Rimer's God of Weather and Catastrophe

I had a comment a while back that I found a bit strange; that Kayoss, the Rimarian god of catastrophe, was not 'evil enough.' I guess if you've never read AOH, this might be an easy mistaken assumption to assume. Kayoss isn't evil. In fact, I challenge anyone to point out a truly evil character in my entire series. Yes, it has some world class jerks and some guys who should probably go to hell for their crimes if there is such place as that (such as some drakoon characters I have) but even these guys aren't really evil. In fact, I don't believe in evil-ness in anyone. You might point out a guy like Hitler and Stalin and say that they were evil, but they weren't, not really, because from their point of view, what they were doing was absolutely right. It's impossible to say that their actions were not evil because they were, but the men themselves, were they evil? No. Just misguided.

Kayoss is neither misguided or evil. Sure, he's god of catastrophe so as a hobby he sometimes causes things like earthquakes and tsunamis just because he can but most of the time, the dude is really responsible about his powers. The fact is, Kayoss was not born being a 'god of catastrophe.' He was born a normal falcolf with an ordinary upbringing. Later, he became a military leader and a very good, responsible one. He's got prejudices against certain things and he can be fairly racist but that's rather normal for anyone, because everyone is usually a little racist against something (doesn't matter if it's the same species or not!)

Kayoss is not evil. He dislikes humans because we are interlopers on his planet and if he could, he would reasonably annihilate us to protect it. His first job is protecting Rimer, his home - and he will do anything to do that. The only reason he does not smite the humans off the face of his world is because he made a deal with his daughter and with the other immortals (whose support he needs and since they were largely against murdering all the humans, he must grudgingly cede to what they want - for now. He does not want a mutiny but he has made sure to make clauses in that deal which make him able to act.) What Kayoss really is, more than a controller of the weather (and if you think about it, that job would require quite a responsible and dedicated person) is a guardian of his planet, the most powerful one that it has. He's a hero and an antihero. He's the actual main character of my series, as he is the only character to make an appearance (somehow, even just subtly) in every book.

The character who is closest to being evil is the one who is revered the most.

Hunter Adapts - EBV3 Excerpt

Unfortunately, there were some spoilers right before this part, so I had to cut the stuff before this out. It was really good though!

________________________________________________________

Hunter had not taken Keel’s possessive inflection askance and presently he made a face at it. His poor brother; surrounded by people who thought that he was livestock. It was disgusting. Hunter had to rescue him somehow. He had no idea how he could ever accomplish that, but he would rather his brother be treated like a person, not like a cow. Grouchy from his empty stomach and Keel’s natterings, Hunter started tromping back to the cave, shoving aside ferns from his path with careless vendetta. Nothing was good in Sloveniska, not for him or Ki. He had hoped the place would be an improvement for his brother, but thus far it seemed more like Ki was being held captive, for all that he was apparently a prince.

“Sloveniska, you’re a horrible place.” growled Hunter, then he questioned why he was talking to a country. Water dripped constantly on his head, dribbling down his greasy hair into the prodigious new beard that he had been unwillingly growing. Hunter didn’t like the beard, it was too itchy, but his knife was too scarily sharp for him to risk shaving it off. He thought he might cut himself bad enough to bleed to death, knowing his luck. Hunter slipped a little, as if to prove his ill luck. Yes, his luck was horrible. Just the fact that he was wintering in the world’s wettest environ was proof of that. His socks had not been dry or clean for a month and if he could have gotten new ones, he would have burned the ones he had. Within those dreadful socks his feet were always waterlogged, like overcooked vegetables. It was horrible. Sometimes he sniffed his feet and thought they smelled bad enough to provoke fainting.

“Hensynaik!” cursed Hunter as he stumbled over a root. His day wasn’t going well. That he was stumbling proved that. Hunter resisted the urge to kick vindictively at the root and stepped over it, then in a whirl of confusing green, painfully found himself on a smarting rump, his metal shod heel having slipped in the soft loam. Swearing liberally, he struggled up using his spear, rubbing his muddy posterior and wincing, not really noticing around the sound of his own cursing that the forest had gone unexpectedly silent. The animals had gotten used to his harmless passage through this area and usually ignored him, whereas they squealed bloody murder for Keel. But Keel wasn’t with Hunter, he was back at the cave, so the forest should not of gone silent, yet it had, as unnervingly silent as the nerveless silence that proceeds the knowledge that somebody you know is dead.

“Stupid root!” snarled Hunter, turning and whacking at the invisible annoyance with the butt of his spear through the covering veil of leaves. “Flaming thing! Stay out of my w…”

Hunter’s anger turned to fear in an instant. Something didn’t feel right; something was horribly wrong. Something big, that made him feel like perhaps he should run. He couldn’t place what it was. There was no obvious cause for the feeling; it made the back of his neck prickle. Hunter took a firmer hold of the spear in both hands and whirled around, looking in all directions, half expecting to see Keel, but Keel wasn’t there. Nothing was. It was silent - too silent. Hunter realized that now with dread. Something very bad was very close by. Something watching him, its eyes burning into his head.

He looked around again, not just side to side and behind, but up and down, but nothing was there. Everything was telling him to run, yet all he had ever been taught about predators was telling him he should go up a tree. Most four-legged animals cannot climb, but it didn’t matter anyway, because all the trees around him were slick bark trees, the kind that Ki had once been caught in, the kind which was impossible to climb and which Keel favoured for his traps, even morbidly joking once that he would never catch anything as good as what the enemy Cyslo had caught that day in his when Ki had been trapped. Hunter looked up a nearby tree, hoping he could shimmy and thought better - no. No there was nothing really that he could do - besides pray.

Hunter started walking again. Maybe if he walked fast enough, he could avoid whatever was stalking him somehow. It was a struggle not to burst into a run; Hunter was too afraid to walk slowly, but he was also too afraid to bolt. His school teachers had all taught him that if he ran from a predator he would be dead. Running made a predatory animal want you more; it made them excited. He mustn’t run.

He stumbled and nearly had a heart attack, then he looked around in a shock of paranoia, but again nothing was there. Nothing was nearby, yet something was watching him. He couldn’t see it, but he could feel it like its teeth were already grasping his throat. Something was there. He started walking again, struggling even harder not to run. He was only about a kilometre from home, but that kilometre might be too far. He wasn’t sure if he could make it with the creature chasing him. His heart was flip-flopping, his stomach twisting with the knowledge that something unseen wanted to eat him. Something big. He wished he knew what it was.

Hunter froze as something rustled up ahead, then a familiar long black face nosed out from a patch of ferns into his path.

