Post by Sake-chan on Nov 27, 2008 16:09:30 GMT -5
Okay, this is just the VERY rough draft of the prologue of the novel that I'm hoping to write (not bad considering I'm only going to hit sixteen on Thursday, eh?) I know a few things that I wanna change about this, and it needs improving, but feedback would be mucho appreciated.
p.s The name for the prologue is the Hunter in the Forest, but not the book.
Setting and Plot line: a world in the early stages of the universe. The world is covered in forests, filled with the people of the wood. For millennia they have lived in harmony with the ways of the wood and the wind and the water. The ways of the wood are being walked by something new. The people of the Earth; people filled with fire and darkness are searching: looking for the centre of the forest, the heart of life. Something is stirring in the East. There is a new scent on the wind. The calm before the storm is starting to fade. The time for war has begun.
First chapter:
The hunter. The catcher.
The killer.
He walked, almost silent, through the winding paths of the overgrowth. He knew only a little about these lands. More than anyone else of the Earth. But that was still not enough. He had been forced to write his knowledge, incase of…
Incidents.
He crept, furs in place of his usual cloth. Blood painted his face in replacement of the clan markings of his people. The people of the Earth.
Wolf’s blood.
His own blood had been shed in combat with the creature. But it was necessary.
The blood masked his own scent, as did the furs that he wore. No creature would come near him when he smelled of a wolf with its prey.
He paused. Had he heard that? His senses were keener than he thought possible, but the forest was already so full of sounds that it almost blinded him. The wind, night time creatures searching for their next meal, insects in the grass at his feet. Disgusting little things. He had been brought up a boy of the Earth, knew to hate and fear the ways of the wood.
There were more than owls and wolves to fear in these trees.
Women of astonishing beauty that trick you into of falling in love. That weave their magic.
No man who fell was ever allowed to resurface.
The hunter’s eyes darted around. Every branch seemed to pose a threat, every shadow was a wolf ready to pounce. A pair of green eyes that might not have been there, hidden in the darkness.
He shook his head. This place was getting to him. He untied his water pouch from his boar-skin belt. Unstoppering it, he drunk heavily, taking great mouthfuls of the liquid and feeling his mind clear.
He definitely heard that. He choked slightly, the water dribbling down his chin as he dropped the pouch, turning on the spot, his knife ready in hand. Nothing moved.
Suddenly an owl flew out of the higher reaches of a nearby tree, sweeping overhead.
The hunter relaxed, calmed his breathing. Just an owl.
He sheathed his knife, shaking his head with the ghost of a smile. He was getting paranoid.
He looked down, finding his water pouch on the floor, its contents now drained into the mulch of the forest floor. He bent down, picked it up.
Straightened up…
…and found himself face to face with a woman of the wood. Silver- green hair floated down around her shoulders, fell over her emerald eyes. Her skin was pale, with the diamonds of green clan markings of the Wood adorning her cheeks. All this he noticed in the split second he looked at her before her fingers were pressed to his throat and he was pressed to the trunk of a tree, the wood splintering and bending from the force with which he was thrust against it.
The woman’s eyes narrowed as she contemplated the blood on the hunter’s face. The furs that he wore. Her rose-red lips parted in a smile that looked like a snarl as she lifted him higher.
‘State your purpose here, man of the Earth,’ she said distastefully.
The hunter was gasping desperately for breath, clawing at her fingers. ‘I’ll never tell,’ he said breathlessly, trying to smile, ‘Kill me now and you’ll never know.’
The Woman of the Wood only smiled more at this, a pure silver eyebrow rising, ‘Oh… you’d be surprised.’
His eyes widened in fear as she gently pressed a finger to his lips. Pinched the space between them, seemingly holding nothing. She smiled wider. She pulled…
…and his breath came with her hand. Somehow, impossibly, he could feel what little breath was in his lungs being pulled through his mouth, his nose. He tried, desperately trying to hold his breath within him. But he was failing. His heart flailed, trying to get oxygen to his brain. But there was no air to use. His eyes rolled and the woman let go, his body slumped on the floor, lifeless and still at the Woman of the Wood’s feet.
