A Brief History of a Story: The Gift
Sep. 10th, 2012 07:56 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
frogs_of_warI was wondering if anyone was interested in how I write from start to finish, because since I only thought of this story five days ago, so everything is fresh on my mind. (If not, or if you want to read the story first, skip to the last cut.)
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A few weeks agoI tried to listen to Heaven and Earth by Nora Roberts while I took my walk, but I ended up only having the first half hour track, so as I finished my hour and twenty minute walk I thought about that first bit. The story starts with a flash back to 17- or 18-something, which I found very boring. But the next bit was the women from the actual story. Ripley is the main character. She is a witch but doesn’t want to be. Mia is a witch who embraces her witchiness. She knows her powers and she’s comfortable with them. Ripley and Mia have a tension so palatable that I notice it before the author told us about it.
As I listen I became intrigued. Ripley and Mia have all the making of one of my particularly beloved tropes. I don’t know what it is called, but for the sake of a title, I’m going to call it Raising Your Lover (Or maybe Being Raised by Your Lover). Now I don’t mean falling for your step dad or uncle or older cousin. I’m talking about falling for someone further along in the same field: intern and experienced doctor, new reporter and older one, rookie and hall of famer. The people can even be the same age, one just knows more. Or maybe they don’t, maybe one is just more confident and teaches the other lover to trust in themself.
This story had all the makings of that relationship in femme slash only I knew it couldn’t be because of who the author is and that it is book two of three and in series like this all the women get paired off with men. And then in the last few minutes of the first track a man is mentioned. But I so would have loved to read Ripley and Mia’s romance as Ripley learned not to fear her gift and to trust herself and others.
I guess this is what fan fiction is for.
But since I don’t write fan fiction, I came up with several original stories. I’ve been so busy working (and writing Harmonies) that I haven’t had a chance to write any summaries down, but last Friday, I got to work before the sun and therefore got home early, so I used the time before dinner to write a summary.
Most of the time I call the main character Main, but this time I decided to name him. I went with Basque. The name site I used did not have very many Basque names, but I used them before in The Prince and the Sorcerer and I think they are pretty. I grabbed a few wolfmen names too. They all mean wolf.
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9/6/12 - Balendin’s uncle grabs his arm. Uncle Jorkin says to give him. Balendin’s mother screams no, but everyone else looks away Balendin’s grandparents, his aunts, and all his cousins, no one will meet his eye. Someone must be given. His mother tells all the reasons that it shouldn’t be him, not the least are because he is a both young and male. Before she is done all eyes turn to the front of the [house]. His uncle drags Balendin onto the porch, which he really didn’t need to do because Balendin wanted to see what was outside. His mother never let him before.
Men were standing knee deep in the snow with not once horse among them. They wore cloaks of wolf fur with the head still attached, which seems odd to Balendin. Legend said that the Wolf men were brothers to wolves, but why would anyone wear their brother’s skin? Did the wolves sacrifice themselves to the wolf men’s coats? Uncle Jorkin forced Balendin’s down the stairs to the wolf man in the front. The wolf man’s clothes were thick layers of fur and leather. His cheeks were hairless and his eyebrows weren’t bushy and he was clean. No one in the house had bathed since the snows began months ago. The wolf man looked younger than Uncle, but how could one tell with the wolf men. Maybe they didn’t wrinkle around the eyes. And he had such warm brown eyes. Balendin had to get a better look.
He tried to step off the bottom stair, but his uncle held him in a bruising grip. His uncle said, ‘This one.’ Balendin’s mother screamed “no.” The wolf man’s craggy voice said “is he willing?” Balendin mother screamed “no” again and he heard her on the stairs. Uncle said yes and pushed Balendin at the wolf man. And Balendin caught his balance and looked again into those warm brown eyes that seemed to say he would always be warm and well feed. He took another step and another. The wolf man sank to his knees in such a graceful fluid motion at Balendin would have almost believed that he hadn’t moved at all except now the wolf man’s eyes were level with his.
He stopped right in front of the wolf man and took a deep breath. Where was the tantalizing scent coming from? He leaned forward. The smell seemed to be coming from the wolf man himself. Balendin bent forward for a better whiff. He pressed his nose into the edge of the wolf man’s collar. The wolf man’s bent his head and rubbed his nose along Balendin’s scarfless neck. A warm voice, like the wolf man, but also not filled his head. “You are willing.”
Balendin looked up. Had the wolf man spoken without his mouth?
His mother shrieked higher and louder than even when Balendin’s father died. and his uncle yelled, “stop, wait.” And the wolf men’s howls filled the air. And a hot breath hit his neck just before sharp teeth took the world from him.
He woke in fur, on furs, under fur. He had never been so warm. He could hear his wolf man talking, but not with his ears. He rubbed one, or tried because his fingers didn’t work right and his ear was in the wrong place. No, not wrong. Just a different place. And some of the fur was his, on his face, his arm. He burrowed out of the covers. His nose got out before his eyes. He licked around his mouth. He had sharp teeth and a long tongue. And the big, majestic wolf by the fire was his wolf man. The other wolf was unimportant.
He leapt out of the bed and fell over his feet. He straighten up. Everything smelled good, but his wolf man smelled best. His feet didn’t want to cooperate and his tail kept knock him off balance, but soon enough he lay between his wolf’s front feet. His wolf licked him. That felt good. He rubbed his head against his wolf’s chest.
“My little one,” said his wolf in that voice that was as warm as his eyes.
Balendin flopped over. He could lie there all night. It was his new favorite spot to be. It was much nice that the loft in the cowshed or the hollow log by the river. He’d never need to hide in either place again.
“Did you pick yourself a mate or a cub?” said the other wolf in a voice like coal.
Balendin’s wolf rubbed his nose against Balendin’s belly. “Both maybe.”
“Why? Why so young?”
“A youngling will adjust better than an adult. Don’t forget the trouble Dolf’s mate caused him. She couldn’t learn to be happy.”
The other wolf nodded. “You might be right, but isn’t this one male?”
He leaned forward over Balendin. Balendin’s wolf jumped to his feet too quick to see and leaned forward. The other wolf backed away and lowered his head.
