From his hiding place amid a stand of thickly grown aspens, the old king watched the slaughter unfold in the meadow. The spring rains had been fierce this season, as frequent and relentless as the winter had been long and bitter. It was raining now, the sky choked with thunderheads that hovered over the mountains like an invading army, rumbling like the hoof beats of a thousand warhorses. Lightning crackled and spun brilliant webs of light across the darkened sky, followed closely by ear-shattering reports of thunder. Forced to leave his late-afternoon meal of tender grass in the meadow, the old king had sought shelter in the aspen grove, where he now lay, wet and shivering, his great horned head dripping and heavy with fatigue.
Posted by andersonmcdonald (Member # 8641) on :
Oh yeah, this is an as yet untitled fantsy novel. I'm up to chapter 10 now. Just got back my critique from Mette Ivie Harrison.(which I highly recommend, by the way)Just thought I'd put it up and see what you all thought of this is the first thirteen. Haven't decided yet between it and another one I've written. Thanks
Posted by MrsBrown (Member # 5195) on :
The word slaughter threw me; I kept waiting for the description of the storm to finish so I could find out who was being killed. I had to read it twice to get that the storm is figuratively slaughtering the meadow.
I do not like waiting until the end of the second paragraph to find out that he is an animal. That should be up front, IMHO.
The storm description is evocative. But… It’s a lot of setting without much characterization. How would a deer know about armies and warhorses? Wouldn’t he think more in terms of thundering herds or a mountain lion’s roar?
I am intrigued to find out more about this animal king. That’s what I would rather read about.