The Warden of Blizzard Pass.

[warren_bearclaw]

This is a story, or part of one at least, that I wrote last year for NaNoWriMo. I never finished it, and it only got to 16,000 words. I figure that maybe some of y'all here would enjoy it, and maybe with a handful of kind tips, and a dash of helpful advice, I might end up writing more for it. I originally wrote it by hand in a notebook, so I'm having to type it all up. Which is why I've only posted a small part tonight. I'll post some every night till I reach the end, whether that be the end of my writing or the end of the story. And please forgive my typos, since I'm transposing rather quickly.

And as I mentioned in my thread, it later involves man-eating lizards.  

These sheep stink. As I sat watching my uncle's flock, this was my prevailing thought. Who could enjoy that smell? Who but my uncle, who had to own the largest flock in town. The high afternoon sun wasn't helping any; hot, sweaty sheep never gave off an attractive aroma. I was just glad that it wasn't as hot as the last summer had been.
  I decided to stretch my legs a bit, in a sad attempt to escape the smell. I wouldn't go far... just over to that small grove of pine trees. Maybe the scent of the pine needles would help my protesting nose. As I walked through the flock, I looked around. The hills stretched to the horizon, dotted with clusters of trees. Short-ish grass blanketed the ground. This was a typical place to pasture flocks and herds. I loved the view... just not the smell. Ugh.... Of course, several sheep followed me, hoping to ruin my plans of satisfaction. Oh, well... Thankfully, I only got this job  occasionally, usually when my cousins and the hired men were busy with other jobs. I preferred making things. Mostly I worked in wood-crafting, though I was pretty good at just about any craft. My uncle recognized my talents enough to set me loose in his workshop, which was quite impressive. As long as I gave a cut of my profits (and supplied some finished products from time to time), I was usually exempt from shepherding.
  I wasn't so lucky this time.
  A soft breeze met me as I walked among the tall trunks. The branches swayed to the wind while making a gentle rustling sound. Watching sheep isn't all bad, I decided. So long as I kept track of the careless beasts I was free to roam anywhere. The handful of sheep that followed me began to complain at me with their bleating.
  "What's wrong with you now?" I sighed. As if they might answer me. I began herding them back to the others, and from there I took them to the stream nearby After a lot of calling, pleading, whistling, and prodding with a large stick (mostly prodding, though) the mass of woolly creatures slowly began to move. Very slowly, like they had been all day.
  Eventually we reached the water's side. Only half of the sheep felt like drinking, and the others resumed their aimless meandering. Cool, clear water bubbled past me, though I couldn't hear it over the noisy flock. This stream flowed out of the Harvest River during the warmer months, after the snow on the Glacier Mountains to the distant north melted away. The rush of new water overflowed the river every year, pouring into several stream beds that stayed dry throughout the other seasons. The water level was deepest during the harvest, giving the great river it's name. It was also the southernmost river, stretching the farthest distance from the mountains.
  I walked along the stream's banks, kicking at the stones as I plodded along. How else should i pass the time? The sun was starting to sink lower in the sky and the shadows were crawling across the hillside. Maybe I should start heading back soon... I thought to myself. It'll probably be sundown by the time I...
  I tripped and hit the ground. I was very glad that nobody was watching me as I picked myself up out of the gravel. Owww.... After rubbing my knee, I turned to find the dastardly whatever-it-was that had knocked me off balance. It was a box. More of a small crate, really. It was just rough wooden planks nailed together crudely. It had no hinges, no lid.
  "How strange..." It wasn't very heavy; the whole thing only weighted about as much as a newborn lamb. Whatever was in it (if anything) was very light, and must have been a good fit, since it didn't rattle around. It looked old, but surprisingly, it wasn't rotted anywhere that I could see. Maybe it fell out of a traveler's wagon after crossing from the other bank. Or maybe it washed downstream from on of the bigger towns. Either way, here it was. I figured I'd take it back with me and see what was in it. Probably some hand tools, or a vase, or some other easily replaceable item. I slung it over my shoulders like one would carry a sack of potatoes and started ushering the sheep back to town. They weren't too interested in following me. Dumb sheep...

[Josh (J)]

I'll read your story in detail later...but there's no need to capitalize "Uncle". It should be "my uncle's flock", unless it's "my Uncle Ben's flock".

[wildweathel]

I like FID, and I think you're using it well: it really brings out the rambling nature of the narrator.  Go ahead and drop the italics, they're distracting, and perhaps go lighter on the attribution.  Stream-of-consciousness is both semi-incoherent and punchy: delete extraneous words.

Well, except for where you shouldn't.  I think it's funnier to drag out the big-stick gag a bit, but to each his own...

....

Watching sheep isn't all bad, I decided.  So long as I kept track of the careless beasts I was free to roam anywhere. The handful of sheep that followed me began to complain at me with their bleating.

"What's wrong with you now?"  I sighed.  As if they can answer.   I began herding them back to the others, and from there to the stream nearby.  After a lot of calling, pleading, prodding with a large stick, whistles, supplications, shouts, obscenities, et cetera (mostly prodding, though) the mass of woolly creatures slowly began to move. Very slowly, like they had all day.

[....]

I walked along the stream's banks, kicking at the stones as I plodded along. How else should I pass the time? The sun was sinking lower in the sky and the shadows, crawling across the hillside. Maybe I should start heading back soon.  It'll probably be sundown by the time I--

I tripped and hit the ground.

[....]

I really like it.  Keep typing; I want to know what's in that box!

[warren_bearclaw]

Thanks for the advice Weathel. I'm assuming you meant my First-person point of view by 'FID'. Or does that mean something else? I'm glad you like it so far. Long passage today....

