Wow. For having to cut so many pages, I'm right where I should be, and everything is flowing nicely now. I'm now on page 333, I was on page 349. That's really not so bad.
A snippet:
He'd fallen. Or he'd been pushed. There were charred places here and there on the trees that clung to the cliffside, as if he'd tried--and failed--to stop his fall.
"It was his blood you smelled burning," the protector said, peering downward. "He wears a ward to protect himself from the sunlight. But spilled blood would not be protected."
"How badly is he hurt?" Malachi asked.
The protector shrugged. "I don't know how to answer that question. He is alive. Shall we go to him?"
It pointed to a narrow path that someone had created; outcroppings of rock, sometimes, and nothing more. Slowly venturing down to the bottom. The protector had no fear of falling, but Malachi proceeded in Hound form until they reached the ground again. He had no desire to end up hurt or wounded here.
Erialas had not moved. He lay face down, his crippled arm under his body, his other arm oustretched. There were no visible wounds. Malachi didn't see a ring on his finger, but that meant nothing, since he had no way to see both of his hands.
Garden pictures in the post below this one. Also, I have one corner of the entry room left (Mabel's crate and a bunch of boxes.) I am still trying to work out what I will put there. Either a table or a chair. If a table, my lathe could go there for the winter. If a chair, a place to sit to put on and take off boots, etc., although I do have the table for that as well.
But that would leave me with a displaced big oak chair. So I'm not really sure which way to go with this. Not quite sure what to do with Mabel's crate, either. I am tempted to drag it outside to sit and get rained on to clean it off, but it's not supposed to rain over the next week. I may still drag it outside, however. It certainly can't hurt anything.
But I have to get rid of all the boxes first. They are going upstairs. UGH.
A snippet:
He'd fallen. Or he'd been pushed. There were charred places here and there on the trees that clung to the cliffside, as if he'd tried--and failed--to stop his fall.
"It was his blood you smelled burning," the protector said, peering downward. "He wears a ward to protect himself from the sunlight. But spilled blood would not be protected."
"How badly is he hurt?" Malachi asked.
The protector shrugged. "I don't know how to answer that question. He is alive. Shall we go to him?"
It pointed to a narrow path that someone had created; outcroppings of rock, sometimes, and nothing more. Slowly venturing down to the bottom. The protector had no fear of falling, but Malachi proceeded in Hound form until they reached the ground again. He had no desire to end up hurt or wounded here.
Erialas had not moved. He lay face down, his crippled arm under his body, his other arm oustretched. There were no visible wounds. Malachi didn't see a ring on his finger, but that meant nothing, since he had no way to see both of his hands.
Garden pictures in the post below this one. Also, I have one corner of the entry room left (Mabel's crate and a bunch of boxes.) I am still trying to work out what I will put there. Either a table or a chair. If a table, my lathe could go there for the winter. If a chair, a place to sit to put on and take off boots, etc., although I do have the table for that as well.
But that would leave me with a displaced big oak chair. So I'm not really sure which way to go with this. Not quite sure what to do with Mabel's crate, either. I am tempted to drag it outside to sit and get rained on to clean it off, but it's not supposed to rain over the next week. I may still drag it outside, however. It certainly can't hurt anything.
But I have to get rid of all the boxes first. They are going upstairs. UGH.
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