I’m a bit distracted at the moment, dears. Last Saturday my beloved dog was taken ill and the poor lad died on Wednesday. I’m heartbroken, as is the rest of the family. We’ll miss his silly big black face. He was a PROPER dog – big and furry – and the kindest, most joyous, tolerant and caring soul one could wish to meet. ;_;
Nevertheless, it’s Six Sentence Sunday time again – you can join up on the site here.
Simplicity itself – register, then, on the following Sunday, post six sentences from a WIP or published work to the blog corresponding to the URL you registered.
As usual my excerpt is from A Fierce Reaping, my story set in Scotland and Northumbria in the 6th/7th century AD. Cynon has dismissed Cynfal, telling him to return to his friends while Cynon has a ‘word’ with his cousin, Gwion. Once back with Aeddan, Cynfal asks what’s going on.
Aeddan stretched a bit to look across to the dark corner where Cynon was standing over the harper, his hand on the thin shoulder, giving Gwion a little shake for emphasis as he spoke. Gwion seemed to be trying to distract himself from what Cynon was saying, looking firstly towards Aneurin and then along the hall.
“I’m not sure,” Aeddan admitted, “but, at a guess, Cynon is trying to get him to go back to Aeron and it would be better for all if he did – having someone like that in the hall can only be bad luck.”
As if sensing he was being discussed Gwion stared at Cynfal and again Cynfal felt the heat of lust arise, but gentler this time. The harper’s face was open and easily read. He wanted Cynfal, but there was a tension about his mouth that suggested he did not intend to give in to his desires.