As it is the day after Thanksgiving, many of us will be munching on turkey sandwiches, doused with warm gravy and dollops of cool, sweat cranberry sauce. Being such, I thought it appropriate to share a leftover piece of fiction. Here are the first three paragraphs of a novel I started long ago, but never took the time to develop. Perhaps, I should try.
Timmer Parchmentmade hurried across a dark meadow, a new book tucked under his arm. He was a large man, shoulder and bone, strong like a bear; yet, he cared not for the night, nor the moonlight, nor the shadows that moonlight fathered. Darkness provided a home to many things: brigands and battle cats, wolves and wraiths. Timmer, as big and strong as he was, coward from it all.
“I’ll brandish blade against crag trolls and manticors,” Timmer would often say, “so long as these devils find breath in a book and my blade be parchment made.” And that’s how Timmer found his name.
Timmer walked quickly. Fear made his heart beat even quicker, but he was almost home. Yet, he was certain there were beasts about, each one hungry and lurking just beyond his sight. Yes, he was sure to walk right into Oak Boar or, even worse, a Slobber Goblin, even though he knew Oak Boars and Slobber Goblins roamed parts of the world that were far from his home. Still, his eyes peered through the darkness looking for the terrors he believed would surely be his end.