Wordcount: 187
Rating/Warnings: PG
Summary: Rocks fall, everyone dies… Well okay, not really.

NOTE: This is a very rough draft with no editing at all (per National Novel Wiriting Month rules) and is presented for amusement value only. Think of it as a periscope into my writing process rather than a coherent story!

There will most likely be spelling and grammatical errors afoot as well as flat out bad writing, info dumps, plot holes, contradictions/retcons, uneven characterization and pacing. These snippits are also posted out of order, so please refer to the story page to figure out where it’s supposed to fit.

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End of Book I

They pause for one last look out the monestary window.

It’s been almost a year since the story started and now it’s getting into winter again. The beginning of winter are very harsh and there is a lot of snow and ice. THe sky is very heavy gray and there is a sharp smell of ice on the air.

Snow is everywhere, like nothing exists outside of the walls. Very odd to be so remote, so isolated. Stone buildings are odd, misses the wood and reeds. She feels like they are rolling the stone across the cypt entrance.

Teacher is there and is comforting somewhat, but is rather gloomy about the whole thing. They wonder what will be left in a generation, when the current weavers are mostly gone ad the other towns have been lost to the wasps.

“Do you think they’ll forget us?”

“Maybe, but nothing is ever really forgoten. Even if they forget there will be tales, songs, horror stories turned around the fire.”

“So they’ll remeber us as demons.”

“But they’ll remember.”

And that was very little comfort.

They leave to go inside.