“Keel! Keel it’s you! Hensynaik, that almost killed me!” gasped Hunter in relief, running up to the drakoon and feeling like the sun had come out, for he was undoubtedly saved. What if it had been Keel stalking him all along? Hunter wouldn’t of been surprised. He laughed; he was okay now. The nightmare was over. “Keel, were you sneaking up on me? That’s a bad trick bo. Nearly scared me to death!”

Keel wasn’t looking at him for some reason. He was looking past Hunter, back the way Hunter had come and his tail was twitching, his focus on the trees from which Hunter had came, as deviously sharp as if he were shooting arrows with his eyes there. As Hunter passed him, looking back, Keel peeled back his lips and growled, narrowing his eyes.

“What is it?” asked Hunter, his heart pounding again. Whatever it was, it was still there and now that Keel was growling, Hunter knew it was real. Hunter gulped and levelled his spear, just as he had been taught, yelping as Keel started slowly stalking towards where the unseen monster was. Too scared to run home without the dragon, Hunter scurried after him, keeping his spear ready, his stance apart. Keel half spread his wings over his back as if to make himself look bigger, growling ever louder, stalking purposefully. Whatever something was there, it should be ready.

A monstrously shaggy head, yellowed white on top and black on the bottom, a huge muscled skull with short round ears pushed out of the leaves. To Hunter it almost looked like a doggish or Fallan creature, but for the fact that it was so big, as big nearly as Keel. The big stocky beast waded out of the brush on legs that seemed as thick as young trees, a long tail like a fern leaf fanning after it, bicolour like the rest of it. Hunter had never seen such long ugly claws on any animal, nor such long carnassials or fangs as the beast opened its mouth, roaring back at Keel. Its underside was muddy black, its top stained white, making it one of the strangest looking animals that Hunter had ever seen. The beast’s furry hackles stood up in a spiny looking ridge, seeming to make it twice as big as it really was and as Keel lifted a paw to step closer to it, Hunter felt a horrific sense of foreboding. This thing was almost as big as Keel; it was going to kill him if they fought, which Keel seemed to intend to do.

As the beast roared again, Keel answered back with a long, low keen, a shrilling sound that seemed more scared than brave, yet the monster seemed to pause at it and
Keel spread his wings higher, thrashing his deadly tail around their legs.

“Keel. Maybe we should go yes? Keel!” squeaked Hunter. The drakoon wasn’t listening. He snarled again, every single one of his teeth ferociously visible, lashing the air with his tongue, half crouching, legs apart. The beast flattened its ears and came closer, yowling furiously, shaking its head aggressively. It came so close that Hunter could see the whites of its menacing beady yellow eyes and then it paused, its lethal gaze shifting from Keel’s angry face, to Hunter’s and suddenly Hunter knew which of the two of them it was going to go for. Who would he have attacked, if he were a hungry predator?

Hunter just managed to get the point of his spear up at a proper angle before it charged, its claws ripping towards his arms. It tried to ducked under the swipe Hunter took at it and whirled as Keel charged in, snapping at its shaggy throat. The smell of the thing’s breath was ghastly on the air and Hunter scrambled out of the way, watching as the forest titan turned snarling upon Keel, their teeth slashing together, the pair of beasts grappling. For some reason, as Hunter watched, the animal trying again to go for Hunter, Keel instantly distracting it with a nip, it seemed to Hunter that he was supposed to do something. He had never been so dangerously close to such a vicious animal confrontation before and it was scaring the tar out of him, Keel’s furious shrills stinging his eardrums, the beast’s yowls echoing to terrifying effect all around them.

As the Keel forced the beast to back towards Hunter, Hunter suddenly knew exactly what he should do, which was surprising because he was so terrified. The big feathery tail hit him in the legs and with barely any hesitation, Hunter gritted his teeth, then drove his spear point down through the base of the monster’s tail with all of his strength, the beast screaming in pain. In a flash the animal was spinning around to get at him, but in that moment, that bizarre, shaken moment as Hunter stumbled back, falling on his rump again, drawing his pitiful little knife, Keel jumped onto the back of the beast before it could remember that it had a greater foe. Hunter just managed to get up as Keel grappled the screaming beast that vainly tried to throw him off, Keel’s hooked claws loosing rivulets of scarlet across the beast’s thick disgusting fur. Snarling, the animal tried to get him off, but it couldn’t with its tail stuck; it couldn’t even buck. It screamed and moaned, the cries of its pain the worst sound that Hunter had ever heard.

Then Keel got his jaws clasped around the back of the beast’s head and with a violent jerk punctuated by a crackling of snapping vertebrae, the animal collapsed, a limp mountain of hair. Hunter stared at it, shocked that anything so horrifically animated, so real, could suddenly look almost fake. Keel bent around its throat and almost casually bit its neck, making its blood flow in a sheet across the muddy, trampled forest floor, blood mixing in with the damp cake of the loam. Keel let go of the creature’s neck and looked up at Hunter, licking his chops.

“Gods.” intoned Hunter, this time in English, his knees shaking. He was so relieved. The thing was dead. Keel transformed and Hunter mutely watched him pull his spear out of the ground and the beast’s tail, making it bleed heavily again all over the prior drenched tail.

“Catch.” said Keel, tossing Hunter the spear. He barely caught it. The drakoon unsheathed the knife he had with the engravings on its blade and started butchering the carcass, skinning the hide off. “Good pelt. We didn’t ruin it too much. A few holes, but it’ll do for lining your cloak. Those can be patched.”

Hunter almost felt sick at the very mention. Why did Keel always have to make so much morbid sense about things like this? Why was he obsessed with Hunter using hides for things? They worked; they were very warm, but still… it was rather creepy. He had seen the animals who gave them die - he had eaten parts of them.

Yet back home he used leather all the time. That wasn’t any different, but it felt that way.

“W-what is it?” yelped Hunter weakly, relieved at least that Keel wasn’t making him skin the animal.

“Fugara. You should be grateful I came out looking for you, or you would be the one losing your hide now and getting eaten. Good job with the spear yes?” said Keel, hacking off a chunk of flesh, then tearing it with his teeth. He ate it, blood dripping down his chin and Hunter flinched. Keel grinned at Hunter, a horrible red smile that made him sick. “Did you have any luck with the foraging?”

“No.” said Hunter. Keel snickered.

“Ready to stop starving yet human, or do you actually want to die? I heard your species has a perchant for suicide. It makes me wonder, what kind of species would evolve an ability to be self destructive? What a flaw in evolution.” mocked Keel, hacking off another piece of meat and gobbling it. Hunter grimaced, yet his stomach growled. Even raw meat looked good now. Keel smirked and cut out a piece. “Want some human? You helped kill it. You should have some. It’s better than starving yes? Better than eating plants!”

