Hi and thanks so much for reading. I'm very grateful.
This is the first scene in a short story. I'm trying to keep the word count down while still including enough detail to not lose the reader.
How am I doing? Too many adjectives?
Is there enough information conveyed to keep you reading? If there are too many unanswered questions, I may add another scene to precede this one. But I wanted to start in media res, as they say. Do you have enough motivation from the protagonist? If no, could you wait for the next scene or would you need to get it here to avoid losing interest?
Also playing a bit with sentence length. Any of them getting too long for your taste. Or too short?
Thanks again
scene 1
It is winter and dark, and all the birds have fled the stronghold. A thread of wind rustles the leaves above, and frosted stone bites my bare soles. A rasped whisper hisses into the garden from the corridor, perking my ears and forcing a glance back before I duck between a column and a trellis still covered in brown vines and crispy leaves.
An ogre of a man, stumpy yellow tusks, says, "He can only have come this way."
"This way," says his bent comrade, thin finger pointed across the garden path. His other hand clutches a clinking blue chain that he silences against his ribs. He veers left and the other right.
My lungs burn with frigid air. It takes all my focus not to cough. I know you are back at home, in the nest waiting for me, wishing I'd never left. Part of me wishes that now. But the brave part knows I did what I must. They would have come for me no matter else.
"Over there," I parrot the second man's voice. "Back, under the arch."
The ogre whips his head about, uncertain from which direction my voice has come. "What?"
With a shake of his head, the bent man lifts a palm for silence. My ruse has failed like my mission. Victor still breathes. There is little left I can do.
The pair step toward my hiding place but have not spotted me yet. The one with the chain crouches low to the path, scrutinizing the flagstones in the moonlight. He's clad in a red wool cloak but has no house broach at his shoulder. Looking up at his large partner, he nods towards the trellis. They approach slowly, one to each side. I clench my eyes, looking inward, and constrict my arms tight against my body. I force my heart faster. Only one chance for this. Exhausted and naked, I fear I haven't the warmth to escape.
The ingot of heat at my core swells. My bare skin fizzles from the cold then prickles from a thousand tiny quills breaking through, still sheathed as new feathers are. My incisors fuse together and jut forward as my nose shrivels flat, forming a cere. It's happening too fast. My arms are tacky with blood. I've pushed too hard. But it's not hard enough.
"Got him" barks the ogre man as his hand seizes my blood-slick arm, dragging me out. The other wraps his chain around my neck. Its enchantment stuns me, and I crumple to the ground. A shamble of feathers bloody and arms long, half bent into wings. But the ogre doesn't loosen his grip.
"Thought you'd take flight on us, eh?" He swings a kick to my gut that would have sent something up, had I eaten in the past two days. Coughing and squawking, I grope in all directions.
The ogre laughs while the red cloak hooks a bronze lock onto the chain and clicks it tight. My head explodes with pain, and they drag me across the stones, back into the dim corridor.
Their words filter through the storm in my head. "Victor won't be happy."
"Let him complain. None but us can do the job."
"He's half dead."
"Just has to live long enough for delivery."
And the rushing in my ears consumes all.
~
Thanks for reading
This is the first scene in a short story. I'm trying to keep the word count down while still including enough detail to not lose the reader.
How am I doing? Too many adjectives?
Is there enough information conveyed to keep you reading? If there are too many unanswered questions, I may add another scene to precede this one. But I wanted to start in media res, as they say. Do you have enough motivation from the protagonist? If no, could you wait for the next scene or would you need to get it here to avoid losing interest?
Also playing a bit with sentence length. Any of them getting too long for your taste. Or too short?
Thanks again
scene 1
It is winter and dark, and all the birds have fled the stronghold. A thread of wind rustles the leaves above, and frosted stone bites my bare soles. A rasped whisper hisses into the garden from the corridor, perking my ears and forcing a glance back before I duck between a column and a trellis still covered in brown vines and crispy leaves.
An ogre of a man, stumpy yellow tusks, says, "He can only have come this way."
"This way," says his bent comrade, thin finger pointed across the garden path. His other hand clutches a clinking blue chain that he silences against his ribs. He veers left and the other right.
My lungs burn with frigid air. It takes all my focus not to cough. I know you are back at home, in the nest waiting for me, wishing I'd never left. Part of me wishes that now. But the brave part knows I did what I must. They would have come for me no matter else.
"Over there," I parrot the second man's voice. "Back, under the arch."
The ogre whips his head about, uncertain from which direction my voice has come. "What?"
With a shake of his head, the bent man lifts a palm for silence. My ruse has failed like my mission. Victor still breathes. There is little left I can do.
The pair step toward my hiding place but have not spotted me yet. The one with the chain crouches low to the path, scrutinizing the flagstones in the moonlight. He's clad in a red wool cloak but has no house broach at his shoulder. Looking up at his large partner, he nods towards the trellis. They approach slowly, one to each side. I clench my eyes, looking inward, and constrict my arms tight against my body. I force my heart faster. Only one chance for this. Exhausted and naked, I fear I haven't the warmth to escape.
The ingot of heat at my core swells. My bare skin fizzles from the cold then prickles from a thousand tiny quills breaking through, still sheathed as new feathers are. My incisors fuse together and jut forward as my nose shrivels flat, forming a cere. It's happening too fast. My arms are tacky with blood. I've pushed too hard. But it's not hard enough.
"Got him" barks the ogre man as his hand seizes my blood-slick arm, dragging me out. The other wraps his chain around my neck. Its enchantment stuns me, and I crumple to the ground. A shamble of feathers bloody and arms long, half bent into wings. But the ogre doesn't loosen his grip.
"Thought you'd take flight on us, eh?" He swings a kick to my gut that would have sent something up, had I eaten in the past two days. Coughing and squawking, I grope in all directions.
The ogre laughs while the red cloak hooks a bronze lock onto the chain and clicks it tight. My head explodes with pain, and they drag me across the stones, back into the dim corridor.
Their words filter through the storm in my head. "Victor won't be happy."
"Let him complain. None but us can do the job."
"He's half dead."
"Just has to live long enough for delivery."
And the rushing in my ears consumes all.
~
Thanks for reading