In Dreams of Trees : In Sunshine or In Shadow

Wordcount: 310
Rating/Warnings: PG
Summary: Sara heads to bed.

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.


In Sunshine or In Shadow

Sara’s finally emerges from the bath, relaxed almost to the point of sleep and slips into fluffy cotton robes so warm and light it feels like she has already under the covers.

She makes her way back to the room, leaving wet footprints that fade into the stone tilework. It’s warm here, but not uncomfortable—an odd but welcome change from the static temperature of the cities.

The bed has been turned down and looks just as inviting as she remembered, but there’s a splash of blue against one of the closet doors and she ambles over, distracted.

It’s a peacock blue dress, long and flowing, more ornate than the fighting robes she’d seen earlier before. Still, it’s designed to hide more than it reveals and the cloth slips like silk between her fingers.

There isn’t much in the ways of finery within the endless city. Everyone is focused on survival and utility– there’s not a lot of effort left over to spend on making things pretty.

If Nathan was here she’d make a joke about the dress, but he’s not and instead she leans her head against the door and dredges up the tattered memories that are all she has left of home.

A young woman in a deep maroon and yellow dress, who might have been her sister and might have been her mother, was brushing her hair, and she remembers a song, but in the same way she remembered most dreams, it was soft and low and had a heartbeat rhythm that fades away when she wakes.

It used to hurt more, when the memories were fresh, but now it leaves behind just a gentle ache and a feeling of home and she’s not as scared of remembering.

With a sigh she leaves the dress and crawls into the welcoming bed. With luck the dreams will follow.

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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