“Mystaya wouldn’t agree.” said Hunter weakly.

“Mistaya’s a horse idiot. Mystaya will never agree.” said Keel, eating another piece. “But you Hunter - you’re an omnivore. You have a choice yes? Be smart. You’ll die if you refuse to eat.”

“In my society, meat is for dogs.” said Hunter. Keel snorted and cackled at him.

“Meat is for dogs? Perfect! Here Dog - eat some! It’s disrespectful to the animal if you don’t!”

Hunter walked a few steps closer and stopped. “That thing was stalking me.”
Keel smirked. “That’s the best part isn’t it? It wanted to eat you, but now you will eat it. Come here Dog-human. Live. Vininiska would eat it.”

Hunter wrinkled his nose. “Not after he’d seen that.”

“Yes he would.” said Keel nonchalantly.

“You don’t know him.” said Hunter, grimly taking the grisly piece of muscle meat, his stomach heaving at the sight of it.

“No, not yet.” agreed Keel, some of his bravado fading away. “Let’s not talk about Vininiska.”

Hunter closed his eyes, took a deep breath, then put the end of the meat in his mouth, biting down hard in order to tear off a piece of it. The meat was extremely bloody and tough and he had to chew it repeatedly to make it go down, his gag reflex making him ill. But he survived that first horrible piece of meat. When he opened his eyes, Keel was holding out another one to him.

“Here human. Eat more.” ordered Keel. Hunter did, staring at the ground this time, sitting in the drenched ferns beside the corpse. It was disgusting if he thought about the body being a corpse, but that was what it was. He chewed and Keel had another piece for him.

“N-no. I’m full.” lied Hunter, not wanting any more to do with the ordeal.

“Here Hunter. Eat.” said Keel, as if he hadn’t heard. The drakoon leaned closer, smiling putridly into Hunter’s face. “Eat or I’ll make you Dog-human. Don’t forget what I was willing to do with Vininiska.”

The memory of seeing Keel’s arm buried in Ki’s mouth made Hunter choke and so he kept eating, thinking that his throat probably would not handle such a happening. He ate, grinding at the meat with his teeth until his jaw ached, then and only then did Keel let him go, piling the raw pelt around his shoulders.

“Aren’t you coming?” Hunter had fearfully asked.

“No. I’ll be eating the rest now.” said Keel. Hunter stared at him.

“The rest? You can’t possibly eat that entire fugara.”

“Maybe not all at once, but there won’t be much left, Dog-human. Go home. I’ll bring some more for you later.” said Keel.

Hunter did not think he could ever eat any more of the gristly fugara meat, but he nodded and went, preparing the pelt as he got home, then stoking the fire up to try to warm up the cave while he washed the fur along with his clothes. Wrapped in furs and shivering he laid visual to the slight twisted pain in his stomach, knowing that it was probably food poisoning from the meat. He wanted to be ill, but he was scared Keel would find out and there was nothing else to eat, besides the meat. He tried to make himself feel better with water and bundled himself in hides beside the fire, watching it flicker, thinking about life. He did not think that he was doing very well. It had been a long time since he had been dry or full or since he had enjoyed his food. Keel wouldn’t help him. Keel was trying to force him to live the way he lived, but from Hunter’s aching stomach, he knew that way of living was impossible for him. A human could not eat raw meat like a carnivore. He had heard it said that carnivores could eat carrion because the hydrochloric acid in their stomach was strong enough to burn through nearly anything. Humans had hydrochloric acid in their stomachs too, but it was weak, water compared to what predators had in theirs, acid capable of killing all but the strongest of bacterium that entered their digestive tracts.

He had to find a way to live. He had to find a way to live that pleased Keel, but which wouldn’t kill him. Hunter gritted his teeth; there had to be a way to do it. A way to soldier on and make the best of what was around him better. His eyes fell on the spear, fugara blood staining its wood.

“I can make this life better. I’m a human - I can do this.” said Hunter firmly, bolstering himself. “Humans can do anything - I’m here on Rimer aren’t I? Humans didn’t come from here! They came from Gaia! I’m living with an alien shape shifter thing and his alien horse. He’s right - I can do this. I can adapt!”

Hunter looked out side and scowled at the rain. “Do you hear me rain? I CAN ADAPT!”

In the distance, there was a thunder rumble.

____________________________________

Actually Hunter, considering Big Hairy and Ugly only JUST died, you're probably safe from the food poisoning this time, though I do question what kind of residue might be on Keel's gloves when he handed you that meat!

The upset stomach Hunter has is from his vegetarianism; his stomach is shocked by the meat. Escavians, like I said, only rarely eat meat, though in Hunter's area they do have some fish, so he's not completely new to this animal flesh thing.

Also, coincidentally did you know that most deaths by choking result from choking on meat and that most people who are choking are found dead in the bathroom, because for some reason they're too embarrassed to admit that they're choking, so they go hide and then nobody is there to help them, so they die? Yep. Great fact for you.

Keel's so hilariously snobby and racist to Hunter in Emperor's Blood. I love writing him. He's definitely got a 'higher than thou' complex going on. Luckily he's got a lot of redeeming qualities or he'd be one gigantic asshole.

I hope you guys enjoyed this sequence from Hunter and Keel's side of the story!

Sunny's Legacy

I've spoken before of how Sunny is the inspiration for many things in my stories, most notably the species known as fire cats. Today I tried to examine all that Sunny has left me. It's more than just his empty faded collar and an old turquoise bowl that some excited childish former nine-year old self wrote his name on with a sharpie pen. It's far deeper than his sweet ashes or the box that now contains them and it's as sacred to me as the Lake Lot.

Sunny taught me how to love. He taught me to be gentle and to greet my loves with affection. Sunny was always forever inclined to walk up along side me and twist his big soft wonderful tail around my leg, his version of a hug. Science would call this scent marking, but to me it will always be more than that. As I called Sunny my cat with words and hugs and cuddles and his name, Sunny called me his with the brush of his tail, his purr and the glint in his soft green eyes. He told me he loved me every time he saw me and together we celebrated eating, asking when supper was ready in almost exactly the same way, him with meowing, me with questions. We hung out in the garden together. I chased him. He knew I was never serious. We ran and played and once in a while, if I annoyed him he would nip, but never hard. Sunny was a good cat and he taught me good cat values, like how to love.

