Getting Ready for Baby
Wednesday, January 19th, 2011
Ha! Bet that one made you stop and go “whoa!”
The book baby, that’s what! Storm of Reckoning is only a couple weeks away from the big b/i/r/t/h/ release date!
*does the dance*
I’m getting ready!
- Bookmarks: check
- Cool Contest under way: check
- Reviews trickling in: check and YAY!
- Author copies on the way: check
- Bloggie activities lined up: check
- A smattering of blogs already written!: check (and Go, Me!)
- Party Hat: check!
So what are we missing? Why…yes! It’s the snippet!
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Sklayne sulked.
Left in the farking car, as if he couldn’t be trusted out at the rest stop.
As if he might be tempted by someone’s little foo-foo dog.
::O fine snack!::
Maybe not such a bad idea, staying here.
It wasn’t as if the car could keep him in. Not with locks, not with closed windows. Trevarr knew that; the Garrie knew it. The Lucia person had yet to learn it. The Lucia person understood not-cat…but she didn’t yet know all that not-cat could encompass.
Not-cat was as big as the world. As small as the crack where the car window met the door. As solid as he wished, or pure energy and flow. Appearing as cat merely because it pleased him, as Abyssinian because it was what he had seen first.
Perhaps because it suited Trevarr. Atrevo. Bonded.
Just as they were here because it suited Trevarr. Never mind that healing was best done in the sweet woods of Kehar, the safe warded cave lair where they’d never been found and never would be. Stubborn Trevarr. Never mind that the food here lacked the vital spirit that fed Trevarr’s other. O, stubborn. Never mind that Kehar was the only place he and Trevarr could overturn what had been done. O foolish stubborn.
Because of the Garrie. All her fault. Because she knew nothing of the tribunal or its ways or its wants.
Or its threats.
Sklayne experimented with disliking the Garrie. Small person of much power, the Garrie. Experimented with mean thoughts and making himself bristly.
No. Maybe not.
But he still wanted to go home. To be home.
Trevarr’s self-voice rolled into his head, not far away at all. We cannot leave her unprotected. Hunted.
“Mrrp!” Sklayne made a surprised noise into the stuffy, muffled silence of the car interior. Thinking too loud. Not my fault. Bored. Homesick and bored and…
Hungry.
He eyed a small mahogany dog with a long body and pointy snout and wagging, whip thin little tail. Tasteeeee.
No. Trevarr. Implacable. Paying attention.
Sklayne growled to himself. He knocked the cigarette lighter aside, sipping at the hot power that gathered in its wake and eavesdropping–ever eavesdropping, listening through the lightest thread to Trevarr.
Listening…and watching over.
Hunted.