As nice as it was to lay with his wolf above him like a roof or shield, Balendin liked his wolf’s fur rubbing against his better. His wolf sat back down. Balendin nuzzled him. His wolf nuzzled back.
“But,” said the other wolf, “I am right to believe this one is male? Don’t you need cubs?”
“When he is older, I will get him with cubs and after I do, I will never need to prove my power again.”
///////
Once I got to the end, I realized that only the first half was summarized and if I put a little effort in I could make it as much of a story as the end. And I had a few hours, so:
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Wolf man
Uncle Jorkin grabbed Balendin’s arm. “Let’s give Balendin.”
“No, we can’t.” Balendin’s mother tugged on Balendin’s other arm “We can’t give my only son, would you take him from me too?”
But she could not budge Balendin from Uncle Jorkin’s grip. The long winter had taken her strength.
“If not him, then who?” Uncle Jorkin swept his arm around the room. Balendin’s grandparents, his aunts, and all his cousins were huddled under blankets around the small room. They looked away as Balendin turned to them.
Someone must be given.
The winter had been long and hard. Even his chubby little cousin Elixa had lost her round cheeks. His grandmother was skin and bones. She insisted everyone, even Balendin, eat before her. Uncle Jorkin and Cousin Erlea went out into the woods everyday looking for something to eat, but nothing could be found. Soon they would have to butcher the milk cow, which would only delay the day they ran totally out of food.
“But it can’t be him,” Balendin’s mother pleaded. “It can’t be my Balendin. He is so young and small.”
“If we do nothing, he will die — we will all die before winter is over. This way he might have a chance to survive.”
“If you think that, send one of your own children. Erlea is young and strong. She would make a fine wife for the wolf men. But leave my son out of it.”
“Erlea has is betrothed. She will be married in the spring.”
“If the spring ever comes. Send one of your other daughters then. You cannot send my son. Our father’s only grandson. Will you deny him that?”
“I may have a son yet. Only time will tell. Or my daughters will have sons. Someone has to go. The wolf men know the woods and the weather. If the Dolf says we will not survive until spring without their help, I believe him. Will you go instead?”
“Of course not.” Balendin’s mother crossed her arms. “I will not be taken by a wolf. I will kill myself first.”
A howl rose up in the night. The wolf men were back. Balendin’s mother reached for Balendin again, but Uncle Jorkin threw open the door and dragged Balendin onto the porch without even letting him put on his scarf and mittens.
The moon shone so brightly on the snow that it might have been day. Every man stood straight and tall about an arm’s length apart. Snow drifts rose to the hips of the men in back, but only to the knees of the big man not far from the porch’s bottom step. The huge snowflakes settled lightly on their shoulders, but where could they have been for the last hour to be that free of the white stuff?
Each wore clothing of fur and leather with a huge wolf pelt, including the head, as a cloak. Legend said that the wolf men were brothers to wolves, but why would anyone wear his brother’s skin? Did the wolves sacrifice themselves to the wolf men’s coats?
The wolf men had come before. Once early that very evening, but always before his mother had hid Balendin in the attic or under a pile of blankets or in the woodpile. They were beautiful and mysterious and extra-ordinary, everything Balendin had hoped, and they cast strange shadows.
Uncle Jorkin forced Balendin’s down the stairs to the wolf man in the front. This wolf man’s cheeks were hairless, unlike many of the wolf men and every other man Balendin knew. His hair fell in silky waves to his shoulders. Did he live in a place warm enough to wash it even in this weather? No one in the house had bathed since the snows came for fear of not drying thoroughly and freezing in their sleep like the water pail did every night.
But this man looked unafraid of anything.
His hair shared the greys of his wolf pelt cloak, but even with that he looked younger than Uncle Jorkin. Only how could one tell with the wolf men? Maybe they didn’t wrinkle around the eyes. And this one had such warm brown eyes. Balendin had to get a better look.
He tried to step off the bottom stair, but his uncle held him in a bruising grip. “This is the one.”
“No!” screamed Balendin’s mother. “He’s not! Don’t take him! He’s too young!”
“Is he willing?” The wolf man’s craggy voice coursed through the air and took Balendin’s breath away.
“No!” Balendin’s mother bounded down the stairs.
“Yes.” Uncle Jokin pushed Balendin at the wolf man.
Balendin caught his balance after two steps and looked again into those warm brown eyes that whispered promised of warm toes and a full belly. Balendin took another step and another. The wolf man sank to his knees in such a graceful fluid motion at Balendin would have almost believed that he hadn’t moved at all except now the wolf man’s eyes were level with his.
Balendin stopped right in front of the wolf man and took a deep breath. Where was the tantalizing scent coming from? He leaned forward. The smell seemed to be coming from the wolf man himself. Balendin bent forward for a better whiff. He pressed his nose into the edge of the wolf man’s collar. The wolf man bent his head and rubbed his nose along Balendin’s scarfless neck. A warm voice, like the wolf man’s, but also not filled his head. “You are willing.”
Balendin looked up. Had the wolf man spoken without his mouth?
Ma shrieked higher and louder than even when Balendin’s father died.
And Uncle Jorkin yelled, “Stop! Wait!”
And the wolf men’s howls filled the air.
And a hot breath hit his neck just before sharp teeth took the world from him.
~
Balendin woke in fur, on furs, under fur. He had never been so warm. He could hear his wolf man talking, but not with his ears. He rubbed one, or tried because his fingers didn’t work right and his ear was in the wrong place. No, not wrong. Just a different place. And some of the fur was his, on his face, his arm. He burrowed out of the covers. His nose got out before his eyes. He licked around his mouth. He had sharp teeth and a long tongue. And the big, majestic wolf by the fire was his wolf man. The other wolf was unimportant.
He leapt out of the bed and fell over his feet. He straightened up. Everything smelled good, but his wolf man smelled best. His feet didn’t want to cooperate and his tail kept knock him off balance, but soon enough he lay between his wolf’s front feet. His wolf licked him. That felt good. He rubbed his head against his wolf’s chest.
“My little one,” said his wolf in that voice that was as warm as his eyes.