I loved and still love Sunny with every fierce nuance of my soul. It's extremely hard to believe that he is gone now, that I'll never physically see him again, but that is how things are, whether I like it or not. Whether or not anything ever mystical happens between us, his soul and mine is yet to be answered as a question, but one thing rings true; Sunny lives on. Every time I write a cat in my stories, every time an elven cat stands up for ear rubs and butt scratches from Ykaren on the Vinintakji, that loving animal is Sunny in another form. People make a big deal out of dogs being loyal, but no animal loves as hard as a little domestic mouser cat.

Sunny's gone now but I still have Smokey and I still have Copernicus and maybe, just maybe, in Copernicus there exists a shred of Sunbad the Wonderhamster, out to love again. Sunny's died now and with him has gone a piece of my soul, our bond still intact despite the barrier of death, yet some of his soul still lives in mine and every so often, whenever I write a cat, that piece of him comes out to play again, rubbing against my ankle with utter adoration.

The elven cats and the fire cats and all the other as-yet undiscovered and unnamed Rimarian kitties are all him. Sunny was and always will be, the very best cat in the world and my saint of love.

Rest in peace Sunny. I miss you.

Blood - Emperor's Blood Excerpt

The following is an excerpt from Chapter 37 of my manuscript Emperor's Blood. (As you can tell, this one's a cliffhanger!) Fifth (or sixth?) draft of EB arc 2, unedited. (Written today.)

I'm sorry that I haven't had much to post lately. Most of it's been too spoilery for public eyes!

I'm having a lot of fun writing Ki's POV in this draft so far. I think it's going to work (hopefully) and that I'm not going to do another bloody version of this arc in six months. (EB arc 1 is finalized.) I want to move on to writing Kill Copper (the next book in the trilogy) damnit! I've a great deal of hope for this draft though. The characterizations are a lot better, there's more equality in the distribution of writing for the protagonists (though Ki obviously still gets the most screen time, being protag #1) and things are a lot more true to the very first draft. (EBV2. The (two?) versions before V2 never made it even into the second arc, which is okay, because those ones sucked. Tech problems gloriously killed them.)

Yay! Enjoy!

All material (c) Rosanna P. Brost.
________________________________________________

A scream of pure unadulterated agony slashed the still silence, making Ki leap awake, heart pounding. Had it been real? Or his imagination? He’d heard a scream once upon a time and Eva had told him that he was just dreaming as he had ran shaking to her bed. He looked around, then remembered that he couldn’t see, that there was no light and he shrank back, further under the blanket, straining to listen, flinching at the light sound of the rain outside, which should have helped him calm down under normal circumstances.

“EEEEEEERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRHHHHHHHHHRRRRRRRRRRRERR!”

Ki nearly fainted at the shrill, animalistic call that rang through the corridors of the keep, then the snarling that followed, beastly and harsh. Something pinged metallic out in the halls, then there was a fierce cry and another animal snarl, then a gargled scream of pain, then something metal hit the floor as more growls sounded.

“Lys! Lys, yin Sketzine! Lys!” snarled Kelveniska. Ki jumped at his voice, suddenly realizing that the drakoon had left him, that he was somewhere near the door, shouting through it like he was goading on attack dogs. “LYS!”

There was a ferocious reeling animal snarl, then a disturbing sound like a breaking egg, then cruel quiet for a moment before a chorus of angry sounding whines accompanied by excited shouts, then whispers. Somebody was being praised like they were heroes. Ki huddled deeper under the blanket, pulling a mat overtop of himself too. He had the feeling that somebody had just died. He had a feeling that they had been murdered.

“Cwid Sketzine, cwid.” said Kelveniska breathlessly through the door. “Cwid yin Sketzine, hana…”

Ki closed his eyes, grimacing. He wanted the sounds to stop. He wanted to know for sure what had just happened and why it had just happened. He wanted - blood. Ki smelled it, as heavy as perfume on the air. Blood. Rich, full of iron and scarlet, cloying, so potent that he could practically taste it. Blood, not the stuff you get when you cut your finger, but blood, arterial blood, blood straight from the heart -

Somebody was definitely dead. Ki fainted.

AOH - What It Is To Me

When people release a book, they always want to critisize it and critique it. That's fine. People are going to do that whether I like it or not. My own phobia against knowing people have read my work (as ghastly as the pessimist in me thinks it is) keeps me from reading these reviews. So what is AOH from my perspective?

AOH is a good read. Not the best, but it's good. To me it's more of a kid's book than anything; a young adult read. It isn't serious and the writing isn't serious. I wrote it when I was fifteen and spent two years updating the writing style, not to mention five years actually editing the damn thing. It's the book that me and all my editors are sick to tears of, because we've been working on it for too long. Our opinions hardly matter anymore - we've worked too long on it. I'm not working on it anymore. If I ever do again, I will be surprised. The only thing that can get me to is full publication - which is in my plans mind you, just not anytime soon.

As short as AOH is, a lot of stuff is just breezed over. I regret this and the writer in me twitches terribly, but that's just how AOH is. It's streamlined. Future books will be much better written. As my editor Alyssa Windsor said "AOH is where you (me) learned to write plot. Emperor's Blood is where you learned to write story." I did consider completely rewriting AOH, but in the end I decided not to. AOH is the beginning of a story about the world of Rimer, with the characters merely being catalysts. In the future, I want people to read its sequel Born of Fire, realize that there is a book before it and seek out AOH just to find out what happened then. Later books are better written, better plotted and better devised than AOH.

I will say it again - I wrote AOH when I was a kid. I grew up with it and it will always be just that - the book I wrote when I was a kid. A good book but not a great one. That's how I feel about it.

Wild Fire Writing Test

This is a scene that has proven to be rather iconic for the planning of the Ancient Era Copperbane books. This takes place in 'Wild Fire' and it's sort of character interaction between Kayoss Calmbreeze (probably the most well known of my characters) and the Bronze Hunter Derenze. This is set before Kayoss meets Spiira, who is at this time only a foal. This was written in 2007 and my writing style has improved in leaps and bounds since then, so here's the scene, as it was written on March 12th 2007 when I was in high school grade 11. This piece is also unique because it is one of very few literary pieces that is dated.

‘WILD FIRE’ Writing Test
Rosanna P. Brost
March 12th 2007

Winter Hunt Scene with Derenze, Vera and Kayoss Calmbreeze

Kayoss’s hunger was a knot in his abdomen that refused to die away, a ripple that caused him to scramble to his paws and sniff hopefully at the air. Fear made him hesitant as he picked his way through the winter starved brambles, alert for any stirring of movement. He knew it was foolish, that even the demon wouldn’t hunt in this sort of weather, but he wasn’t altogether sure if his enemy would stay home. Perhaps, like Kayoss, he would be out today, hunting.