  My guess down by the water side turned out to be right. Only a thin sliver of the sun remained showing over the horizon by the time I closed the gate of the sheepfold. Finally, I was finished![/fon Before I wasnt inside to wash up I dropped off my find in the woodshop. I set it on the table among the chisels, hammers, and sawdust. The mystery behind it captured my imagination for the moment; what if it held some great treasure inside the splintering boards? A map? An ancient artifact? The fix for my itching curiosity was sealed inside. Should I even open it? After all, it wasn't intended for me... or was it?
  "Come ON, Reuben!" I snapped out of my trance at my cousin's call. Dianna was always impatient when something was keeping her from dinner. And tonight, that was me.
  "Reuben! Why are you waiting?!? It's time to come in!" Her slightly whinny, slightly annoyed voice could take your attention off of anything in an instant.
  "Don't worry, Anna. I won't let dinner get cold. I'll be ready in just a second or two." The box could wait, but Dianna apparently could not. I shut and latched the door before heading to get cleaned up.
  "What were making this time? Huh, Reuben?"
  "Oh it was nothing. I just found something while I was out with the sheep." My little cousin's eyes grew big.
  "Really?!? What is it? Is it a treasure? What kind is it? Is it a necklace, or a big crown, or maybe it's a - "
  "It's just a box, Anna..." I chuckled.
  "Oh..." She wasn't too interested all of the sudden. Dianna ran ahead of me into the stone-walled house. The skill taken to build it had been exceptional; I admired it every time I walked through the solid wood doors. My uncle was very wealthy, but only because he worked for it. This house would be around for decades. The smell of frying garden vegetables and smoking meats greeted me as I entered, and so did Uncle Isaac. With his tough-skinned hands he enveloped me int his bulk. Though he was an admittedly large man, he was very strong. I was reminded of this by one of his crushing bear hugs....
  "So how did things go today, Reuben? Did you lose all my sheep out there?" he joked with me.
  "Not this time, I didn't," I replied with a grin. Uncle Isaac knew he could trust me with his flocks. His wife, Aunt Natalia, came in from the garden with a large handful of garlic cloves.
  "I can tell; you sure smell like a whole flock of sheep," she chided. "Go wash that lovely fragrance off. And hurry, dinner's almost ready."
  "Yes! Hurry, Reuben!" piped Anna. Uncle Isaac laughed. A few moments later, I took my place at the table smelling noticeably better. Asher and Simon, my other cousins, were there too. We began to eat, while sharing some idle chit-chat.
  “Asher got attacked by a pig today....” Simon began.
  “Well, sort of.” Asher said.
  “Mr. Grant was taking his hog to that old butcher's shop It wasn't liking that idea so much, and it shot out of there at it's first chance. Asher happened to be in the pig's way, but it decided to simply plow him over.” Asher smiled in slight embarrassment. “The whole town thought it was hilarious!” Even Asher chuckled at the memory.
  “Well, I'm hoping someone caught it.” Their father said.
  “With a little help from me, yes.” Asher, the younger of the two answered.
  “It sounds like you two had fun at the market today.” I commented after their other reports.
  “What about you, Reuben? Did you get chased by any pigs out in the fields?”
  “Nah, just a couple giant lizards. That's all.” I replied. We all laughed, though Dianna didn't seem too sure if I was joking or not. She didn't like those fairy tales. Uncle Isaac changed the subject;
  “Dianna told me you found a treasure chest today. Did you capture it from those pesky lizards?” I shook my head slightly.
  “Oh, it was just a little crate I found by that stream way out west. It looks like it had been there for quite a while.”
  Asher asked, “Was there anything in it?” He was a little bit younger than me and had a stronger curiosity.
  “I haven't opened it yet. It doesn't have a lid or anything, so I'll have to break into it. I'll probably wait until morning, though.”
  “But how will we stand the suspense?” Aunt Tally asked, her voice dripping with drama. Dianna giggled.
  “If you're finished, little lady, I think it's time for you to say goodnight.”
  “Aww, but Daddy, I'm -” she gave a big yawn. “Never mind.” Anna hopped down from her chair, hugged her parents, and snuck off to bed. I noticed through the windows that the sky was already black. Stars dusted the heavens; some in patches, others far apart. Cricket chirping filled the night air. The sheep were silent. The house was cooler, but not chilly enough to bother anyone. It had been an unusually warm autumn so far. Even in the winter, the cold was never unbearable this far south of the mountains. A whole day had run its course. A few moments after Dianna, I left for bed as well. Tomorrow, I would rise with the sun.
  Sunrise came and went. After several morning chores, breakfast, and the usual routine, I headed out to the shop. I needed to finish turning that bowl for Mrs. Creedy. And the chest I was going to sell at market needed a few more coats of finish. And then there was the box. I couldn't decide at first If I'd start with that, or my real work. Not wanting to procrastinate, I decided to tackle the bowl first.
  When I reached the door, the latch was undone. That's not how I left you, I thought. Probably,  one of Uncle's workers came in to get one of our tools. It happened somewhat often. I entered and opened the tall window, for light and air. The early morning sun shone through the dusty air and fell on the table. It was empty.