Balendin flopped over. He could lie there all night. It was his new favorite spot to be. It was much nice that the loft in the cowshed or the hollow log by the river. He’d never need to hide in either place again.
“Did you pick yourself a mate or a cub?” said the other wolf in a voice like coal.
Balendin’s wolf rubbed his nose against Balendin’s belly. “Both maybe.”
“Why? Why so young?”
“A youngling will adjust better than an adult. Don’t forget the trouble Phelan’s mate caused him. She couldn’t learn to be happy.”
The other wolf nodded. “You might be right, but isn’t this one male?”
He leaned forward over Balendin. Balendin’s wolf jumped to his feet too quick to see and leaned forward. The other wolf backed away and lowered his head.
As nice as it was to lay with his wolf above him like a roof or shield, Balendin liked his wolf’s fur rubbing against his better. His wolf sat back down. Balendin nuzzled him. His wolf nuzzled back.
“But,” said the other wolf, “I am right to believe this one is male? Don’t you need cubs?”
Balendin’s wolf nibbled his ear. “When he is older, I will get him with cubs and after I do, I will never again need to prove my power.”//////
I finished this up and went to bed, but the more I thought about it, the younger Balendin seemed. I didn’t want him to be six or eight or ten. He needed to be fourteen or fifteen. Not an adult. Not mature. Not ready to join his wolf in bed for more than sleep. I needed to age him up. And make him less passive.
I spent a while coming up with names. Having a choice of only 52 names is limiting, but the lack of choice is also freeing. I took no more than a minute to name each person.
To make the story seem more immediate, I changed “Balendin’s mother” to “Ma”, “Balendin’s father” to “Pa”, “Grandmother” to “Grandma” then to “Nana” and “Grandfather” to “Grandpa” to “Poppa”. And I changed quite a few “the wolf man” to “Kenneally” or “Dolf Kenneally” which made Balendin feel older, at least to me.
Then came the hard part. The part that normally takes me forever, month normally. I took the story to work and read it on every break and lunch on Saturday, Sunday, and Monday. I fixed as many of the typos, unsmooth phrases, grammar mistakes, etc. that I could see, typed in the changes and reprinted it and started over.
Then today came the other hard part. The fiddly bits, where I compare one or two words or the arrangements of sentences, such as deciding between 23 different ways of writing four actions happening at once:
Ma shrieked higher and louder than even when Balendin’s father died.
And Uncle Jorkin yelled, “Stop! Wait!”
And the wolf men’s howls filled the air.
And a hot breath hit his neck just before sharp teeth took the world from him.
Or
The wolf men’s howls filled the air and Ma shrieked higher and louder than even when Balendin’s father died and Uncle Jorkin yelled, “Stop! Wait!” and a hot breath hit his neck just before sharp teeth took the world from him.
Or
The air filled with the wolf men’s howls, Uncle Jorkin yelled, “Stop! Wait!” Ma shrieked higher and louder than even when Balendin’s father died and a hot breath hit his neck just before sharp teeth took the world from him.
And then once I picked the one I wanted, I worried over whether it was a run-on sentence and whether that even mattered.
And deciding between:
Wolfman
wolfman
Wolf man
wolf man
Wolf-man
wolf-man
Wolf-Man
Wolf Man
And then I added stuff and took stuff away and looked over a chart from a different page of a site that Charis sent me a link to. And then, long before I would normally give a story up, this feels done. (I also have ideas for more stories with these characters and the ones only mentioned.)
And I changed the title as I was writing it below. I like this name better.
Title: The Gift
Status: Complete
Genre: supernatural, family
Rating: PG
Length: 1.4k
Summary: Balendin’s family must begift one of their own to the wolfmen in exchange for food to last the winter.
Uncle Jorkin stopped pacing in front of where Balendin huddled with his cousins under blankets. “Let’s give Balendin.”
“No, we can’t.” Ma turned from the fire. “He is my only living child. Would you have the forest take him from me too?”
Ma blamed the forest for the landslide that killed Pa and Uncle Ganix, the illness that took and Balendin’s younger brothers, and the odd spirit that overcame Zavion, Balendin’s older brother, that led him to spend more and more time in the forest until one day he didn’t come home. Since then Ma hadn’t allowed Balendin near the tree line. But Balendin understood, so he didn’t protest.
“If not him, then who?” Uncle Jorkin lifted the baby off Balendin’s lap and passed her to Aunt Amaya. Balendin miss the warmth immediately. His aunts called his cousins to them and Nana hid her face against Poppa’s shoulder.
Balendin felt the rejection hot in his chest, but he knew someone must be given and as much as his family loved him, they were relieved that the gift wasn’t going to be them.
The winter had been long and hard. Even his chubby little cousin Elixa had lost her round cheeks. Nana was skin and bones. She offered more than half of her small portions to the little ones crying from empty bellies. Uncle Jorkin and Cousin Erlea went out into the woods everyday looking for something to eat, but food was scarce. Soon they would have to butcher the milk cow, which would only delay the day they ran totally out of food.
“But it can’t be him,” Ma pleaded. “It can’t be my Balendin. He is my precious little boy.”
Balendin had outgrown Ma over the summer, but he would never grow up in her heart.
“If we do nothing, he will die,” Uncle Jorkin looked over his family, “we will all die before winter is over. This way he might have a chance to survive.”
“If you think that, send one of your own children. Erlea is young and strong. She would make a fine wife for the wolfmen. Leave my son out of this.”
“Erlea is only a month older than Balendin and she is betrothed. She will be married in the spring.”
“If the spring ever comes. Send one of your other daughters then. You cannot send my son. Would you deny our father his only grandson?”
“I may have a son yet. Only time will tell. Or my daughters will have sons. The wolfmen know the woods and the weather. If the Dolf says we will not survive until spring without their help, I believe him. If your husband and Ganix had listened to the Dolf, they might yet be alive. Someone needs to go. Will you go instead?”
“Of course not.” Ma crossed her arms. “I will not be taken by a wolf. I would kill myself first.”
A howl rose up in the night. The wolfmen were back. Ma reached for Balendin, but Uncle Jorkin threw open the door. “Balendin, come.”
