'm finding myself now wishing to write HIS story... <333

But I digress.  Would you like some snippets??

Snippets!

She awoke chilled.

          Was it morning already? Her bleary sleep-heavy eyes attempted to adjust in the dim light from the fire in the hearth. It still blazed brightly, despite the dullness all around. But simply seeing the flames eagerly working through the logs to give warmth somehow cheered her despairing spirit. Strange that she felt so comfortable at the fire when the season of falling leaves had only now come upon them.

           But there was certainly nothing normal about this castle and its grounds.

          Movement caught her eye in the shadows, and she startled with a muffled scream—her own hand clamped across her mouth. But she immediately relaxed in relief as the figure materialized in the little light from the hearth.

          His expression held apology, though none left his lips. If anything, his gaze held far more sorrow than she had yet seen.

          “Emyr?” she whispered inquiringly. Had something happened in only the few hours or so she’d slept? She did not recall him moving to rise, nor covering her with the woven blanket. Neither could she remember if Eleniel had appeared, though the fresh bandage at her neck and shoulder attested otherwise—the Beast was yet clumsy with his current state of hands.

          He knelt before her, taking her hands in his own.

          Never before had she seen the determination in his features. Something lifted in her heart. Had hope been restored to him? Was he at last going to battle this blasted Curse?

          Regret stole into her. She had given up. How could she have done so?

          “Emyr—”

          “Noya,” his use of her name stopped anything further from leaving her lips.

          She gripped his hands more tightly, anticipation rising along with something else. My dear Beast.

          

Would she mourn for him?

          Perhaps.

          Hers was the gentle heart of one who cared far more than she should.

          Was that why he felt drawn to her?

          She reminded him of his mother, who loved the broken, the hurt—the monsters.

          With a soft growl, he shook his head at the unwanted memories. No use dwelling on them.

          Not now.

          Noya’s lovely freckled features and large hazel eyes came again unbidden to his mind.

         He recalled her shock upon hearing of that young man who was injured by Marduk’s demons. If he had survived, perhaps she had someone other than her own family to care for her. If the man had half a brain, he should ask for her hand as soon as she returned and keep her safe—or so help him, he’d come back as a half-spirit and haunt the mortal’s every night.

          That thought brought a smirk to his sharp features, despite it all.

          

Brom knocked lightly on the door, wondering if a response would come. The Cayne Estate was the largest house and grounds in the little town of Lakeside, and it’s well-crafted architecture and manicured landscaping held the rest of the residents’ houses and shopfronts to a high, yet simple, standard.

         He missed the bustling mains and overall rowdy atmosphere of Meyrn’s city port, but he couldn’t help but feel the peace and tranquility that such a township as Lakeside held.

          Still, if ever his life returned to some measure of normalcy, he found himself yearning for that bustle, and more still for the taste of salt water air and the feel of a ship beneath his feet. His hands itched from disuse. He was grateful for the mild carpentry work he assisted his father with for the town and distant neighboring villages, but he couldn’t help but wish for more. Those were projects he could accomplish in his sleep, he mused, not altogether too boastful, for he held an uncanny measure of skill.

          Oh, how he missed the sea!

          As the door opened, he was caught in the middle of a deep breath, unconsciously sniffing the gentle breeze for the desired saltiness—

          Instead, he met Mrs Cayne’s amused features. “I’m afraid I’ve no fresh sweets come from the oven yet, Mr Enlow,” she stated dryly, but not unkindly.

          His cheeks blazed, and he swept off his hat, recovering with a bow. “Good afternoon, Missus,” he greeted with a grin and a wink, like the rascal he was. “Did you say ‘yet’?”

“How—er, how is Noya doing? Have you heard from her at all?”

          If circumstances had been different, Brom would’ve laughed at his friend’s hopeful tone, which held possibly every ounce of nervousness the man felt in asking him after his little sister’s health. Lord knows that implies a certain interest.

        Before he could respond, Laomer had continued, his voice lowering as they drew closer to his mother’s realm and her humming. “Perhaps, in Meyrn, we could chance to visit her? I mean, of course—should our business there allow—er, for such a thing. Of course.”

          Brom hid the wave of sorrow he felt, the lie already forming on his lips. The great lady had encouraged him to have courage. To hope. She had said Noya had a part to play in this whole Beastly thing… Pun intended, he thought dryly. He just prayed with all his heart it wouldn’t cost her life, whatever it be.

          “We haven’t heard from her in weeks, unfortunately. What with the—raids—” he didn’t think Laomer caught his slight, almost non-existent hesitation, “—along the border, the mail couriers have taken all the necessary caution and decreased their routes for the time being.” Outwardly, he shrugged, but inwardly, he winced, the lies tearing at him. “As to a visit in Meyrn, I honestly cannot say.”

          A flash of disappointment crossed Laomer’s features briefly, but he nodded. “I understand.”

          This was probably the first real outing Laomer had taken since the severity of his injuries and the aftermath of the attack.

          However, would he sleep well tonight knowing how near the Wood lay?

          Brom prayed so.

         Laomer’s soft words broke through his thoughts in that moment, and he turned slightly to his friend, catching the tells of nervousness. Dread came then, and he knew Laomer wished to speak of Noya. I pity the fellow. Poor man.

          “Brom?” he began, turning the mug in his hands over and over, mindful of the handle.

          But before he could continue, movement at the Wood’s edge brought his hands to the short sword he kept ever near and his muscles on high alert. It was not yet dark enough that the shadows from those ancient trees reached far outward, as they often seemed to do in the deepening darkness, and the light from the fading sun clearly revealed a small figure.

          A girl.

          Dressed richly in a gown of soft red, and bearing a smile he would never forget.

          Her name refused to tear away from his throat, but he managed to choke it out, and lurched from his chair as if his sister would disappear should he even think to hesitate.

          In the mere seconds it took him to meet her, she too had run halfway tripping only once upon stepping from the treest, and he scooped her up with a yell, unsure whether he spoke intelligible words at all or if he was simply speechless or—blast it all—weeping with joy.

          They collapsed on the trodden grass and he cupped his little sister’s face in his hands, barely believing she was here and whole.

And there ya go. :]

I do hope you enjoyed these little tidbits!  It felt soooooo good to get back into writing Noya's story. 

Perhaps the next Camp NaNo will see more progress!

Talk to me!