Post Merged: December 27, 2010, 03:03:33 PMFor some reason, my heart jumped as I frantically began searching for the box. Who knew that I'd found it? Was it something really important? It was to me, or else I wouldn't have panicked as I did. I started searching under the mounds of wood chips when I realized I was looking on the wrong table... It was too early for this. With great care, though I'm sure why, I moved it to a 'safer' place on one of the shelves until I could get to it later. I laughed at myself while I carve out the bowl. My Uncle's wood turning lathe was amazing. Using a foot pedal, tension, and pulleys, it made quick and easy work for me. My tools were sharp, and the wood was soft under the blade's edge. This was a large bowl, about twice as wide as it was deep. Mrs. Creedy would be pleased. The wood seemed to dissolve as I worked my gouge into the middle. I loved watching my creations take shape. I ran my hands over the outside, my fingers into the hollow part. It was smooth. In admiration, I removed my bowl from the chuck and rubbed it with a beeswax finish. The light-colored spalted wood drank it in, giving greater contrast between the light patches and darker stripes. It was beautiful.
  Before lunch, I would carry it to Mrs. Creedy's house, about a mile or two down the road. Maybe I'd bring Anna with me; she always enjoyed going on 'trips'. With my finished craft in hand, I left Uncle's shop. Dianna loved the idea, and Aunt Tally liked it too. My little cousin darted ahead down the hard dirt road, and the wind threw her hair wildly behind her, like a golden banner. My short brown hair didn't so much as ruffle.
  “You're slow today, Reuben!” Dianna taunted, stopping ahead of me to look back with her hands on her hips.
  “Well, you see, this is really heavy...”
  “Really? Let me see!” She raced back to check my load. I let her hold it momentarily. “Hey! This isn't heavy, HEY!” She wasn't too pleased when she saw I'd left her as I ran ahead. I gave her a shoulder ride to make up for my great offense and Anna decided I should wear the bowl as a hat. Whatever... I could handle that. Mrs. Creedy owned a smaller house, closer to Cherry Grove. A long walk to town was too much for her old bones, she'd tell us.
  “Hello, Children!” Mrs. Creedy called in her delicate voice. I hadn't noticed her tending to her flowers. “I see you have a present for me, Dianna. Tell me, did you make this all by yourself, child?” She gave me a wink.
  “Not me! Reuben did it! He's the best.” The elderly lady rubbed the surface of the bowl, much as I had done earlier.
  “Yes, he is very good. Why, I haven't seen such fine craftsmanship since I traveled to Blizzard Pass as a little girl.”
  Blizzard Pass – it was the fabled stronghold of our people's legends. According to the tale, it was there that the evil reptile hoard was first defeated. Monstrous creatures they were, the 'Skayles' of ancient folklore. Larger than horses, in all shapes and sizes, they had crawled from the blazing desert sands where no man traveled, and wrought terror on every town they passed. The tales were horrible; they could climb cliffs and stone walls, they could spit blinding venom, bite a man in half with their vicious jaws, or slowly crush the life out of their victims. That was a dark age for our people. Then a man stood up and spoke to the band of survivors. He was just the warden of a small northern town, a governor. He spoke of unity, of courage, and hope. The Warden's words strengthened the hearts of his fellow countrymen, and they followed him north, to the mountains. There, at the fabled Blizzard Pass, they were safely out of the monsters' reach.
  That was the history of Blizzard Pass (or at least the history I knew), though it was little more than a tourist attraction now. Many traveling merchants sold their fine wares there, taking advantage of the rich past that drew visitors every winter. I was grateful for Mrs. Creedy's kind compliment.
  “Thank you ma'am. I'm not quite that good yet though.”
  “Nonsense! This here is fit for the Warden's table!” Dianna giggled.
  “That's silly! All of the Wardens lived long, long, long ago. We haven't had a real Warden in, like, a thousand years!”
  “It has been a long time.” Mrs. Creedy said. “One day, when my grandfather's grandfather was a little boy, the Warden went hunting. Not for Skayles; it was just a normal hunting trip. He went by himself, without telling anybody where he went. When he didn't come back that night, his people went out to search for him, but he had disappeared! Not even his horse was found. And no one ever saw him or his Medallion again!”
  “Oh, how terrible!” Dianna gasped. “Who would protect the people?” Mrs. Creedy continued her tale.
  “We’ve always been safe in our land, ever since those horrible Skayles were chased away.”
  “I don't like them.” Anna interrupted with a young child's worry. “They're scary....”
  “Your cousin here will protect you from those nasty lizards! Thank you both for delivering this to me. It's always nice to have visitors!” We walked to the her doorway and waited while she placed her ish on the table. She returned with several small coins for me. I nodded my thanks and Dianna added, “Thank you for your story. You're a good story teller.”
  “You're welcome, sweetheart. Now you stay with Reuben, all right?”
  “Yes ma'am!” came her reply. “Goodbye!” We made it home a little after noon. Aunt Tally had set out several bowls of fruit and nuts, and served some flat bread with thick, creamy sauce. She was a master in the kitchen; Uncle Isaac was very lucky. With a handful of goodies, I left for the shop. It was time to crack into that crate. Fate was against me, however, for as soon as I opened the door our neighbor Joel came jogging through the gate. And he was looking for me.
  “Rueben! Am I glad to see you're home! It's good to see you're doing well... Hey, listen. I was out in the fields harvesting with the others, and wouldn't you know, both of my sickles broke! The head just snapped off the one, and, well, I stepped on the other. You've got the time to fix these up for me, right? Great! I know I can always count on you! You're spectacular, man! I'll come back to pick them up this evening, all right? Thanks again!”
  He was gone almost as soon as he'd come. Apparently, I had agreed to this project without even speaking a word. That was fine, though; Joel's orders were always 'extremely urgent', and he expected a little extra charge. I sighed to myself... my curiosity was going to kill me before I could rip into that wooden mystery box. Tonight, I decided. I could wait til tonight.

[Josh (J)]

Whee, I finished reading it all. It's a nice story.
~~
It seemed like the first part had a lot of ellipses. In the other parts, when you have a character speaking, you shouldn't end with a period, if you go:

"I'm talking in first person." He said.

Instead, it should be:

"I'm talking in first person," he said.

It's only slightly different when it ends with a question mark/exclamation mark.

"I'm talking in first person!" he said.

You still don't capitalize the "he".

And in the last scene where Joel's talking to Reuben, after Joel finishes, it'd be better if you started a new line, I think.
~~
But all in all, it's a really good story!

[wildweathel]

Free Indirect Discourse, and its brother, Narrative Present, are tense choices that mix present and historical tenses.

Present tense system:
There's a poisonous spider on your shoulder.
A horrible doom will befall us all.
Oh **** it's coming.

Narrative tense system:
There was a poisonous spider on your shoulder.
A horrible doom would befall us all.
Oh **** it was coming.

Notice the huge difference in affect.  Narrative tense system weaves the fourth wall into narration itself--that's what narrative tense does; it's usually called past tense, but it's the natural choice even for futuristic stories.

You can tell a story in present tense.  It's not done that often and sounds weird.
You can mix tenses from sentence to sentence: narrative present.  This is rare in English, but can be natural and quite vivid if done well. 