Balendin wrapped the blanket more tightly around himself and stepped onto the porch.
The moon shone so brightly on the snow that it might have been day. A score of wolfmen stood in the yard, each about an arm’s length apart. Snow drifts rose to the hips of the men in back, but only to the knees of the big man not far from the porch’s bottom step. The huge snowflakes settled lightly on their shoulders, but where could they have been for the last hour to be that free of the ever-present white stuff?
Each wore clothing of fur and leather with a huge wolf pelt, including the head, as a cloak. Legend said that the wolfmen were brothers to wolves, but why would anyone wear his brother’s skin? Did the wolves sacrifice themselves to become the wolfmen’s coats?
The wolfmen had come before. Once early that very evening, but always before Ma had insisted Balendin hide, so he’d never seen them until now. They were as beautiful and mysterious and extra-ordinary as Balendin had hoped, and they cast strange shadows.
Uncle Jorkin led Balendin down to the lowest step not covered in snow. Here Balendin was eye to eye with the huge wolfman in front. This wolfman’s cheeks were hairless, unlike many of the wolfmen and every other man Balendin knew. His hair fell in silky waves to his shoulders. Did he live in a place warm enough to wash it even in this weather? No one in the house had bathed since the snows came for fear of not drying thoroughly and freezing in their sleep like the water pail did every night.
But this man looked unafraid of anything.
His hair shared the greys of his wolf pelt cloak, but even with that he looked younger than Uncle Jorkin. Only how could one tell with the wolfmen? Maybe they didn’t wrinkle around the eyes. And this one had such warm brown eyes. If Balendin put out his hand, could he touch him? Was he was warm as he looked?
Uncle Jorkin put his hand in Balendin’s shoulder. “Dolf Kenneally, this is the one.”
“No!” screamed Ma. “He’s not! Don’t take him! He’s too young!”
“Is he willing?” Dolf Kenneally’s craggy voice coursed through the air and took Balendin’s breath away.
“No!” Ma bounded down the stairs.
“Yes.” Uncle Jorkin nudged Balendin off the step.
Balendin took a step into the snow. He nearly slipped. The wolfman put out his hand, but didn’t touch Balendin. Balendin looked again into those warm brown eyes that whispered promised of warm toes and a full belly. He took another step and one more to the ground. The wolfman sank to his knees in such a graceful, fluid motion at Balendin would have almost believed that he hadn’t moved at all except now Kenneally’s eyes were again level with his.
Balendin stopped right in front of Kenneally. He wanted to touch. Was that all right? What did it mean to be a gift to the wolfmen? Or was he a trade? The Dolf would make sure his family ate. Balendin had to believe that. He took a deep breath. He smelled snow and wet dirt and the heavy tang of his unwashed blanket, but where was the tantalizing scent coming from? Was it the wolfmen?
He wanted to lean forward, but he held himself back. He didn’t want to embarrass his Uncle or Ma or, worse, the Dolf. The smell seemed to be coming from Dolf Kenneally himself. Balendin breathed in deeply, hoping for a better whiff. The Dolf smiled, warm and inviting. Balendin took the last step until his toes touched the Dolf’s knees. He ignored his embarrassment and pressed his nose into the edge of Kenneally’s collar. Kenneally bent his head and rubbed his nose along Balendin’s neck. Balendin had never been so warm. His breath was steam, but it should have been fire. Even the melting snow in his shoes couldn’t cool him down. A warm voice, like Dolf Kenneally’s but also not, filled his head. “You are willing.”
Balendin looked up. Had the Dolf spoken without his mouth?
The wolfmen’s howls filled the air, Ma shrieked higher and louder than even when Balendin’s father died as Uncle Jorkin yelled, “Stop! Wait!”
A hot breath hit his neck just before sharp teeth took the world from him.
~
Balendin woke in fur, on fur, under fur. He had never been so warm. He could hear his wolfman talking, but not with his ears. He rubbed one, or tried because his fingers didn’t work right and his ear was in the wrong place. No, not wrong, just different. And some of the fur was his, on his face, his arm. He burrowed out of the covers. His nose got out before his eyes. He smelled his wolfman and fresh meat.
He was so hungry. He shoved his face into the bowl of chopped meat and organs. He swallowed the chunks whole. He tried to slow down, but no small ones were staring sad-eyed at his plate. He ate every bite and then licked the bowl with his long tongue.
He licked around his mouth. His teeth were sharp and his snout was long. And the big, majestic wolf by the fire was his wolfman, Dolf Kenneally. The other wolf was unimportant.
He did belong to the Dolf now, didn’t he? The furs in the bed smelled like Kenneally, so the house had to be his. The other wolf was the guest. But he wasn’t here to take Balendin away, was he? He better not be.
Balendin leapt out of the bed and fell over his too big feet. He straightened up. Enticing scents filled the house, but none so enticing as his wolf. His feet didn’t want to cooperate and his tail kept knocking him off balance, but finally he lay his head beside his wolf’s front paw. Kenneally licked his ear and neck. That felt good. He rubbed his face against Kenneally’s — his wolf’s — chest.
“My little one,” Dolf Kenneally said in that voice that was as warm as his eyes.
Balendin flopped over and exposed his belly. He still wasn’t comfortable with the guest wolf, but his wolf made him feel safe. He could lie there all night.
“Only you would set out to find a mate and return with a half grown pup,” said the other wolf in a voice like coal.
“I found both. Maybe.” Dolf Kenneally rubbed his nose against Balendin’s belly. “A youngling will adjust better than an adult. Don’t forget the trouble Phelan’s mate caused him. She couldn’t learn to be happy.”
“You might be right, but isn’t this one male?” He leaned toward Balendin.
Dolf Kenneally jumped to his feet too quick for Balendin to see, raised his tail, and bared his teeth. The other wolf backed away and averted his head.
Balendin’s breath caught. Dolf Kenneally was beautiful, majestic, and strong. Balendin felt protected rather than babied. Kenneally stood over him because he wanted to, not because Balendin couldn’t take care of himself.
Dolf Kenneally sat back down. Balendin nuzzled him. He nuzzled back.
“But,” said the other wolf, “I am right to believe this one is male? Won’t you need cubs?”