But the demon and his blasphemy that was most definitely a horse did not hunt for food. Kayoss knew. He’d observed him. No, the demon hunted for no reason at all, except to carve the skins off his prey’s sometimes still half alive flesh and then leave the desecrated thing behind. The hateful sinner would do this deed to Kayoss as well, if Kayoss didn’t continue to be one paw ahead of him. The greatest sin in the world was for a predator to kill without fair reason, and then the killer had to as much of what they caught as possible, out of respect for the dead. The demon did not respect what he slaughtered. Kayoss doubted the thing needed food - if it was starving wouldn’t it of eaten its horse by now?

He slunk through the winter paralyzed trees, the wind making their branches shiver. Kayoss disregarded the spore he left in his path; there was nothing he could do about it. He cursed winter and its telling conditions, wishing for summer when he would surely have less confrontations with the demon. A sound made him stop. Below him, in a shallow ravine was a herd of browsing forest deer. Kayoss’s mouth watered at the sight of them and he made his way around them so that he was downwind of them. Slowly he eased himself towards them, senses fixed on them. Despite himself he found himself licking his jaws in anticipation as he picked out a tired buck. Survival of the fittest. That was another law the demon seemed to disregard.

Kayoss put one paw forward, ready to spring with jaws snapping at his prey and paused. One of the deer was looking straight at him! His eyes widened; had it seen him? Then, there was the most unnerving sensation of being watched… Kayoss scarpered, not caring that it sent his prey scurrying for cover. He dodged behind a tree and heard something hit it with a solid sound. There was a short sound, like a curse and he knew it was the demon. Kayoss swore lustily and ran again, dodging and weaving through the trees as the tempo of horse’s hooves picked up behind him.

The trees were too close together for him to take off and besides, he feared doing it. The demon’s aim with his death sticks was painfully good. Kayoss leaped a log and scrambled around a tree trunk, slipping as he put weight on his right hind leg in the slush. He got up and jumped out of the way only just in time as yet another death stick thudded into the ground. Kayoss charged recklessly down a hill, barely able to stay on all fours as he struggled to keep his footing. He leapt across a muddy creek bed, using his wings as extra propulsion. Behind him the horse followed suit, her senses fixed on his bushy tail.

Kayoss galloped up the embankment, his breath searing in his chest and surging with his panic. He crested it and practically fell down the other side, landing in a patch of soft muskeg. The falcolf ran easily across it and onto the solid vastness of a iced over lake. He sprinted onto it eagerly, hoping desperately for a friendly wind current. Behind him there was a splash and a cry.

Despite himself Kayoss turned and looked back at his enemy, whose horse had gotten stuck up to her chest in the muskeg. She was an unnatural coloured thing with white where tawny should be. The mare pawed and kicked desperately, whinnying to her rider who has fallen off of her back. Beneath Kayoss there was a crackling sound and he looked down. The ice at his paws was melting and becoming thinner very quickly. Cracks were starting to radiate out from it.

The demon was getting up and was running towards him, readying a death stick with his larger one. Kayoss knew he couldn’t fly now. He was a sitting duck - unless… Kayoss leapt in the air and came down with all four paws at the ice, with unexpectedly gave way beneath him. Inky black water incased him and he sank towards the bottom, his hidden gills spreading along his neck. Kayoss opened his mouth, running the liquid through them and breathed. He could stay down here forever.

But he had better things to do than hide in a lake. If he didn’t find the hole he’d made coming in, he'd very well be stuck in it for quite a while, and while he knew he’d be safe from the demon, he also knew the lake to be infested with freshwater pike. Kayoss found the glimmer of dusty light that was his hole and swam to it, grabbing the edge with his paws. It was almost more trouble than it was worth; the ice kept breaking under his hot claws as he sought purchase.

Finally he managed it and trotted away from his hole, shaking out his wings as he did. He paused, remembering the demon and looked over. The creature was staring at him and was much closer than Kayoss’s comfort permitted. Kayoss growled low, displaying his teeth. The demon smiled at him and bowed his head. The falcolf jerked around at the unmistakably Fallan gesture, eyes wide and ears pricked. Kayoss watched then as the strange animal turned and strode away the horse. Remembering that he needed to escape, Kayoss spread his wings and took off, pondering at his enemy's actions.

Was it possible that it might have another side to it that Kayoss didn't know about?

The Post for Drakoon

This is a subject I've been dying to write about, so it's fitting that it's the first true post of this blog. It's my rant about how I developed the culture of my favourite of my species that I have created for my world; my dear shape shifters, the drakoon.

Drakoon are in essence, a beast and a man all in one. Original concepts of them had them coined as rather anthropomorphic crosses between dark haired humans and dragons, the idea for which coming from the old Playstation game labelled The Legend of Dragoon. Drakoon back then were called 'draygoon' and were rather tribal looking things that seemed to hunt a lot of fish. I was just a kid then and I didn't particularly like the look of the fell beasties, so they were scrapped - but only temporarily. I never completely trash an idea; even the anthropomorphism has returned somewhat in the manuscript of Emperor's Blood but only in a certain aspect. Today's drakoon look nothing like the early draygoon. I'd like to note here that the video game took the name 'dragoon' from the military - it was a word used for certain cavalry units - that's right - it had nothing to do with dragons originally, but everything to do with horses. I believe that my drakoon are a better throwback to the original dragoon than the video game ones. My drakoon do ride horses after all and go to battle.

What's not to love about drakoon? They're a bunch of guys with a talent for war who ride around on magic talking horses with magic talking cats, who just happen to have the ability to transform into dragons. Pretty much universally, everyone can agree that dragons are badass, but while drakoon are cool and try to kill each other a lot, there's a lot more to them than that. If there wasn't, they'd be quite boring creatures and I probably would not nearly be as obsessed with them as I am - there are to be five - count it five books in the Copperbane Series which focus on drakoon! They're more important than the humans!

Obviously, I've spent a lot of time with these guys. Of course, seeing as they're imaginary, this means I tend to spend most of my hours staring off into space or getting epiphanies about ways that I could further mess with these creatures of mine. Drakoon are interesting to write and think about. No other creature is both man and beast, all in one. Instead of looking to human cultures for inspiration (though originally I gleaned much from the notion of Samurai) I looked to animal, so that I could make the drakoon seem more different, more original. So many fictional races of people seem like carbon copies of cultures seen here on Earth and drakoon are supposed to not only be completely unrelated to humans, but completely alien as well. (Quite literally.) Many humans haven't the slightest notion of how animals behave and many are only interested in other humans. Well, I'm different damn it! I prefer and understand animal cultures better than human ones.