Direct discourse--the stuff in quotation marks--is inside the wall, so it uses whatever tense system the characters uses.

Indirect discourse, in English and most European languages, must match the tense system of the main clause.  It's a grammatical rule.  But that doesn't mean you can't break it, be a little more "free" with your indirect discourse.

I ask if he'll be able to find it. (present)
I asked if he'd be able to find it. (past)
I asked if he'll be able to find it. (FID)

Present tense for character's present thoughts, past for narration and Reuben's explanation of how things are, and here's how the first two paragraphs run:

These sheep stink.  As I sat watching my uncle's flock, this was my prevailing thought.  Who could enjoy that smell?  Who but my uncle, who has to own the largest flock in town. The high afternoon sun wasn't helping any: hot, sweaty sheep never give off an attractive aroma. At least it isn't as hot as the last summer was.

I decided to stretch my legs a bit, in a sad attempt to escape the smell. I won't go far... just over to that small grove of pine trees. Maybe the scent of the pine needles will help my protesting nose. As I walked through the flock, I looked around. The hills stretched to the horizon, dotted with clusters of trees. Short-ish grass blanketed the ground. This was a typical place to pasture flocks and herds. I loved the view... just not the smell. Ugh.... Of course, several sheep followed me, hoping to ruin my plans of satisfaction. Oh, well... Thankfully, I only got this job  occasionally, usually when my cousins and the hired men were busy with other jobs. I preferred making things. Mostly I worked in wood-crafting, though I was pretty good at just about any craft. My uncle recognized my talents enough to set me loose in his workshop, which was quite impressive. As long as I gave a cut of my profits (and supplied some finished products from time to time), I was usually exempt from shepherding.

....

It's probably something of an acquired taste, but I like it a lot.

[warren_bearclaw]

Oh... well, thanks weathel. Now I know! That makes sense, and it makes me like my writing just a little bit more. So apparently I'm switching back and forth fluidly enough for it to be understood? That's good.

Next passage coming soon.
Post Merged: December 29, 2010, 01:33:11 AMThe sickles were finished, though they took me well into the evening. I'd just finished attaching the blades, which I'd taken the liberty of resharpening as well, when Joel came to claim his tools. As I'd predicted, he had a generous payment for me. Though he couldn't afford to be patient, he could pay for almost anything else. His time must be as valuable as he says, I thought. I had just enough time left before it was completely dark to finally open the box. A strange feeling overcame me as I brought it down from the shelf. It felt almost like I was unworthy, or something; who was I to  break the secrecy of its contents? At the same time, I couldn't help  but think it was empty. I'd soon know for sure. With a hammer and chisel, I pried apart the first planks. I still couldn't see anything inside. Off came the entire top side.
  It was filled with wood chips. My reaction was disbelief. "Really, is that all?" I said softly to myself. My hands plunged in, sifting through the shavings. Maybe it was just packaging... My skin touched something cold. Something stiff and cold. My eyes were stuck on the object I lifted from the crude wooden crate. It was perfectly round, about the size of the large oranges they sell at market. A shard of what looked like black glass sat neatly in the center of the slightly rusted, bronze disk. A thick leather cord that attached at the top hung from my hands. I could tell that an image had been etched into it at one point, though age and wear had faded it. I knew what it was though. It was the picture of a long, limbless creature with wicked fangs, coiled around itself,  seeming to stare at the viewer. The stare that was told to have paralyzed grown men with terror as they met their end.
  It was the Warden's Medallion.
  That was the only possibility. From my childhood memory, I could recall everything I was told about the Medallion and its entire existence. How it had been cast as a gift of gratitude and an emblem of sovereignty for their leader, the Warden. How a piece of the Black Fang's harder-than-steel scale had been embedded into it as a sign of victory. Not a detail was missing from my mind. Our people passed down those tales like history; if only they knew how fitting that was. The consequences of me finding it instantly overtook my mind. This was our history. Our most fabled legend. That meant the rest of the stories were true. The Wardens, The Siege of Blizzard Pass, the Great Winter, the Skayles... All of it was true. I had to tell the people, my neighbors, my family and friends. They had a right to know, to have peace of mind and celebration.
  But I could never tell them... Because I had found it. I was destined to be the Warden. This was the undenied symbol of authority they bore. How was I to know such a fate lay beside the water's side? What had convinced me to take something that wasn't mine? Why had I chosen this?
  I didn't choose this, I thought. I hadn't agreed to anything. Everyone else had lived happily for years without the Medallion, without a Warden. For centuries, even. They didn't need it. Why should I upset the perfect balance of things? Besides, no one needed a Warden nowadays, either. He'd always been a protector, a warrior, the one who led men into battle. The necessity for a Warden had vanished with the last of the Skayles. Sure, there had been a Warden for many years after the last reptile sighting, but he performed only menial tasks, such as judging minor disputes. There were no jobs of utter importance that other members of society couldn't fill. There was no need for the Warden to return. Silently, in the depths of my being, I made a secret vow, never to be revealed. The Medallion would never be found again. I would make it my duty to keep it hidden away, never to be seen by any man throughout my lifetime. The past would remain a fairy tale told to children. The full weight of this decision slowly grew on me, until it was unbearable. How could I hid this, even from my family? Already my shoulders and heart sagged from my secret burden. It was a price I had to pay. Carefully, I re-buried the Medallion, and history with it. I would never have guessed that wood-chips would ever seem so priceless to me as they did now.
  A knock on the door startled me, extremely so. I had to have leapt at least four feet straight in the air, and I swear I skipped too many heartbeats. I was hyperventilating now... Calm down Reuben; nobody knows, I told myself.  I opened the door with a plastered-on smile for Asher. He was carrying several baskets and some tools.
  “Hi Reuben. Dad said for me to leave these in here. Mom has dinner ready. Are you coming?” I  thought Asher was a good kid, even though he was only a year younger than me. He was a hard worker, cooperative, and smart, like his father. I could trust him. If I could explain the importance of keeping this secret, he would never break my confidence. But I couldn't shove this weight onto him. No way would I expect him to be deceptive, force him to try living life as normal with knowledge of such magnitude.
  “Yeah, I'll go and wash up now, in fact. I'll see you inside.”
  “Okay. Bye.”
  I walked to the house. Things were not the same. As I passed the beautiful open doors of our home, I closed the doors to my heart. Too dangerous was my secret. Simon was setting the table. Dianna was bringing in water from the well. Aunt Tally was whirling through the kitchen while Uncle Isaac chatted with his workers in the front room. Everything was normal. I helped carry things to the table; bowls, spoons, and one large pot of mouth-watering stew. Asher joined us just as Uncle sent his employees off for the night. The stew was amazing. Simon and his father shared their day in the fields, picking pears and apples in the orchards, and flax from the meadows. Uncle was already planning what he'd do with the ropes he'd have made from the flax fibers. Asher had nothing to add, but Anna told everyone about our walk to Mrs. Creedy's, and repeated the 'legends' she'd heard, almost word for word. I felt exposed, as if she would point to me and say, “And nobody ever found the Medallion again... until Reuben did.” I focused very attentively on my stew. The conversation went on while I tried to disappear into my thoughts.
  “So, what was in that box you found, Reuben?” Uncle Isaac asked. My head snapped up.
  “Just some wood-shavings. Nothing important....” I knew my voice would betray me.
  “That's very strange; just wood-shavings?”
  “I thought it was very strange, too.” There was no way I could hide it forever... I had to get rid of it.
  “You're awfully quiet, Asher... something on your mind?” Aunt Tally noticed these things.
  “Oh! Uh, yeah. I borrowed a knife from one of the workers today, and I forgot to give it back. Would you mind if I took it to him now? I'll be right back....” Asher spoke quickly.
  “That's alright with me... don't forget to clear your place first,” his mother said. Asher left the room, seemingly in a hurry to return the borrowed item. It was already dark out... I volunteered to clean the dishes with the hope that it would look like a perfectly normal thing to do. I went to bed early that night. I was just tired, I told my aunt and uncle. I laid still for hours, listening to the quiet sounds of the night. Eventually, everything was still.
  Later, when the moon was high, I slipped through the back door, stealthily creeping towards the shed. Where would I take it? I didn't know. Anywhere. Anywhere far, far away from here. It must never find its way back to me. I was sore on the inside. I took a full five minutes to open the creaky door. Like a shadow I entered and pulled that troublesome 'treasure' out of its crate. Even with no one around, I was frantic to conceal it. Hastily, I slung the leather cord over my head. My whole body shivered at the feel of the cold metal on my bare chest. I opened the door and just barely stifled a scream.
  There was Asher.
  “I know,” was all he said. “Reuben, I know.”