Balendin’s wolf nibbled his ear. “When he is older, I will get him with cubs and once I do, I will never again need to prove my power.”
//////
A few weeks agoI tried to listen to Heaven and Earth by Nora Roberts while I took my walk, but I ended up only having the first half hour track, so as I finished my hour and twenty minute walk I thought about that first bit. The story starts with a flash back to 17- or 18-something, which I found very boring. But the next bit was the women from the actual story. Ripley is the main character. She is a witch but doesn’t want to be. Mia is a witch who embraces her witchiness. She knows her powers and she’s comfortable with them. Ripley and Mia have a tension so palatable that I notice it before the author told us about it.
As I listen I became intrigued. Ripley and Mia have all the making of one of my particularly beloved tropes. I don’t know what it is called, but for the sake of a title, I’m going to call it Raising Your Lover (Or maybe Being Raised by Your Lover). Now I don’t mean falling for your step dad or uncle or older cousin. I’m talking about falling for someone further along in the same field: intern and experienced doctor, new reporter and older one, rookie and hall of famer. The people can even be the same age, one just knows more. Or maybe they don’t, maybe one is just more confident and teaches the other lover to trust in themself.
This story had all the makings of that relationship in femme slash only I knew it couldn’t be because of who the author is and that it is book two of three and in series like this all the women get paired off with men. And then in the last few minutes of the first track a man is mentioned. But I so would have loved to read Ripley and Mia’s romance as Ripley learned not to fear her gift and to trust herself and others.
I guess this is what fan fiction is for.
But since I don’t write fan fiction, I came up with several original stories. I’ve been so busy working (and writing Harmonies) that I haven’t had a chance to write any summaries down, but last Friday, I got to work before the sun and therefore got home early, so I used the time before dinner to write a summary.
Most of the time I call the main character Main, but this time I decided to name him. I went with Basque. The name site I used did not have very many Basque names, but I used them before in The Prince and the Sorcerer and I think they are pretty. I grabbed a few wolfmen names too. They all mean wolf.
////////
9/6/12 - Balendin’s uncle grabs his arm. Uncle Jorkin says to give him. Balendin’s mother screams no, but everyone else looks away Balendin’s grandparents, his aunts, and all his cousins, no one will meet his eye. Someone must be given. His mother tells all the reasons that it shouldn’t be him, not the least are because he is a both young and male. Before she is done all eyes turn to the front of the [house]. His uncle drags Balendin onto the porch, which he really didn’t need to do because Balendin wanted to see what was outside. His mother never let him before.
Men were standing knee deep in the snow with not once horse among them. They wore cloaks of wolf fur with the head still attached, which seems odd to Balendin. Legend said that the Wolf men were brothers to wolves, but why would anyone wear their brother’s skin? Did the wolves sacrifice themselves to the wolf men’s coats? Uncle Jorkin forced Balendin’s down the stairs to the wolf man in the front. The wolf man’s clothes were thick layers of fur and leather. His cheeks were hairless and his eyebrows weren’t bushy and he was clean. No one in the house had bathed since the snows began months ago. The wolf man looked younger than Uncle, but how could one tell with the wolf men. Maybe they didn’t wrinkle around the eyes. And he had such warm brown eyes. Balendin had to get a better look.
He tried to step off the bottom stair, but his uncle held him in a bruising grip. His uncle said, ‘This one.’ Balendin’s mother screamed “no.” The wolf man’s craggy voice said “is he willing?” Balendin mother screamed “no” again and he heard her on the stairs. Uncle said yes and pushed Balendin at the wolf man. And Balendin caught his balance and looked again into those warm brown eyes that seemed to say he would always be warm and well feed. He took another step and another. The wolf man sank to his knees in such a graceful fluid motion at Balendin would have almost believed that he hadn’t moved at all except now the wolf man’s eyes were level with his.
He stopped right in front of the wolf man and took a deep breath. Where was the tantalizing scent coming from? He leaned forward. The smell seemed to be coming from the wolf man himself. Balendin bent forward for a better whiff. He pressed his nose into the edge of the wolf man’s collar. The wolf man’s bent his head and rubbed his nose along Balendin’s scarfless neck. A warm voice, like the wolf man, but also not filled his head. “You are willing.”
Balendin looked up. Had the wolf man spoken without his mouth?
His mother shrieked higher and louder than even when Balendin’s father died. and his uncle yelled, “stop, wait.” And the wolf men’s howls filled the air. And a hot breath hit his neck just before sharp teeth took the world from him.
He woke in fur, on furs, under fur. He had never been so warm. He could hear his wolf man talking, but not with his ears. He rubbed one, or tried because his fingers didn’t work right and his ear was in the wrong place. No, not wrong. Just a different place. And some of the fur was his, on his face, his arm. He burrowed out of the covers. His nose got out before his eyes. He licked around his mouth. He had sharp teeth and a long tongue. And the big, majestic wolf by the fire was his wolf man. The other wolf was unimportant.
He leapt out of the bed and fell over his feet. He straighten up. Everything smelled good, but his wolf man smelled best. His feet didn’t want to cooperate and his tail kept knock him off balance, but soon enough he lay between his wolf’s front feet. His wolf licked him. That felt good. He rubbed his head against his wolf’s chest.
“My little one,” said his wolf in that voice that was as warm as his eyes.
Balendin flopped over. He could lie there all night. It was his new favorite spot to be. It was much nice that the loft in the cowshed or the hollow log by the river. He’d never need to hide in either place again.
“Did you pick yourself a mate or a cub?” said the other wolf in a voice like coal.
Balendin’s wolf rubbed his nose against Balendin’s belly. “Both maybe.”
“Why? Why so young?”
“A youngling will adjust better than an adult. Don’t forget the trouble Dolf’s mate caused him. She couldn’t learn to be happy.”
The other wolf nodded. “You might be right, but isn’t this one male?”
He leaned forward over Balendin. Balendin’s wolf jumped to his feet too quick to see and leaned forward. The other wolf backed away and lowered his head.
As nice as it was to lay with his wolf above him like a roof or shield, Balendin liked his wolf’s fur rubbing against his better. His wolf sat back down. Balendin nuzzled him. His wolf nuzzled back.