Hanging from her fingers was a long, thin strand of silver. She reached into the purse at her waist, popped open a vial and depositing the silver thread of the man’s last breath. Stoppered the vial.
Turned her back on the disgusting little thing at her feet.
Any thoughts?
p.s The name for the prologue is the Hunter in the Forest, but not the book.
Setting and Plot line: a world in the early stages of the universe. The world is covered in forests, filled with the people of the wood. For millennia they have lived in harmony with the ways of the wood and the wind and the water. The ways of the wood are being walked by something new. The people of the Earth; people filled with fire and darkness are searching: looking for the centre of the forest, the heart of life. Something is stirring in the East. There is a new scent on the wind. The calm before the storm is starting to fade. The time for war has begun.
First chapter:
The hunter. The catcher.
The killer.
He walked, almost silent, through the winding paths of the overgrowth. He knew only a little about these lands. More than anyone else of the Earth. But that was still not enough. He had been forced to write his knowledge, incase of…
Incidents.
He crept, furs in place of his usual cloth. Blood painted his face in replacement of the clan markings of his people. The people of the Earth.
Wolf’s blood.
His own blood had been shed in combat with the creature. But it was necessary.
The blood masked his own scent, as did the furs that he wore. No creature would come near him when he smelled of a wolf with its prey.
He paused. Had he heard that? His senses were keener than he thought possible, but the forest was already so full of sounds that it almost blinded him. The wind, night time creatures searching for their next meal, insects in the grass at his feet. Disgusting little things. He had been brought up a boy of the Earth, knew to hate and fear the ways of the wood.
There were more than owls and wolves to fear in these trees.
Women of astonishing beauty that trick you into of falling in love. That weave their magic.
No man who fell was ever allowed to resurface.
The hunter’s eyes darted around. Every branch seemed to pose a threat, every shadow was a wolf ready to pounce. A pair of green eyes that might not have been there, hidden in the darkness.
He shook his head. This place was getting to him. He untied his water pouch from his boar-skin belt. Unstoppering it, he drunk heavily, taking great mouthfuls of the liquid and feeling his mind clear.
He definitely heard that. He choked slightly, the water dribbling down his chin as he dropped the pouch, turning on the spot, his knife ready in hand. Nothing moved.
Suddenly an owl flew out of the higher reaches of a nearby tree, sweeping overhead.
The hunter relaxed, calmed his breathing. Just an owl.
He sheathed his knife, shaking his head with the ghost of a smile. He was getting paranoid.
He looked down, finding his water pouch on the floor, its contents now drained into the mulch of the forest floor. He bent down, picked it up.
Straightened up…
…and found himself face to face with a woman of the wood. Silver- green hair floated down around her shoulders, fell over her emerald eyes. Her skin was pale, with the diamonds of green clan markings of the Wood adorning her cheeks. All this he noticed in the split second he looked at her before her fingers were pressed to his throat and he was pressed to the trunk of a tree, the wood splintering and bending from the force with which he was thrust against it.
The woman’s eyes narrowed as she contemplated the blood on the hunter’s face. The furs that he wore. Her rose-red lips parted in a smile that looked like a snarl as she lifted him higher.
‘State your purpose here, man of the Earth,’ she said distastefully.
The hunter was gasping desperately for breath, clawing at her fingers. ‘I’ll never tell,’ he said breathlessly, trying to smile, ‘Kill me now and you’ll never know.’
The Woman of the Wood only smiled more at this, a pure silver eyebrow rising, ‘Oh… you’d be surprised.’
His eyes widened in fear as she gently pressed a finger to his lips. Pinched the space between them, seemingly holding nothing. She smiled wider. She pulled…
…and his breath came with her hand. Somehow, impossibly, he could feel what little breath was in his lungs being pulled through his mouth, his nose. He tried, desperately trying to hold his breath within him. But he was failing. His heart flailed, trying to get oxygen to his brain. But there was no air to use. His eyes rolled and the woman let go, his body slumped on the floor, lifeless and still at the Woman of the Wood’s feet.
Hanging from her fingers was a long, thin strand of silver. She reached into the purse at her waist, popped open a vial and depositing the silver thread of the man’s last breath. Stoppered the vial.
Turned her back on the disgusting little thing at her feet.
Any thoughts?