Oooh. The drama....

[Josh (J)]

"Rueben, I now?"

[wildweathel]

Eh, such things happen.  That's why they call it a "rough" draft.

Something's been bothering me for the past couple of posts, and I think I might be able to put my finger on it.

The symptom is that the foreshadowing isn't working.  Ideal foreshadowing maybe gives a taste of "I wonder..." when you see it, and then, after the reveal, is "oh wow, I kinda maybe saw that coming, but not like that!" 

Instead, I just want to beat up Reuben and make him tell me about the damn giant lizards, which apparently everybody knows about and I'm just being kept out of the loop.

One possible cause, I think, is that as written the plot is too sparse to effectively distract from the foreshadowing.  With less Conservation of Detail, it's easier to half-forget that everyone's been talking about lizard men, so that when the lizard men show up, you kick yourself for half-forgetting about the lizard men.

(Did I mention your story has lizard men?)

More threads or subplots might help--but I wouldn't look to that as a solution.  First-person narration doesn't lend itself to multi-threading anyway, and plot for plot's sake is really weak.

Another possible cause, and I think the core one, is that you're beating around the bush too much, either intentionally or not.  Unless revealing something about the setting is the story, or the narrator has a damn good reason to keep secrets from the reader, I think it's best to be forthcoming with things the reader should know if they lived in the setting.  Especially if they're things that are popping up again and again.

As it stands, there's little bits of scattered I-heard-but-I-want-to-see like this one:

From my childhood memory, I could recall everything I was told about the Medallion and its entire existence. Not a detail was missing from my mind. Our people passed down those tales like history; if only they knew how fitting that was.

ARGH!  Tell the damn tale! 

To put it another way, usually you want to describe things that are interesting.  But, if something unusual is commonplace in the story, it's not surprising, so it's not something your narrator will notice, so your poor readers will be left out in the cold, unless you can work out some semi-natural way to bring them into the loop.

So, idea: Reuben is working on Joel's stuff and ruminating on his conversation with Mrs. Creedy, (minus the "according to the tale" part) and his thoughts turn to that fairy tale that everyone knows: the Warden and the Scayles.  Then, by the time he sees the Medallion, we know what he knows and thus we can feel what he feels.

[warren_bearclaw]

Good advice, Weathel. I felt like something was a little off... I fixed the last two posts with a little more background.

[wildweathel]

Eh, I'm not saying "fix it" yet, please don't revise, not until you've typed up what you have.  I'm just dying to hear where this thing is going.

Darn it, you've got me hooked.   

