Just a taste of the novel I'm working on for everyone who's interested. Don't forget to pledge if you haven't already, though there may be some changes if I find an actual publisher before August. Either way, I will definitely try to have some benefits for pledgers.
-J. Christopher Earl From: Light and Shadow - A Tale of Averelia She fainted. Her body crumpled to the ground with a thud, and there was a brief moment of silence as the nearby crowd took in what just happened. A ring of confused spectators circled about Sam and the girl on the ground. Without pausing to think, Sam knelt down and felt her forehead. She’s burning up. He thought. It looks like she’s been in the woods, but what’s a girl like her doing out and about in the forest, wandering into town so early in the shine? Has she been out there all fade? “Oi,” came a thick voice, “is that lass a’right there off’sah?” Sam looked up into the eyes of a large greasy man in an apron. “No, she’s not.” He said. He felt along her neck for a pulse, and he breathed a sigh of relief at the gentle thumping of her heart. “Any’fing I can do ta’ help ‘sah?” Asked the big man. “Water, cold as you can find, and a towel.” He snapped. “Right o’ ‘sah.” The man lumbered off in search of the requested items. The ring of spectators kept closing in. Odd peering faces of various shapes and sizes, all with little true concern, stared in at the interesting sight. “Space, please!” Sam called. The crowd took a step back. He pointed at a boy with long legs and a truly concerned face. “You there, do you know where the Healer’s Hall is?” The boy nodded, still wide-eyed. “Run there as quick as you can and tell the sisters that a young lady is badly bruised and has fainted. She looks like she’s been lost in the woods.” The boy gave a curt nod and ran as quick as his legs could carry him. Sam did his best to lay the girl flat on the ground without twisting her about too much. She had a pack, and strapped to it were the odd sword and shield. A knife hung at her waist as well. Who are you? He wondered. Her arms were cut and scratched. Bruises splotched her olive skin. Her hair was sweaty and tangled. She smelled sour and musty. He noticed through her ripped clothes that her knees and elbows were covered in scabs and dried blood. The tattered green cloak felt damp. “Water, ‘sah,” came the voice of the big man. Thank Aver someone is being useful. He thought. “Thank you,” Sam said, and took the cool pitcher from him. He wrung out the cloth that was soaking inside, and wiped the girl’s face gently. The cloth removed some of the dirt, but the discoloration of her bruises remained. He set the cloth on her hot forehead. “D’ y’ see the poor lass’s ankle, ‘sah?” He put his hands on his hips and squatted for a closer look. “It looks right the size o’ a melon next t’ her othah’.” Sam noticed her ankle, but he was more concerned with her head. She was continuing to sweat. The face he just wiped clean was once more smeared with salty perspiration. She needs to wake up. He thought. He snapped his fingers next to her ear, but there was no response. Tapping her temple a few times produced a quiet groan, but she did not, could not, open her eyes.
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NewsAuthorJ. Christopher Earl is a beginning Christian author living in the beautiful city of Portland, Oregon. Archives
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