Wednesday, 7 March 2018

Wednesday Snippet - I have never been nothing...

Guys. I can't tell you how good it feels to be working on a Blood Canticles book again! I feel so at home with Lola and Tris, it's like meeting two good friends for tea. Except my friends are trapped in another world. And the tea is probably poison, because that's just the sort of time they're having. But anyway! Here's a taste of what I've been up to with them both:

But the blood trail lead back toward the shore of the lake, and she saw no other signs of life. The only sounds in the world were Rags' interminable cackles and the icy wind whistling through the ruined village. With the great vulture following close behind, she set off to explore.

She held out little hope of finding a cart or wagon. Whatever had happened to the long-gone inhabitants of this place, she didn't think it had been sudden, or deadly. The buildings were ruined by time and weather, not natural disasters or acts of war. The people had time to pack up their things, she thought. Peering through broken windows and rotten wooden doors, she saw homes left neat and orderly. Untold years of dust and cobwebs shrouded the furniture, and she heard rats scurrying in the walls, but there was no trace of fire damage, or looting, or any other fate she could imagine.

The villagers had simply drifted away. All except Thorn. Perhaps they'd left because of him. Perhaps there'd been a plague, like the one that struck Bitter Waters. Or perhaps the harsh, endless winter had made farming the land impossible and they'd left for more hospitable land.

She was unlikely to ever know and she didn't really care. As she picked her way through each shed, barn, and shelter, she grew more convinced there was nothing useful here. Anyone who'd owned a cart would have used it to leave. She may as well ask Lola to conjure a pair of horses.

Despite her low expectations, she was still disappointed by her lack of success. When she came to the village's heart, a small stone square with a long-dry fountain in the centre, she stopped. She brushed the crust of snow off the fountain wall and sat down, staring up at the statue. A feminine figure with a single spiral horn held her stone arms up to the sky in triumph. Water had flowed from the ornate plinth she stood on, once, but age and ice had put a stop to that. More than any of the silent ruin around her, the fountain touched Tristesse, sending a melancholy shiver through her. Whoever the woman was, she had been glorious once, and now... Now she was nothing.

She frowned at herself, swiping a surprise tear from her eye. "I am not nothing," she muttered. "I have never been nothing."

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