Nanowrimo 2012 Snippet: Almost There

Nanowrimo 2012 Snippet: Almost There

More from Notte! It’s unedited, etc. I’m still behind on words, but that is okay. I’m making great progress.

Also, the end of this one is funny.


She was not the same as my first daughter.

My daughter, by whom I judged this new transformation, did not sleep immediately, but this new child did. And when my first daughter woke, she was not a mad, ravening, bloodthirsty beast.

I do not need to finish that comparison.

I waited by her dirt-side bed until she woke, and Re waited with me, chattering cheerfully about what this would mean for our “cause.” An army of me, he insisted, was precisely what was needed. He said we would succeed. He said we would overwhelm Pulus, swarm the piece in the temple like ants on a dropped piece of honeycomb, and end all the conflict between our kingdoms.

Our kingdoms. This should have alerted me then: he was dealing in kingdoms, while I was dealing in personal revenge. This combination simply did not work, never has worked, never will work. Both parties may think they approach the same goal, but in truth, they do not.

One wants to conquer.

The other wants to cause pain. Conquering is merely a means to that end.

Near sunset, I felt her wake.

It is impossible to describe this. To feel another’s heartbeat, as slow as our own is, to feel another’s thoughts surge and the sluggish, then quick, sudden flow of blood. It is invigorating. It is destabilizes. It makes the head spin and the spirit surge – you wish to lie down with your head very carefully placed on something cool, and at the same time, you wish to dance, preferably unclothed with an attractive lover.

I shuddered and leaned over, nearly retching. Re leaned near, eager, eyes fixed on the disturbed earth that revealed where she lay.

Out of raw, mindless instinct, I pushed him back, and while I cannot say this saved his life, it most certainly saved him damage.

Amuna burst from the earth like a vengeful god, irony aside, and did not wait to be reprimanded by us for her explosion. She ran past us both – taking a swipe at his throat, missing it by inches – and straight into the home we owned.

After all, the humans were in there.

She was laughing as we ran after her, both of us too fast for her to get far, but she hadn’t needed much time. I will never forget the cruel sound of her laughter against the patter of blood hitting the walls.

Before she could kill more than three, I was on her. Re had to round up the rest of the servants, who – too slow, too human – only now ran screaming, their thumping feet a dry and morbid counterpart to their fallen comrade’s ailing hearts.

“No!” I roared, and shook her. “No! We do not eat the help!”


A three-times bestselling author, Ruthanne Reid has led a convention panel on world-building, taught courses on plot and character development, and been the keynote speaker for the Write Practice Retreat. Author of two series with five books and fifty-plus short stories, Ruthanne has lived in her head since childhood, when she wrote her first story about a pony princess and a genocidal snake-kingdom and used up her mom’s red typewriter ribbon in the process. When she isn’t reading, writing, or reading about writing, Ruthanne enjoys old cartoons with her husband and two cats, and dreams of living on an island beach far, far away. P.S. Red is still her favorite color.