Troc’s Dagger

I think I may have worked out a workflow for using Scrivener for my 1000 Days writing. It doesn’t allow me to write from anywhere as my Write Monkey based workflow does, but I’ve not really been writing from anywhere so maybe that freedom doesn’t matter so much. I need to give it a shot for a bit, so I’ll be working from Scrivener all the rest of this month I think.

I should go back and get Partly out of her predicament and Captain Munro rescued. I not feeling it though, so I’m wrestling with that lack. There are three parts to this: one, suck it up you’re being a baby and probably just making excuses; two, there’s a reason you’re not feeling it, and you should resolve that problem first; and three, hey you don’t have to feel it if you don’t want to, so chill.

Only one of those three things is writing.

Instead I pulled up something from Gertrude and Grumphook…

“It doesn’t look like it could feed a village for month,” said Geir, “Even ours.” Four friends pressed themselves into an overlook which sloped down to a field of stones that might have been a dried riverbed if it weren’t for the barn-sized circular depressions. Geir, Svein, Per, then Karoline.

Svein asked Geir, “Are you sure that’s even an egg? It looks like all the other stones to me.” The frantic younger boy didn’t wait for an answer from his older brother before turning to their friend Per, “That’s not a nest. Is that a nest, Per?”

“It’s a nest,” Geir said to the back of Svein’s head.

Svein turned back to Geir, “Are you sure?”

Geir slapped Svein in the forehead.


Per shushed them both, and Karoline glared at all three. Quietly she said, “Those are river stones. From near the end of the Glaumr where it runs flat. They must bring them up here.”

“I’ve never seen stones round and smooth like that are your certain,” Svein asked Karoline.

“Have you been to the end of the Glaumr, Svein?” Before the younger boy could answer Karoline continued to Per, “We need to take it now—or never.”

Per brushed back his dark brown hair and cursed. “I can do now.”

“So can I,” Karoline said. Then she lifted her chin off the embankment to catch Geir’s eye over the backs of the other two.

Geir nodded, “Aye.”

“Wait. What? Do what now? I thought we were just finding it. Why would we take it too? Geir, why would we take it? And how?”

Per, who had hitched up on his knees ready to dash down the slope and grab the egg on the run, settled back down again. He said, “He’s got a point. It’s probably heavier than we think.”

A flash of wind lifted dirt and spruce needles up the embankment and all four ducked sure a landing dragon had stirred it up. After no one heard a shriek or was suddenly snatched away they looked at each other.

Geir laughed carefully. “You should see your face, Per.”

“Troc’s Dagger, Geir. You should see yourn.” Per twisted to face Karoline again. “Get your shawl off. We can carry the egg in that.”

Karoline pointed a finger at Per and kissed the air at him. “Brilliant.”

Karoline unclasped the brooch at her shoulder, loosed the green linen cloth, and rolled out. She was about to hand it to Per to help knot up corners when she realized Geir and Per were looking at each other over the back of the shivering Svein. Geir didn’t have a clue what to do with his scared younger brother; she guessed Per didn’t either. She shouldered Per out of way and pushed her shawl into his lap then she cuffed Svein. “Sit up. Look at me. Or I’ll eat you while they watch.”

Svein propped himself up but didn’t sit.

“Svein. We’re not safe here; we haven’t been since the creek we crossed I’d guess. These dragons,” Karoline’s arm swept an arc over their heads. “They see heat. And. They fly. Do you think hiding up here under some dumb old spruce will keep you hidden from their eyes? Everything up here is cold but us and that nest. We’re four black freckles on Gwena’s white bosom. Think on it, and then tell me if you want to stay balled up here by yourself while we three go grab that egg.”

“Troc’s Dag—”

“Shut up, Per. Is that knotted yet?”

Per held up the make-shift sack he’d tied from her shawl. “Hope so.”

“We come straight over the top of this overlook, roll it into the shawl, and head off to that path.” She pointed to a thin spot in the trees somewhat near the direction they’d come up. “Per, you take the egg first; you’re the strongest. We’ll make our way back to the trail we came up and should meet back near that rock we rested at before pushing up here.”

“Speed means distance,” Geir said more to his brother than any one else.

“Right. And don’t bunch up if you don’t have to. We should be harder to spot that way,” said Per.


<p style=”text-align: right;”><span style=”color: #c0c0c0;”>878 words on day 820</span></p>