Woven : Road Outside Town (Morning)

Wordcount: 675
Rating/Warnings: PG
Summary: The teacher takes a sabbatical to take care of the weaver, much to her annoyance.

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.

~*~*~*~*~

Road Outside Town (Morning)

“I don’t need your help.” Which was true, although things would be easier with it. “I can manage on my own.”

“But it would be easier.” The teacher was giving her one of those looks that wasn’t quite challenging. “Right?”

“There are better things you can be doing with your time.”

“That is a rather subjective thing to say, after all there are worse things I could be doing with my time as well. As for myself, I think this is an acceptable way of dividing my labors.” He carefully banked the fire. “And it hurts no one for me to stay, although it may annoy you. And it isn’t my job to make sure people aren’t annoyed, otherwise I’d be working all hours of the day. Now go to sleep and we’ll sort this in the morning.”

The weaver relaxed somewhat, and little sister stirred watchful from her perch on top of the weaver’s head. The weaver had nothing to fear from the herald and it was true that his presence might help stave off a second attack. BY morning most of her energy would be gone and the weaver might need the help moving on. There was no way she was going to stay and recover this close to town. The uncle might not have returned this night but there was nothing to stop him from returning later. Especially if they killed the boy.

She touched the road blankets closer, cocooning herself in the accustomed smells of wool and hide. The tent provided little more than a windbreak, but little sister had done what she could to trap the warmth within the web.

~*~*~*~

The weaver is still slightly sick and the teacher decides to have her stay in one of the outlying hunting cottages, since it’s the off seasons, while he goes into town to fulfill his teaching duties. She checks the world web and agrees that there is no pressing need for her to be elsewhere. She’s slightly annoyed at the insinuation she couldn’t care for herself, but is not willing to turn down help just because she’s miffed (smart weaver!)

The trail is nothing more than a deer path through the woods. Thankfully now that the rough start of winter had passed, the weather was cold and biting, but there was little snow falling from the ski. This didn’t stop the four foot high snow drifts from obscuring the oath every so often, but the need for snowshoes was gone by.

She walked along the dirt road, following Teacher’s lead and trying not to think too much. The little sister was starting to fade, her glow diming with every footstep. Soon enough the magic that was keeping the both awake and latter would fade down to nothing and she would have to sleep.

The teacher seemed rather determined to get them to the cabin before nightfall, but she wondered how he would get back to the town before that same night turned the path to pitch darkness. Perhaps he’d better wait for morning and better light.

She stumbled at a hidden branch, but caught herself before she did more than dip a bit. There was plenty of light left for her to see, but the snow was thick enough to cover up the little bits of forest detritus that littered the path

When the snow melted the deer would wiped it clean again. They had a habit of slanting paths sort of like beavers building dams. Probably because they were prey animals and were interested in running away along a clear path.

She wondered if the deer set any traps for the fools chasing them./ might be interesting if the prey animals had just enough brains to make their predation a little harder.

The little system was settling down, there was less of the soft flutter of tap-tap-tap of her legs against weaver’s skull. There was something comforting about never being alone, she’d had the spider for such a long time now and it would be with her until her death.

Martha Bechtel

My name is Martha Bechtel and I write fantasy and science fiction stories, paint small model horses silly colors, cast resin and plaster magnets, code random code (and Wordpress plugins)... Come on in and join in the fun!

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