[warren_bearclaw]

No, no, no. I'm not changing it JUST because you mentioned the need for background information. Like I said, I felt like something was missing, and I think that was it. I might adjust it again at a later date if needed (which is why this is a rough draft, like you said). Maybe I should rename this thread,
~~"The Warden of Blizzard Pass" A work in progress~~
And um... not to sound unappreciative, Weathel, but if there's anyone else reading this, would you mind giving some input as well? Even if it's just an 'I like this' or 'how dumb', I'd be grateful. Okay, now don't tell me it's just dumb, that's just rude.    I'm glad you like it so far! More story in... um... less than 12 hours?
Post Merged: January 02, 2011, 03:53:07 AMI wasn't quivering anymore; I was shaking.
  “The crate was just sitting there, opened. How was I to know you were hiding something? You've never kept a secret before. I know you. I was curious, so I looked. Surely you were going to tell us, I though. The Dad asked you, and you said, “It was nothing important”.” His eyes bored into mine.
  “Why did you lie?”
  “You don't know what this means, Asher. I...”
  “Yes, I do know. I heard the same fairy tales you did. Why did you lie?”
  “I, I …. I was scared out of my mind! I can't be the Warden! I'm no leader!” I whipped it out of my shirt. It stood out bold and awesome in the moonlight. “If this is really what we think it is, that means all of it is. The Skayles are real. I can't fight the Skayles!” I practically screamed.
  “The Skayles aren't coming just because you fount it, Reuben. They'd come whether you have it or not. The people need a Warden. You know. In your heart you know, this has fallen to you. You have to tell. Who says that the Skayles will ever return, anyways? I can't watch you let fear tear you apart inside. Let me help you.”
  He was right. Anxiety and panic were gnawing my innards. “You are right. You're right. I'm way overreacting.”
  “Only a lot...” Asher said. We both smiled. I took a moment to breathe.
  “I need to really stop and think about this. But I'm so nervous. Look at me!” I held up my trembling hand, and we laughed at all the craziness. That Medallion was not the end of the world. Or my life, for that matter.
  “I'll go wake Dad.”
  “No don't; let's tell him in the morning.”
  Somehow, I slept that night. Within minutes, I was drained from all the excitement. The chaos of the past several hours was replaced with peaceful unconsciousness.

  It was Simon's turn to be shepherd that day, and Asher was somehow able to arrange for Anna to be out of the house until after lunch. That kid knew how to make things happen. After a light breakfast, I began.
  “Uncle Isaachar, Aunt Natalia, I need to talk with you both.” I took in a deep breath. “I lied to you last night Uncle Isaac. There was something in that crate, and it's very important.”
  “Reuben... why on earth would you feel...” my concerned uncle started. He stopped when I laid the Medallion on the table. Aunt Tally gasped.
  “I lied to you because I was afraid>” I said. I hated saying it, but it was the truth.
  “You know you can trust us to help with anything, Reuben. I would never...”
  “I wasn't afraid of you, Uncle.” I interrupted. “I was afraid of what this means.”
  “You are the next Warden...” Aunt Tally said in wonder.
  “That's what the legends say, isn't it Dad?” Asher asked. “Are there any... rules, uh... limits, or anything, about possessing the Medallion? I mean, he didn't steal it...”
  “I don't know. The Medallion was always handed down from one Warden to the next. As far as I know, there was never a time when the Warden didn't directly hand over the Medallion to his successor. Until now...”
  “Were there any descendants of the last Warden? Shouldn't it go to the next of kin?” I asked.
  “Only twice was the Medallion ever given to a relative; integrity and judgment were the determining factors, not bloodline. Besides, the Warden Rudrick  had no surviving family at the time of his disappearance.” Uncle Isaac leaned back and scratched his chin.
  “Rudrick didn't give me this though. I just found it.”
  “Maybe that was his plan, Reuben.” Aunt Tally commented. “What if he left it to be found by someone else? From what I remember, he wasn't quite enthusiastic about receiving it himself.... As far as we know, you are the last person to have it after the Warden.”
  “But I didn't receive it! I...”
  My uncle cut me short. “That might not matter Reuben. I don't know what all this means. We will take it the the town Coucil. Until then, this is your charge.” He placed it back in my hands with a sombre expression. His decision was made.
  “When will you go, Isaachar? Today?”
  “We'll wait till the morning after tomorrow. I'll go with Reuben, and leave Asher and Simon here to stay with you while I'm gone, Natalia.” Asher spoke up.
  “Dad, I told Reuben I would help him with this. I have to go with him.” I was honored by his commitment.
  “Asher, you don't have to...” Uncle and I both began.
  “Yes, I do. I made a promise, and I'm responsible for keeping it, which is exactly what I intend to do.” He said firmly. Then with a smile, he added, “Besides, you know I wouldn't pass up on a trip into town.” Asher had a knack for easing tense situations. We laughed, just a little.
  “Alright. But only because you promised. Don't expect this every time we make a major discovery around here...”

[radgeek]

Great now I feel bad for keeping you up with my fic.  Must read more.

[warren_bearclaw]