“But,” said the other wolf, “I am right to believe this one is male? Don’t you need cubs?”
“When he is older, I will get him with cubs and after I do, I will never need to prove my power again.”
///////
Once I got to the end, I realized that only the first half was summarized and if I put a little effort in I could make it as much of a story as the end. And I had a few hours, so:
/////
Wolf man
Uncle Jorkin grabbed Balendin’s arm. “Let’s give Balendin.”
“No, we can’t.” Balendin’s mother tugged on Balendin’s other arm “We can’t give my only son, would you take him from me too?”
But she could not budge Balendin from Uncle Jorkin’s grip. The long winter had taken her strength.
“If not him, then who?” Uncle Jorkin swept his arm around the room. Balendin’s grandparents, his aunts, and all his cousins were huddled under blankets around the small room. They looked away as Balendin turned to them.
Someone must be given.
The winter had been long and hard. Even his chubby little cousin Elixa had lost her round cheeks. His grandmother was skin and bones. She insisted everyone, even Balendin, eat before her. Uncle Jorkin and Cousin Erlea went out into the woods everyday looking for something to eat, but nothing could be found. Soon they would have to butcher the milk cow, which would only delay the day they ran totally out of food.
“But it can’t be him,” Balendin’s mother pleaded. “It can’t be my Balendin. He is so young and small.”
“If we do nothing, he will die — we will all die before winter is over. This way he might have a chance to survive.”
“If you think that, send one of your own children. Erlea is young and strong. She would make a fine wife for the wolf men. But leave my son out of it.”
“Erlea has is betrothed. She will be married in the spring.”
“If the spring ever comes. Send one of your other daughters then. You cannot send my son. Our father’s only grandson. Will you deny him that?”
“I may have a son yet. Only time will tell. Or my daughters will have sons. Someone has to go. The wolf men know the woods and the weather. If the Dolf says we will not survive until spring without their help, I believe him. Will you go instead?”
“Of course not.” Balendin’s mother crossed her arms. “I will not be taken by a wolf. I will kill myself first.”
A howl rose up in the night. The wolf men were back. Balendin’s mother reached for Balendin again, but Uncle Jorkin threw open the door and dragged Balendin onto the porch without even letting him put on his scarf and mittens.
The moon shone so brightly on the snow that it might have been day. Every man stood straight and tall about an arm’s length apart. Snow drifts rose to the hips of the men in back, but only to the knees of the big man not far from the porch’s bottom step. The huge snowflakes settled lightly on their shoulders, but where could they have been for the last hour to be that free of the white stuff?
Each wore clothing of fur and leather with a huge wolf pelt, including the head, as a cloak. Legend said that the wolf men were brothers to wolves, but why would anyone wear his brother’s skin? Did the wolves sacrifice themselves to the wolf men’s coats?
The wolf men had come before. Once early that very evening, but always before his mother had hid Balendin in the attic or under a pile of blankets or in the woodpile. They were beautiful and mysterious and extra-ordinary, everything Balendin had hoped, and they cast strange shadows.
Uncle Jorkin forced Balendin’s down the stairs to the wolf man in the front. This wolf man’s cheeks were hairless, unlike many of the wolf men and every other man Balendin knew. His hair fell in silky waves to his shoulders. Did he live in a place warm enough to wash it even in this weather? No one in the house had bathed since the snows came for fear of not drying thoroughly and freezing in their sleep like the water pail did every night.
But this man looked unafraid of anything.
His hair shared the greys of his wolf pelt cloak, but even with that he looked younger than Uncle Jorkin. Only how could one tell with the wolf men? Maybe they didn’t wrinkle around the eyes. And this one had such warm brown eyes. Balendin had to get a better look.
He tried to step off the bottom stair, but his uncle held him in a bruising grip. “This is the one.”
“No!” screamed Balendin’s mother. “He’s not! Don’t take him! He’s too young!”
“Is he willing?” The wolf man’s craggy voice coursed through the air and took Balendin’s breath away.
“No!” Balendin’s mother bounded down the stairs.
“Yes.” Uncle Jokin pushed Balendin at the wolf man.
Balendin caught his balance after two steps and looked again into those warm brown eyes that whispered promised of warm toes and a full belly. Balendin took another step and another. The wolf man sank to his knees in such a graceful fluid motion at Balendin would have almost believed that he hadn’t moved at all except now the wolf man’s eyes were level with his.
Balendin stopped right in front of the wolf man and took a deep breath. Where was the tantalizing scent coming from? He leaned forward. The smell seemed to be coming from the wolf man himself. Balendin bent forward for a better whiff. He pressed his nose into the edge of the wolf man’s collar. The wolf man bent his head and rubbed his nose along Balendin’s scarfless neck. A warm voice, like the wolf man’s, but also not filled his head. “You are willing.”
Balendin looked up. Had the wolf man spoken without his mouth?
Ma shrieked higher and louder than even when Balendin’s father died.
And Uncle Jorkin yelled, “Stop! Wait!”
And the wolf men’s howls filled the air.
And a hot breath hit his neck just before sharp teeth took the world from him.
~
Balendin woke in fur, on furs, under fur. He had never been so warm. He could hear his wolf man talking, but not with his ears. He rubbed one, or tried because his fingers didn’t work right and his ear was in the wrong place. No, not wrong. Just a different place. And some of the fur was his, on his face, his arm. He burrowed out of the covers. His nose got out before his eyes. He licked around his mouth. He had sharp teeth and a long tongue. And the big, majestic wolf by the fire was his wolf man. The other wolf was unimportant.
He leapt out of the bed and fell over his feet. He straightened up. Everything smelled good, but his wolf man smelled best. His feet didn’t want to cooperate and his tail kept knock him off balance, but soon enough he lay between his wolf’s front feet. His wolf licked him. That felt good. He rubbed his head against his wolf’s chest.
“My little one,” said his wolf in that voice that was as warm as his eyes.
Balendin flopped over. He could lie there all night. It was his new favorite spot to be. It was much nice that the loft in the cowshed or the hollow log by the river. He’d never need to hide in either place again.