Do animals have cultures? You betcha they do! In the society of the wolf whose doctrine I follow, the pack is a tight-nit family group led by two wolves called the alphas. Now, here's where it gets interesting - most people are under the mistaken conclusion that the pack is led by the alpha male, but in fact it is led by his wife, the alpha female.* It's her job to rally the pack and before a hunt, it has been observed that alpha female wolves will 'pep talk' the other wolves by dragging a fragment of the prey they are to hunt such as an antler, schooling the pack on how they will attack. After the alphas, there is the betas, male and female respectively depending on pack numbers. While most people believe that it is the alphas who are the biggest and baddest wolves of the bunch, this is not at all true - the alphas are just the smartest. The biggest and strongest wolves are the two betas, who serve as the pack's bodyguards. They're the first to attack in territorial battles and as second in commands, they can give orders in the alpha's stead. After the betas, many people would believe that the subordinates come next with the omega being everyone else's punching bag, but again, this is a misconception! The omega is in fact a very important part of the pack, his or her goal being to disperse tension in the group and their high rank is proven by how betas have been observed to save some of the better meat, the guts, for the omega.



Higher ranking wolves have brighter coloured pelts because they have better diets, eating the liver, heart and other such innards. When it comes to hunting, a wolf pack is a highly synchronized and strategic unit, each wolf taking their turn during the hunt. I have heard rumours that some native hunting techniques were taken from wolves. Whether or not this is true I cannot say, but the idea is certainly a romantic one. Back to wolves, every member of the pack cares for the pups and wolves work hard to impress the alphas so that they can be the pups' 'nanny.' Furthermore, a wolf's howl is further proof of culture in this wildly intelligent species - wolves howl for a variety of reasons, from rallying a hunt, howling for fun and locating other pack members to celebrating the birth of pups and mourning the loss of loved ones.

That's right - wolves mourn their dead.

Think about that game hunters as you go to load your gun to shoot these animals for no good reason. I have nothing but despise for game hunters - if you're going to shoot a healthy wild animal, shoot it for the same reason a wolf kills an elk - because you're hungry and want to eat it. Do not ever shoot your fellow predator, because often times, they're holding the environment together much better than you are and are ecologically far more important than you are. Remove humans from an ecological region and it recovers. Remove key stone predators such as wolves and it collapses completely. Wolves themselves are key stone predators - remove them from an environment and the entire web of life falls apart, as seen in many habitats across the world. Wolves once ranged across more land than even mankind, living on every single continent except Antarctica, a true testiment to their ecological value and evolutionary design. Wolves are perfection, which is the reason they serve as inspiration for so many of the species in my series.

With drakoon though, it wasn't a wolf's superior evolutionary physical design that inspired me, but their great loyalty to their fellow wolf. A wolf pack is tight nit - even more so than some human families and the closest approximation to a wolf in human society as far as I can tell is that of a military unit, or very well bonded team. In my lifetime, I have been lucky enough to have been part of a Scout troop called 1st Pleasant Valley and it was here that I experianced the majestic synergy that can only come when a group works absolutely perfectly with each other. On top of these experiances with the 1st, I have also studied first hand accounts of war, such as Farley Mowat's 'And No Birds Sang' and Tim O'Brian's 'If I Die in a Combat Zone'... (Box me up and Ship me Home!). Mowat's account was of World War II while O'Brian's was of Viatnam. Also of note I have read the world renowned novel 'All Quiet on the Western Front' by Erich Maria Remarque, which is an account of the 'other side' of 'the war' (WWII) - the Germans. No matter the war, no matter the side, I have discovered a common theme. In times of combat, soldiers bond very tightly together and they don't fight for whatever cause their oft-times idiot governments told them to fight for. They fight for each other and their families. They fight to live and kill only because they have been thrown into a situation of 'it's him or me.' Are there soldiers who seriously like to kill? Yes. But they are not at all common.

There is a different kind of culture in the military and drakoon, as warfarers themselves, are alike to this. Tim O'Brian would have me believe from his account of Vietnam that garish nicknames were all too common and that nobody cared about how foul your language was. Soldiers are gutter mouths. Why would anyone care about lingual pleasantries when there are bullets in flight? There are rivalries. There are deep friendships. Military culture is fascinating and seems truly a different world from what we experiance every day.



So; the drakoon. I have spent enough time blathering about their inspirations. Now I will speak of them themselves. Drakoon to me are the species which can never have peace, because while humans have a choice in whether or not they go to war, drakoon do not, no thanks to a fatal element of their mental design instilled by one of the major characters. (Who no, is not Kayoss.) No race is to be more pitied than them, because while humans have the capacity for serenity, drakoon simply do not. That's it. End game. They are the species which simply can not make peace, because it is quite literally not in their natures to have peace. They have been doomed to an eternity of anguish.

Drakoon start their lives brought up with the expectation that they have been born and bred to die in battle, that any other death is dishonourable. Sound similiar? It should! In many ancient warring cultures, from the Spartans to the Samurai, this sort of ideal was just and right. In ancient Rome a man had to serve in the legions for twenty-five years before he became a free man and got to go home. Historically, we humans were lucky if we made forty years of age, not just because of war, but other causes as well. Drakoon are undaunted by disease for the most part and because of their ancient history (far older than ours) they're a lot better than us at managing the ecology of their lands, so famine usually is not a problem. Most die in war, male and female indiscrimately, though their society is in fact gender segregated. My drakoon have the capacity to live hundreds of years yet they seldom ever do, usually dying before their own young has even come of age. They live their harsh, short lives surrounded by propaganda and in turn pass the propaganda down to their children. It would seem that drakoon are a horribly godforsaken race, for their inability to make peace, brother killing brother, yet through a rather grisly type of magic, they have a semblance of order.

Blood magic was based off of extremist ceremonies of bondage from around the world, some of which still take place today. Though based on a biological concept of smell, since drakoon have superior olfactory senses, blood magic is basically something which enforces loyalty upon a drakoon's mind to another higher ranking individual, lessoning his chances of suddenly deciding to sporadically stab the guy or his unit mates for no reason. (It still happens, just not as often as it would without blood magic.) It's through this literal bond of loyalty and brotherhood that drakoon manage to coordinate, something that would be almost impossible otherwise. So it is that drakoon live in tight-nit military units called sxyarne or squadrons, which are almost wolf pack-like in their society, though of course a drakoon is a lot different from a wolf.