The rest of that day turned out to be rather ordinary, now that my inner turmoil was resolved, at least for the moment. Asher, his father, and I decided we could let Simon and Dianna know that we'd be gone for a few days, but not yet tell them about what was really in that box. Aunt Tally would explain the details after we'd left. I ended up helping our neighbors with the harvesting, like Uncle Isaac and Simon had done the other day. Within a couple weeks, the markets would be flooded with the new produce. And the harvesting season had just barely begun. The next day went well. I packed (which meant finding a clean shirt and putting together a bedroll) and fiddled in the shop for a while. That oak chest I was taking to market was looking quite impressive. It would sell well, I was sure. That would be another trip though.
  That night, I didn't sleep well. My night was filled with giant lizards. Cliffwalkers. Spitvypers. Snakecharmers. Skayles on every side of me. And everyone was looking to me....
  Anna wasn't too happy when Uncle Isaac harnessed 'her' horse to the wagon the morning of our departure. Asher and I loaded our supply of foodstuffs under the benches. We waved goodbye and started out the gate. Uncle steered into the early sun. Of course it was required that the sun be glaring right in our eyes, I thought. The return trip would be better..... I wore the Medallion underneath my shirt. I couldn't imagine losing it accidentally. It was meant to be worn, and it had to be I felt. I was fortunate that it wasn't noticeable by anyone else, anyone who couldn't feel its weight around their necks as I could. We talked about a lot, though none of it was important. AS we neared the large town of Cherry Grove, the conversation drifted towards the legends. Asher was prodding his father's mind, perhaps hoping to find some little tidbit that could affect my situation. My well-aged uncle pulled several tales from his memory that I'd forgotten, but the talking soon slowed to a stop.
  It was a strange silence that hovered over our wagon as we rode into town. Amidst the mild commotion that was commonplace there, our band of solemn faced visitors seemed to stick out like a dead branch in spring. We found a room with a nice gentleman in town and stabled Anna's horse nearby. The sun was setting. The Council would not be tonight. I took my chance to sleep in and found Uncle Isaac had already sent word for a council meeting before I'd woken at a little before noon. I must have had a comfortable bed.... With nothing much to do, we strolled through town, looking at the merchants' stalls. Word was already out about the urgent meeting, though none suspected what it was about , or  that we had called for it. In a city like this where not much happened, gossip traveled fast. It was amusing to listen to all of the possibilities people entertained. Maybe there had been a fire in a neighboring town, or perhaps a terrible disease had sprung up over night, they guessed. Everyone laughed when an elderly man suggested that one of the Council members had found a lizard in his stew. I didn't find it too funny. Eventually I grew anxious with waiting.
  The Council had finally gathered. Like much of the past few days, an awkward atmosphere filled the air of the fire-lit Council Room. Smoke floated up and out through the window-openings around the top of the high ceiling. The walls were rough stone, lined with several decorated columns. Muffled conversation ceased when we entered. Again, it was strange to me. A hard-faced man rose and spoke.
  “I hear that it was you, Isaachar, who called this meeting. Is that correct?”
  “Yes, Councilor Borigard, I have. We thought you might want to hear about a discovery of ours.”
  “Well, let's begin then.” He took his seat. I could see he was eager to be done. “What have you found?”
  My uncle nodded to me. I had trusted him so far. With a deep breath in and out, I lifted the Medallion from my neck. Silence. This thing had that effect on people, though I was learning to expect it. A second man shook his head and tried asking, “Is that....? Could it really...? Surely you're not....” Disbelief made him struggle for words. My response extinguished all possibilities of doubt.
  “Yes it is, sir. This is it.”
  “Hand that here, son.” said the first man with an outstretched hand. Pure wonder filled his expressioin. Childhood fantasies could almost be seen resurfacing in his mind's eye. He held it by the leather strap, allowing it to dangle in front of his eyes. He studied it intently, oblivious to other distractions.
  “Where did you find that?” one Council member asked.
  “On the bank of a small stream, coming off from the Harvest River.”
  “How long had it been there? Was it buried? How did you find it?”, asked another.
  “It was in an old crate, sir, just lying in the rocks. It was only in the ground a little bit, I guess....”
  “Do you know what this means?” I was going to answer this, but there wasn't a break in the flow of questioning long enough for me to give my response.
  “The stories are true...”
  “But how can they be?!?”
  “Will the Skayles return?”
  “Is this mere boy to be the Warden, then? Poppy****!”
  “But who, then?”
  “Why not him?”
  The conversation continued like this for several drawn out minutes. I didn't bother answering any of these either; they weren't really asking me, anyways. I was surprised to notice I felt offended at the comment of me being a 'mere boy', not able to be Warden. Regardless, I wouldn't let them take it from me, though I'[d probably give my consent when asked. Would I really surrender such a privilege, such an honor? How could I thumb my nose at such opportunity? I knew for sure that I'd never have the chance again. But was it even my choice?
  “This is truly beautiful...” said Councilor Borigard. “But how do we know this is the Medallion, might I ask? How do we know this wasn't a copy, a forgery, even? Look at the chaos that has already ensued here. Truly, we know nothing yet. Perhaps this young man is simply skilled at the forge....”
 
sorry to cut off here, but I'm tired... I'll post more tomorrow.
Post Merged: January 07, 2011, 03:21:32 AMLong stretch tonight...