“Did you pick yourself a mate or a cub?” said the other wolf in a voice like coal.
Balendin’s wolf rubbed his nose against Balendin’s belly. “Both maybe.”
“Why? Why so young?”
“A youngling will adjust better than an adult. Don’t forget the trouble Phelan’s mate caused him. She couldn’t learn to be happy.”
The other wolf nodded. “You might be right, but isn’t this one male?”
He leaned forward over Balendin. Balendin’s wolf jumped to his feet too quick to see and leaned forward. The other wolf backed away and lowered his head.
As nice as it was to lay with his wolf above him like a roof or shield, Balendin liked his wolf’s fur rubbing against his better. His wolf sat back down. Balendin nuzzled him. His wolf nuzzled back.
“But,” said the other wolf, “I am right to believe this one is male? Don’t you need cubs?”
Balendin’s wolf nibbled his ear. “When he is older, I will get him with cubs and after I do, I will never again need to prove my power.”//////
I finished this up and went to bed, but the more I thought about it, the younger Balendin seemed. I didn’t want him to be six or eight or ten. He needed to be fourteen or fifteen. Not an adult. Not mature. Not ready to join his wolf in bed for more than sleep. I needed to age him up. And make him less passive.
I spent a while coming up with names. Having a choice of only 52 names is limiting, but the lack of choice is also freeing. I took no more than a minute to name each person.
To make the story seem more immediate, I changed “Balendin’s mother” to “Ma”, “Balendin’s father” to “Pa”, “Grandmother” to “Grandma” then to “Nana” and “Grandfather” to “Grandpa” to “Poppa”. And I changed quite a few “the wolf man” to “Kenneally” or “Dolf Kenneally” which made Balendin feel older, at least to me.
Then came the hard part. The part that normally takes me forever, month normally. I took the story to work and read it on every break and lunch on Saturday, Sunday, and Monday. I fixed as many of the typos, unsmooth phrases, grammar mistakes, etc. that I could see, typed in the changes and reprinted it and started over.
Then today came the other hard part. The fiddly bits, where I compare one or two words or the arrangements of sentences, such as deciding between 23 different ways of writing four actions happening at once:
Ma shrieked higher and louder than even when Balendin’s father died.
And Uncle Jorkin yelled, “Stop! Wait!”
And the wolf men’s howls filled the air.
And a hot breath hit his neck just before sharp teeth took the world from him.
Or
The wolf men’s howls filled the air and Ma shrieked higher and louder than even when Balendin’s father died and Uncle Jorkin yelled, “Stop! Wait!” and a hot breath hit his neck just before sharp teeth took the world from him.
Or
The air filled with the wolf men’s howls, Uncle Jorkin yelled, “Stop! Wait!” Ma shrieked higher and louder than even when Balendin’s father died and a hot breath hit his neck just before sharp teeth took the world from him.
And then once I picked the one I wanted, I worried over whether it was a run-on sentence and whether that even mattered.
And deciding between:
Wolfman
wolfman
Wolf man
wolf man
Wolf-man
wolf-man
Wolf-Man
Wolf Man
And then I added stuff and took stuff away and looked over a chart from a different page of a site that Charis sent me a link to. And then, long before I would normally give a story up, this feels done. (I also have ideas for more stories with these characters and the ones only mentioned.)
And I changed the title as I was writing it below. I like this name better.
Title: The Gift
Status: Complete
Genre: supernatural, family
Rating: PG
Length: 1.4k
Summary: Balendin’s family must begift one of their own to the wolfmen in exchange for food to last the winter.
Uncle Jorkin stopped pacing in front of where Balendin huddled with his cousins under blankets. “Let’s give Balendin.”
“No, we can’t.” Ma turned from the fire. “He is my only living child. Would you have the forest take him from me too?”
Ma blamed the forest for the landslide that killed Pa and Uncle Ganix, the illness that took and Balendin’s younger brothers, and the odd spirit that overcame Zavion, Balendin’s older brother, that led him to spend more and more time in the forest until one day he didn’t come home. Since then Ma hadn’t allowed Balendin near the tree line. But Balendin understood, so he didn’t protest.
“If not him, then who?” Uncle Jorkin lifted the baby off Balendin’s lap and passed her to Aunt Amaya. Balendin miss the warmth immediately. His aunts called his cousins to them and Nana hid her face against Poppa’s shoulder.
Balendin felt the rejection hot in his chest, but he knew someone must be given and as much as his family loved him, they were relieved that the gift wasn’t going to be them.
The winter had been long and hard. Even his chubby little cousin Elixa had lost her round cheeks. Nana was skin and bones. She offered more than half of her small portions to the little ones crying from empty bellies. Uncle Jorkin and Cousin Erlea went out into the woods everyday looking for something to eat, but food was scarce. Soon they would have to butcher the milk cow, which would only delay the day they ran totally out of food.
“But it can’t be him,” Ma pleaded. “It can’t be my Balendin. He is my precious little boy.”
Balendin had outgrown Ma over the summer, but he would never grow up in her heart.
“If we do nothing, he will die,” Uncle Jorkin looked over his family, “we will all die before winter is over. This way he might have a chance to survive.”
“If you think that, send one of your own children. Erlea is young and strong. She would make a fine wife for the wolfmen. Leave my son out of this.”
“Erlea is only a month older than Balendin and she is betrothed. She will be married in the spring.”
“If the spring ever comes. Send one of your other daughters then. You cannot send my son. Would you deny our father his only grandson?”
“I may have a son yet. Only time will tell. Or my daughters will have sons. The wolfmen know the woods and the weather. If the Dolf says we will not survive until spring without their help, I believe him. If your husband and Ganix had listened to the Dolf, they might yet be alive. Someone needs to go. Will you go instead?”
“Of course not.” Ma crossed her arms. “I will not be taken by a wolf. I would kill myself first.”
A howl rose up in the night. The wolfmen were back. Ma reached for Balendin, but Uncle Jorkin threw open the door. “Balendin, come.”
Balendin wrapped the blanket more tightly around himself and stepped onto the porch.