The dominant member of the sxyarne is the guy that all the rest of the guys is blooded to. He's the Wing Officer and he's above the infighting and rank jockeying that occurs under him. As leader of the sxyarne, he's dominant male and all the rest of his subordinates do their very best to become his Second and Third, the next highest ranks. The Second and Third have the exclusive honours of sleeping closest to the Wing Officer, carrying the sxyarne's standards and generally serving as the Wing Officer's bodyguards, advising him as well as helping take care of his sons if he has any. They're the beta wolves, the nastiest, smartest members of the bunch and they have fought their way up the sxyarne's totem pole to get to their places just beneath their superior Wing Officer. Because nobody beneath the Wing Officer himself is bonded to anyone but him via blood magic, infighting is the only way to determine who outranks who. Depending on the individual this can get incredibly vicious, with the smarter, more brutal guys ending up on top and the meeker guys on the bottom. Yet everyone in the squadron is important, especially the lower ranking drakoon, because when the father of a youngster isn't around, it's usually the sxyarne's lower ranked guys who watch after the little guy.

Strictly speaking, in most species the young are not exempt from the feuds of their elders. Drakoon, for the most part, are different and like modern first world humans and wolves, drakoon sxyarne cooperate in taking care of the group's next generation. If a guy has guard duty, he doesn't have to worry about his son, because his son, like the sxyarne's other kids, has his father's off duty sxyarne mates to look after him. While drakoon fight a lot, the bonds within a sxyarne are in fact extremely strong and so drakoon treat each other's kids like their own. The Wing Officer's son is not some exhaulted prince, though either the Second or the Third are always watching him - he plays with all the rest of the kids. The sxyarne also, if it's out on campaign, works together to hunt for food though they fight over it afterwards, using the meal as a chance to jockey for rank. (I should note that drakoon are strictly carnivorous here, much like the oft mentioned wolves.) They're surprisingly well regimented in the field and in training. They're also very united in their territorial tendencies towards other sxyarne, no matter their nationality.

There is a hierarchy to blood magic. As two sxyarne will scrap over who gets to use which barrack, two divisions will likewise fight each other and so will two armies of the same nationality. 'Terrestrial' or army drakoon are called zinier and despise in particular the drakoon equivalent of naval marines, the vinier while zinier and vinier are fairly united in their stout dislike of zine, which are the home guard forces.


An army or armada's rank is determined by who made a blood pledge of fealty to the nation's leader, the emperor, first and this is how the military force is distinguished for the duration of the emperor's rule (or rather, his life. He doesn't live long typically either.) For example, in my manuscript Emperor's Blood, the 1st Terrestrial Army is led by Grand Commander Yon, who is allowed to use the 'grand' honourific because he got to pledge loyalty to Emperor Kelveniska first - in fact, he did it before the former emperor was even gone, sneakily doing it while the man was away. Yon got away with his treason though because Kelveniska's predecessor was ill-fated and never returned from his campaign. After Yon, there are no other armies, but Admiral Benjkoi, being one of two armadas, got to Kelveniska next. Since an armada is different from an army in drakoon terms, Benjkoi is thus the leader of the 1st Armada, while his younger comrade and political enemy Ykaren is thus the leader of the 2nd.

After Commanders and Admirals, there are no more ranks bound by regular loyalty or fealty blood magic bonds. Here we enter an elite domain of killers and the drakoon they guard who are revered, for they are the brains of a drakoon country. They are the emperors. Kill them and their offspring and the entire nation shatters. Because of the immense importance of the emperors and their heirs, they are hot targets for assassination from other lands.

Enter the killers of assassins - the sketzine.

Sketzine, or 'crown guard' are the most dangerous class of soldier existing in drakoon society. From a young age, sketzine are raised to outsmart and outfight any comers, learning everything an assassin learns and more. They are true drakoon in their sense of ferocity, fanatically loyal to their imperial charges via the strongest blood magic in existence and with little mental distinction for what makes a countryman. The only drakoon who are not a potential enemy is the sketzine's partner (there's only two per imperial) and their collective charge, who they guard for life and by common belief, into the afterlife as well. Besides having the authority to dispatch pretty much anything that gives their charges a bad look no matter its nationality, sketzine also serve as advisors. Because their entire country is terrified of them, sketzine are also given the honourific of naik - 'feared high rank.' The dominant sketzine is called naik aris or sketzine aris. 'Aris' means simply 'superior.' Though there is small definition between the two sketzine, the aris is typically the smarter one and he shares a blooding scar with their charge's right arm. He is literally the emperor's right hand man.

The imperial family also has a hierarchy sometimes. Because it is in the country's best interest that all of the emperor's heirs survive, precautions are made so that none of the lesser princes, if there are any, are mentally capable of becoming jealous of the Crown Prince's title. This, of course, is assured through fealty blood magic and it is in this way that the emperor can relax in the knowledge that his Crown Prince's brothers will not prove to be rivals, instead supporting him in all his ideas. However, should the Crown Prince die, the next born naturally takes his place. The Crown Prince is not blooded to his father. He remains intact in his natural comprehension abilities because someday he must be able to act independent of his father, if his father's rein does not end with assassination instead. Because the prince's sketzine are the sons of his father's sketzine making them all bonded by natural familial bonds, traitorous acts don't typically occur, but it is not unheard of for a Crown Prince to overthrow his sire, sometimes violently.

If you're imagining a completely militeristic society, you'd be right, but there are also other factions. The females live apart from the males completely, the two genders only coming together for the purpose of reproduction, which for drakoon is something that is not an act particularly enjoyed by either party. Very few species in the real world actually have sex for fun and while it might seem odd, drakoon are a species which falls among the majority of creatures which has sex for the singular purpose of creating offspring. Of creatures which have sex for fun, there are probably only about five species which do it including humans and these are also the species in which homosexuality occurs. Thus, drakoon do not have any concept of homosexuality either, despite their gender segregation. Males and females only stay together for a few years, so drakoon young of different genders grow up apart. Daughters never know the names of their fathers and sons never know the names of their mothers. They never meet. Period. If you're wondering about the prospect of accidental incest since they don't know who is related to who, you shouldn't worry. Even humans have anti-incest fail safes; studies have shown that females find the scents of their male kin more distasteful than other guy's smells. Other studies on guys show that they find photoshopped renderings of females with their own facial structure less desirable than those that are foreign. Drakoon, who have a sense of smell thousands of times better than our own (they can smell tiny differences in blood even) have an easy time avoiding opposite gender kin.

This is the part of drakoon society that I'm really proud of. It's original and unique to me as far as I can gather, so in short, paws off - this idea of extreme gender segregation is my intellectual property, through and through. I have never seen nor heard of anyone else using it. Kindly PAWS OFF. I'm not blathering about this so you can steal my ideas - I'm illustrating my thought process, so that you can formulate your own unique, original ideas, drawing from the model of how I think.

