In Dreams of Trees : Aftermath

Wordcount: 298
Rating/Warnings: PG
Summary: Gray and Tan head back into the city.

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 Outline to figure out where it’s supposed to fit.



They’re all worlds built on dead children. Gray thought.

She looked back through the tree, but Slip was already gone, vanished back into the dirt and blood and the waste of perfectly good people for what? A way to kill things that would have left them alone to start with?

The technique worked, but it was flawed and would remain flawed, too much of the kill depended on luck. Which meant more people would die as they chased dreams across the sea of grass.

It wasn’t worth it. She kicked the side of the tunnel in anger and frustration, kicked it and hit it until she ran out of energy and then she just stood there panting, forehead pressed against the wall and searching for tears that didn’t come.

“Are you done?” Ask Tan, sharp and unkindly.

She ignored him for a few more breaths, listening to her heartbeat pound in her ears. Then sighed in a rough exhalation that chased out the last of her anger. “Yes.”

She pushed herself away from the wall, picked up the pack from where she’d thrown it through the doorway and slipped into the shoulder harness. “Lead on.”

And he did, without comment and with only a slight limp. His internal augmentation had stopped the bleeding and was already working to sterilize the wound as his body worked to knit it closed. It wasn’t as efficient a repair as a truly robotic dog, but it would help.

They worked their way back down the tunnel, at this point Gray had no idea if White or her people were still waiting for them or if they’d moved on. The door was still there, which meant the city hadn’t left them behind, but how much time had passed was still up for grabs.

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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