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| Graphic overlay (c) 2016 by Kim Headlee. |
Please join me in congratulating my nephew Nathan and his new bride Jett who are getting married later today!
And please forgive me if today's post intro is short. I've had all sorts of family-crazy-trains running full steam from one end of the eastern seaboard to the other since before Labor Day, and they all seem bent on barreling through my mountainous little corner of Virginia.
Any prayers, thoughts, and positive vibes you would like to waft our way -- for the newlyweds as well as for the rest of the family -- will be most welcome and gratefully appreciated.
In today's excerpt from
Raging Sea, Gull doesn't know it yet, but he has a crazy-train that's about to thunder into his station too.
Raging Sea Chapter 14, Scene 2a
©2016 by Kim Headlee
All rights reserved.
Gull was haggling with a leather merchant over the price of a new pair of plain but tough bracers—constant wear obliged him to replace them far more often than a warrior ought—when stern shouts, gleeful squeals, and frightened yowls drew his attention. Across the square, a woman was chasing her wee son, who had dashed after a cat.
The lad’s hair was a familiar flame-red hue.
While keeping the family in sight, Gull concluded his business with the merchant, paying perhaps a bit more coin than he ought, but he hoped that the expediency would yield much more important benefits. He set off across the market square, fastening his new bracers in place as he walked, his pace and heading designed to appear purposeful without betraying his intentions.
The child, enthralled with his mission to capture his furry target, paid no heed when the cat raced between the wheels of a stationary handcart. He misjudged the cart’s height as he tried to dive after the cat and cracked his head against the sideboard. The impact caused the cart to shift, the rare glass vials and bottles it housed tinkling softly as if trying to decide among themselves whether to fall and break.
Dazed, the lad reeled backward, hand to head and chin quivering.
The handcart’s owner looked nigh as stunned as the child, no doubt more worried about his fragile wares; the gods alone knew what that glassware housed, but in his travels Gull had seen perfumes and expensive salves come in such pretty containers.
The merchant kicked a wee stone in the direction of the fleeing cat to convince it to keep going, and then started checking his handcart’s contents. Gull stooped to examine the child. A knot had begun to form in just about the same spot as before, if Gull’s memory proved sound, but he seemed otherwise unhurt.
Loholt—
Eoghann, Gull corrected himself; he dared not alert anyone that he knew the truth—waited until his “mother” had arrived, panting and gasping and fuming, before throwing back his head and wailing as if tomorrow would never come.
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