There is one last aspect to male drakoon society and that is the non-combatants or civilians. There are four different social classes of these and they live in blooded sxyarne too. The first class is the veterans, those drakoon who are too injured to fight and these, partially depending on the matter in which they were put out of commission, are well honoured. Next comes the bulk of the civilians, those who lack the temperament needed for fighting, but who have just the right sort of stuff for super important jobs like black smithing and trading. Since they support the military, these drakoon get a lot of respect. The third class of non-combatant is the children or rather younglings - drakoon who are too young to join their sires in combat. They're still in training and are seen much like we humans see young - individuals to be protected because they have yet to prove themselves worthy. The fourth class of non-combatant is the undesirables, or drakoon born with traits which have been deemed unsatisfactory. Because drakoon are extremist in their culture, much like the Spartans, they are likely to kill any malformed young that cannot survive without help in their infancy. Drakoon are highly defensive of their fairly limited gene pool in this fashion. Undesirables are the civilians who survive this and they are very few in number. These aren't males that are blind or deaf - these drakoon have great value still in the second civilian class. These are the albinos whose skin would have them shot and others who carry traits which are genetic. None of the undesirables are allowed to breed.

Female drakoon society is base and wild. Hierarchy is determined without blood magic, by who is smarter and stronger than everyone else. Female clans are typically all related, to familiar attachment provides some stability for groups, but not nearly as much as blood magic provides for the male half of the species. There are no sxyarne; only families. Elders are highly respected in either gender. Though females are actually more lethal to each other than the males, their society is purer and more primal. It is truly survival of the fittest.

One of the greatest challenges that comes with writing drakoon and certainly the most interesting is the fact that they are a people who have not lost their wildness. They are not domestic, though they have order. Even though they will fight each other to the death over matters which seldom make sense, they are also very caring, masters of platonic love. Their love is innocent, without passion or lust. They love only out of loyalty and familial attachment. It is in this sense that to me they become very endearing, honest creatures despite their revolting tendency for war. At a young age, drakoon work to master their own psyche but they are not tame. A drakoon is driven by instincts as strong as those that drive birds to abandon their territories for the long migration. Like an alligator he immediately knows how to kill his prey - it is merely a practice in coordinating muscles to follow instinct's design that makes him seem clumsy when he is little. He snaps and he snarls; he instinctively knows when a prey animal is weak. He knows by scent if you are friend or foe and who you associate with as well as tiny details such as what you just ate. Drakoon, while seemingly ignorant in their military world, are a lot smarter than humans. Humans only ever master one mind and one body. Drakoon master two, the dragon and the elf. Could a human if transformed into a dog instantaneously know how to gallop? I think not. The stories we read of shape shifters immediately knowing how to use their new animal bodies are all lies. If one were to transform into a dog, one would have to begin their training in locomotion all over again and we would surely be overpowered by the amazing depth of a dog's sense of smell.

This is why I love writing about drakoon.

For now, this is all on the topic of drakoon. Look forwards to more in the future. I will now take this time to remind all readers that this is all my intellectual property. Thank you for respecting copyrights. The ideas expressed in this article do not necessarily reflect my own personal opinions and I have employed them for fictional purposes only.



*Spirit of the Wolf by Shaun Ellis with photography by Monty Sloan

Write like Steinbeck

I've mentioned before that I didn't really like my high school English teacher Mr. Hobkirk. In fact, I used to rant about the man, loathing him with all my heart and I cried when I found out in grade 12 that I would again be in his class. However, the truth is that I didn't really hate the man, I just lacked all respect for him and while that might seem the same, it's not. I eventually did this, even illustrating it as a silent, mute way of saying sorry, though from all my observations the man was quite oblivious to my loathing, my silent mental grrrrrrrrr whenever he spoke. Hobkirk loved the American author John Steinbeck and spent a great deal of time forcing us to read the man's work, which I hated. Under Hobkirk I was forced to read 'Of Mice and Men' and 'East of Eden' both of which were horrifically bad. I finished neither of them, which in those days was something I considered a real sign of bad writing in a book, priding myself in my ability to read just about anything. In fact, the file name for the following written piece was originally titled 'Write like Stein-poop' because I was so mad at the author. Actually, Steinbeck's pretty good at description - he just fails at writing interesting stories where I can actually care about what's going on.

These days, I have trouble reading even the best of written works, because I am fully married to my own written pieces and am obsessed with working on them. If offered a choice between reading my own work and reading somebody else's, I will typically pick my own. This is rather in the same style as author Brian Jacques, who reputably does not read other people's work. I'm frankly just not interested in other people's stuff most of the time. It's not a slight against them. It's just my self obsessed personality showing out. (And please, don't misunderstand that to mean that I am vain for I am not and in fact possess a very poor sense of self, but that I am solely interested in my interests.) In any case, the following piece was written in the style of a Steinbeck piece for an assignment, but to describe a concept for my manuscript SKY WOLF. Please enjoy it as well as the accompanying illustration! This is the first time a conceptual piece for my Copperbane Series (more commonly referred to as Rimer) will be posted on this blog!

The lush forest brook was broad, shallow and bottomed with soft, oozing muck. The water had a blackish-green, wine bottle quality to it and the sky, as well as the flora of the deep green glade were reflected in rippled slivers on its surface. Along the brown floor of the slow, gentle stream small insects, plants and fish thrived, darting about the thick reeds that lined it. A thin shadow fell upon them and all scattered at the presence of the small fallan predator. She was a lean creature, long legged and foxy, with luscious, light tan fur. Greyish blue eyes surveyed the stream sharply, white markings that ran along her muzzle, throat and belly twitching with her almost motionless actions. White socked paws were lifted cautiously from the water, in much the same motion as a heron. A dark tipped tail twitched, then the fisher struck, leaping high into the air and pouncing head first into the cool water, as gracefully as a diving bird. Then she lifted her head, rivets of silver liquid springing off of her, a writhing black thing disappearing into her powerful jaws with two jerking crunches. Then the fisher tensed, looking back over her shoulder, the mud welling up between her toes as she carelessly shifted her weight, staring back at the sky. A small dribble of blood escaped her mouth from the poor luckless thing she’d eaten. Then, as if to avoid being eaten herself, the fisher sprang from the water, landing in the reeds. In a flick of her tail she had vanished into the depths of the forest, a pale nightmare of fish. In the brook, the creatures once again cautiously swam out into the world, glad for now that the fisher was gone.