I got off of work a little early today, so I took the opportunity to write for a bit.
Wordcount: 1332
Accomplished: a cart was stolen, various editing happened
Excerpt:
They left the packs behind and walked past the boundary stone. Nonhle dimmed her magalight, giving it the appearance of one of the strange lights that the people of the northern swamps called oraculars. They stopped at the edge of a bare winter field, got their bearings, and set off across the clover towards where Sizanit guessed the farm’s buildings were.
The furrows made for touchy walking, but Sizanit had little trouble. “You grew up on a farm, didn’t you?” Nonhle asked in a low voice. Jaye was walking behind them. If he was listening, he gave no sign.
“Just outside of Kaythal,” she said. “An orchard, actually. We grew limes and citron and almonds. Had a little bit of land for teff and amaranth, raised our own pigs.”
Nonhle tried to imagine that life, and couldn’t. “It sounds…pastoral.”
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