The moon shone so brightly on the snow that it might have been day. A score of wolfmen stood in the yard, each about an arm’s length apart. Snow drifts rose to the hips of the men in back, but only to the knees of the big man not far from the porch’s bottom step. The huge snowflakes settled lightly on their shoulders, but where could they have been for the last hour to be that free of the ever-present white stuff?
Each wore clothing of fur and leather with a huge wolf pelt, including the head, as a cloak. Legend said that the wolfmen were brothers to wolves, but why would anyone wear his brother’s skin? Did the wolves sacrifice themselves to become the wolfmen’s coats?
The wolfmen had come before. Once early that very evening, but always before Ma had insisted Balendin hide, so he’d never seen them until now. They were as beautiful and mysterious and extra-ordinary as Balendin had hoped, and they cast strange shadows.
Uncle Jorkin led Balendin down to the lowest step not covered in snow. Here Balendin was eye to eye with the huge wolfman in front. This wolfman’s cheeks were hairless, unlike many of the wolfmen and every other man Balendin knew. His hair fell in silky waves to his shoulders. Did he live in a place warm enough to wash it even in this weather? No one in the house had bathed since the snows came for fear of not drying thoroughly and freezing in their sleep like the water pail did every night.
But this man looked unafraid of anything.
His hair shared the greys of his wolf pelt cloak, but even with that he looked younger than Uncle Jorkin. Only how could one tell with the wolfmen? Maybe they didn’t wrinkle around the eyes. And this one had such warm brown eyes. If Balendin put out his hand, could he touch him? Was he was warm as he looked?
Uncle Jorkin put his hand in Balendin’s shoulder. “Dolf Kenneally, this is the one.”
“No!” screamed Ma. “He’s not! Don’t take him! He’s too young!”
“Is he willing?” Dolf Kenneally’s craggy voice coursed through the air and took Balendin’s breath away.
“No!” Ma bounded down the stairs.
“Yes.” Uncle Jorkin nudged Balendin off the step.
Balendin took a step into the snow. He nearly slipped. The wolfman put out his hand, but didn’t touch Balendin. Balendin looked again into those warm brown eyes that whispered promised of warm toes and a full belly. He took another step and one more to the ground. The wolfman sank to his knees in such a graceful, fluid motion at Balendin would have almost believed that he hadn’t moved at all except now Kenneally’s eyes were again level with his.
Balendin stopped right in front of Kenneally. He wanted to touch. Was that all right? What did it mean to be a gift to the wolfmen? Or was he a trade? The Dolf would make sure his family ate. Balendin had to believe that. He took a deep breath. He smelled snow and wet dirt and the heavy tang of his unwashed blanket, but where was the tantalizing scent coming from? Was it the wolfmen?
He wanted to lean forward, but he held himself back. He didn’t want to embarrass his Uncle or Ma or, worse, the Dolf. The smell seemed to be coming from Dolf Kenneally himself. Balendin breathed in deeply, hoping for a better whiff. The Dolf smiled, warm and inviting. Balendin took the last step until his toes touched the Dolf’s knees. He ignored his embarrassment and pressed his nose into the edge of Kenneally’s collar. Kenneally bent his head and rubbed his nose along Balendin’s neck. Balendin had never been so warm. His breath was steam, but it should have been fire. Even the melting snow in his shoes couldn’t cool him down. A warm voice, like Dolf Kenneally’s but also not, filled his head. “You are willing.”
Balendin looked up. Had the Dolf spoken without his mouth?
The wolfmen’s howls filled the air, Ma shrieked higher and louder than even when Balendin’s father died as Uncle Jorkin yelled, “Stop! Wait!”
A hot breath hit his neck just before sharp teeth took the world from him.
~
Balendin woke in fur, on fur, under fur. He had never been so warm. He could hear his wolfman talking, but not with his ears. He rubbed one, or tried because his fingers didn’t work right and his ear was in the wrong place. No, not wrong, just different. And some of the fur was his, on his face, his arm. He burrowed out of the covers. His nose got out before his eyes. He smelled his wolfman and fresh meat.
He was so hungry. He shoved his face into the bowl of chopped meat and organs. He swallowed the chunks whole. He tried to slow down, but no small ones were staring sad-eyed at his plate. He ate every bite and then licked the bowl with his long tongue.
He licked around his mouth. His teeth were sharp and his snout was long. And the big, majestic wolf by the fire was his wolfman, Dolf Kenneally. The other wolf was unimportant.
He did belong to the Dolf now, didn’t he? The furs in the bed smelled like Kenneally, so the house had to be his. The other wolf was the guest. But he wasn’t here to take Balendin away, was he? He better not be.
Balendin leapt out of the bed and fell over his too big feet. He straightened up. Enticing scents filled the house, but none so enticing as his wolf. His feet didn’t want to cooperate and his tail kept knocking him off balance, but finally he lay his head beside his wolf’s front paw. Kenneally licked his ear and neck. That felt good. He rubbed his face against Kenneally’s — his wolf’s — chest.
“My little one,” Dolf Kenneally said in that voice that was as warm as his eyes.
Balendin flopped over and exposed his belly. He still wasn’t comfortable with the guest wolf, but his wolf made him feel safe. He could lie there all night.
“Only you would set out to find a mate and return with a half grown pup,” said the other wolf in a voice like coal.
“I found both. Maybe.” Dolf Kenneally rubbed his nose against Balendin’s belly. “A youngling will adjust better than an adult. Don’t forget the trouble Phelan’s mate caused him. She couldn’t learn to be happy.”
“You might be right, but isn’t this one male?” He leaned toward Balendin.
Dolf Kenneally jumped to his feet too quick for Balendin to see, raised his tail, and bared his teeth. The other wolf backed away and averted his head.
Balendin’s breath caught. Dolf Kenneally was beautiful, majestic, and strong. Balendin felt protected rather than babied. Kenneally stood over him because he wanted to, not because Balendin couldn’t take care of himself.
Dolf Kenneally sat back down. Balendin nuzzled him. He nuzzled back.
“But,” said the other wolf, “I am right to believe this one is male? Won’t you need cubs?”
Balendin’s wolf nibbled his ear. “When he is older, I will get him with cubs and once I do, I will never again need to prove my power.”
