Join the Sentinals as they navigate their way through a new writing challenge! Back to the dares!!
Admit quriky like/dislike OR Face greatest fear.
Join the Sentinals (and King Benedict) as they navigate their way through a new writing challenge! Swipe to read my truth or dare!!
It’s another Turvy-inspired #WritingChallenge! This time the stakes are raised: #TurvyTruthOrDare! AND this time it’s an easy-peasy 7-day mini challenge. So they say!!
Follow all the participants on Instagram.
You can find me at: https://www.instagram.com/helengarrawayauthor follow us and join in the fun!
The #TurvyTruthOrDare runs April 1–7 and is hosted by:
❄ @nimmisheikhauthor –Writing a New Adult, sci-fi murder mystery trilogy planned for 2023 release: #Frostieverse
👻@saffron.amatti –Writes the spooky, ghosty, and oh-so-twisty #LucasRathboneMysteries
🐾@sharitmitchell –Writes the thrilling #MarnieReillyMysteries with canine companions and haunting spirits
🎩@writertracybrown –Writes the quirky #DoorToDoorMysteries + 🔥#BelleroseWitchline fantasy series
#Writers, whether your characters are in a published book or percolating in your WIP, this challenge is for YOU!
Context: Birlerion facing his biggest fear, that when he first awoke in Old Vespers he had failed Lady Leyandrii. This is an excerpt from Sentinals Discovery, a short story which is part of the Creatures of Magic and Myth Anthology which will release later in May.
Birlerion held his head in his hands as he glared at Tagerill. “You swapped places with King Benedict for a day? Why didn’t you tell me?” He waved a hand in frustration. “I’m not even going to ask how!”
“I wouldn’t bother, ‘cos I can’t tell. I’ve never had so much fun, though Benedict did have a few words afterwards. I think I’ll keep out his way for a few days.”
“Years more like,” Birlerion said.
Tagerill chuckled. “He can be quite scary when he puts his mind to it.”
Birlerion nodded slowly. “As can Leyandrii.”
“I can’t believe you elbowed him in the side; the king! Do you fear nothing Birlerion?”
Twisting his lips, Birlerion’s gaze went distant as he remembered first awakening in Vespers all those months ago. Not recognising anything and the fear of failing Leyandrii overwhelming him.
The steel grey dawn was beginning to lighten the sky as Birlerion sat on the pebbly beach and stared out to sea. His stomach ached, his throat was raw, and a sharp pain beat behind his eyes. The whoosh of waves over pebbles and the soft clacking as they rolled under the water’s pull soothed him, calming jittery nerves that threatened to incapacitate him.
He had washed his face and hands in the sea, as well as his boots, glad that he had, at least, not vomited all over his clothes. Salt, sharp and tangy, filled his mouth and made him thirsty. His mind spun, images of the changed city on repeat. He didn’t know where to go or what to do.
A gentle tug of concern nudged his mind, and his heart leapt. Kaf’enir! But no, it wasn’t his Darian mare, it was the tree. Searching the vaults of his mind, his heart plummeted. Only the tree hummed there. Grief pummelled him, and Birlerion screamed at the sky. He couldn’t take much more.
He collapsed back onto the pebbles, chest heaving, tears streaming, but nothing had changed, except he was exhausted, lost, and hurting. Not only had Leyandrii forsaken him, Kaf’enir had abandoned him as well. Something he would never have believed possible. Darians bonded with their riders for life; only death separated them, and he wasn’t dead. A deep moan rumbled in his chest. Had she died? All alone without him? He would never have abandoned her.
Gradually, the cold lumpy stones began to bruise his skin, and he sat up. Shivering in the chill morning air, he rubbed his face and tasted salt on his lips, and after one last glance at the grey sea, he rose and stumbled back up the beach, his feet slipping on the loose pebbles. He ignored his body’s woes, the aches and pains; he deserved them.
He had failed those who meant most to him.
Not knowing where else to go, Birlerion returned to his tree in the temple gardens. As he touched the bark, it shimmered and he passed inside, where he was engulfed with love and concern and warmth. He stumbled to the cot and collapsed. His fingers and toes were as numb as his heart.
His sword belt and bow clattered to the floor as he curled in on himself as the tree fussed over him, infusing him with heat, wrapping him in its humming concern. Tears leaked down his cheeks as he dragged the blanket that appeared on top of him tighter around him, the weight a comfort as exhaustion dragged him down and he slept.
A gentle hand shaking his shoulder, made him start. “Birlerion?” Tagerill’s voice was soft. “Are you alright?”
Birlerion straightened. “Of course,” he replied. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
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