The suggestion of my possible trickery agitated me, though I did prefer being referred to as a 'young man'. A title of mere boy was so condescending to a man of nineteen years. Several emotions stirred at the councilor's comment. Relief. Despair. Confusion. Amusement. Wouldn't that just be hilarious, I thought. At least I'd have a funny story to share from all of this....
  “But how can we know?” Asher spoke up. “Couldn't you tell by the markings?”
  “I  could not, though someone else could. Come to think of it, I may know who we could ask. By we, I mean you. On the east side of the river, there is an old widow who tends to her own library. Many great and ancient works has she gathered there. Luck may have it that she is able to help you. I know for sure you won't be able to return home without asking her. You didn't come to us just to hear a 'maybe'. One of us will accompany you, to report back to us tomorrow when you're finished. I ssume you are in fact going, correct?” I looked to Uncle.
  “Oh, we will be going. Like you said, how could we go back not knowing for sure? Where is this place, sir? We may just be on our way tonight.”
  “As I said, she lives on the other side of the river, near the edge of town. Is there someone here who wished to join them?” One Councilor on the far left of the half-circle raised his hand.
  “This may turn out to be quite interesting. At the least, a good storytelling is always nice. If I may...” he says, looking at Borigard and Isaachar both. Uncle nods, and Borigard says,
  “Coucilor Beyer will join the three of you, then. Until we have a clearer understanding of this matter, no one here is to meniton this to anyone unaware. I see no need in starting a riot.” He stands, as do the others. “The Council thanks you for bringing this matter before us, Isaac. It may turn out rather... influential.” Borigard stepped towards me. He held out the medallion with a polite, formal smile. I accepted it from him and placed it back on my neck.
  “Thank you, gentlemen.” Uncle said. “We greatly appreciate your time.”
  We waited outside the Council chamber for Beyer; He would lead us to the elderly woman's home. I'm glad that I'd slept well, I thought.
  “Tonight may be a long night. “
  Beyer was one of the last men out of the chamber, and signaled for us to come with him.
  “It's been a good while since I've seen you Isaachar. Been busy looking for historical artifacts, I see...” he smiled.
  “Only occasionally,” my uncle said.
  “So, boy, you must be pretty excited with your piece of history there.” I groaned inwardly at the title.
  “Yes sir; it's definitely been quite exciting....”  Why were there so many conflicting emotions attached to this? I was desperate to learn it was the original, to have this bookkeeper validate my find. Yet just three days ago (was it really just three?) I'd been plotting deception to rid myself of it. Uncle Isaac and his old friend were carried off in their conversation as we walked the streets. Asher and I fell back behind the older men and talked quietly ourselves:
  “Isn't it interesting how we 'youngsters' so gradually fade out of their conversations?”
  “Maybe I should become the Warden... then they'd be sure to pay attention!” We laughed.
  “Of course you should, though, if your even able to that is. Not many people would be interested if it's a fake,” Asher said. “Just think about it; even the Coucil members aren't busy with that kind of work all day. It's only every so often that they tend to Council business. The way things are nowadays, you'd still have a lot of free time on your hands.”
  “You might be right.” This would still be a hard choice, I thought.
  We walked for a little less than half an hour, at a good pace I might add, before Beyer pointed out a large house. It was about as big as ours, which was odd, since only a single person lived there. I figured that she must really have quite a selection of old books and other literature if her home was comparable to Uncle Isaac's, including the workers' quarters. Maybe she'd had a large family once.... The building supported a steep roof and was wrapped with dark, dark green wooden shingles. I doubted that they were that color originally; surely they had faded. I must say, it was a nice foresty green, but the color made the home feel rather... foreboding, perhaps. It certainly didn't appear the be a family home, at least not any more. The walls boasted of several wonderfully large window, no doubt these had been expensive. We stepped off of the packed dirt road onto a neat cobblestone path that winded its way to the door. I noticed the slightest wisp of smoke wafting from the chimney. That was a good sign. Councilor Beyer stepped forward and gave a few sharp knocks. There was silence for a moment... He knocked again, and instantly it opened. A very short gray-haired woman stood in the doorway. She was stooped over ever so slightly, and her radiant smile made you think she was your grandma. Supporting herself with a cane in one hand, she beckoned us inside with the other.
  “Come in! Come in, my dears. Don't feel like you must stand out in the cold all night!” I was actually comfortable, if not a little warm, but I knew that the old lady was truly concerned about us being out in the 'chilly air'.
  “Why thank you ma'am,” Beyer said. “I must say, it smells wonderful in here. You must be a fine cook.”
  “The best secrets come with age.” She replied. “But I do all right for a young lady like myself.” That beautiful smile stretched across her wrinkled face again. She had to be somebody's grandmother; I wouldn't have been surprised if she offered us a fresh-baked pie and had hand-knit scarves for each of us.
  “Would you boys be able to stay for supper. I should have plenty here for everyone...”
  “We'd be honored, ma'am, but we wouldn't want to take away the meal you've worked so hard at. We have something back in town that...”
  “Oh, what a kind gesture! But truly son, I insist that you join me tonight; you wouldn't want to risk offending me now.” She wore a somewhat playful expression, as if she were pretending to scold us.
  “We certainly wouldn't want that ma'am. Are you sure you'll be able to...”
  “How splendid! I do love to have company for dinner. I'll go put a few potatoes on to boil, just to be sure we have enough for such big, strong men.” The little woman hurriedly hobbled into the other room, where we could hear metal clanging and sounds of  of water. “You boys make yourselves at home while I get this going,” She shouted from the kitchen. She sure is energetic for her age, I thought. By most standards, the room was bare. A few decorations and pieces of furniture were spread out across the floor, neatly arranged. It all looked antique – literally, all of it – but I wasn't sure how to mention that politely. The whole scene felt quite formal; I doubted the aging widow used these areas often, if even at all. It was a well built house, with smooth hardwood floors and fine brass chandeliers that were probably rarely lit. I was actually salivating from the smell filling the small-ish front room. I hadn't known I was hungry before.... Our hostess called us into a connected room with a massive, beautifully-crafted walnut table sitting in the center. Impulsively I ran my hands over the edges (which had been cut to a perfect curved profile), across the high-gloss top, and even down to the hand-carved legs.  This was somebody's masterpiece, and it was built to last. I hadn't even really noticed the mouth-watering dishes set out on it.
  “It's a family heirloom that has been passed down for more than a century. I've seen many wonderful feasts here... many lovely memories.” The cook was carrying a pitcher in each hand into the dining room.
  “It certainly is wonderful, ma'am.”
  “You have quite the eye for such fine art as such as this, I can tell.”
  “Reuben's a pretty decent woodsmith himself,” Asher commented. “It might take him a while, but I know he could make a good table like this here.”
  “You have such a supportive companion here,” said the lady to me. “I'm sure you have sound judgment behind your support, too,” she told Asher. “Are you gentlemen ready to eat?”
  “Most definitely!” Asher said.. We all pulled out a matching wooden chair (which I also admired) and sat before the stunning spread of food. Mashed potatoes, green beans, and sweet corn, all soaking in melted butter. Several still-steaming loaves of bread sat out as well, and there was a brisket. An enormous, slow-cooked brisket, swimming in it's own juices, that was so tender you could have carved it with a spoon. I nearly died of sheer joy. What in the world was this little woman going to do with all of this? Maybe she'd done a little more than put some potatoes on to boil earlier. It was almost if she'd expected company....
Post Merged: February 02, 2011, 11:27:10 PM“This is quite the impressive feast! I truly am honored to dine with you, Miss...?”
  “Call me Granny Becca,”
  I knew it! She is a grandmother! I thought to myself.
  “Now, you can hold your compliments 'till later; we shouldn't let all of this grow cold!” Needless to say, we attacked that lay-out for all we were worth. It was as delicious as it had looked. Once we were finished and all trying to hold our guts of of the floor, Councilor Beyer steered the conversation towards our reason for coming.
  “I've heard rumor that you have quite the extensive library collection. What kind of writings do you collect?”
  “Oh, all kinds. There are so many fascinating things to read about, I could never pick just one. I have many, many stories, legends, teachings, histories, recipes, poems... but why am I telling you all of this? If you kind men would help me clear this table, I'll show you my favorite place in the world. I'll take that pitcher, dear...” And despite the weight of our full stomachs, we guests were all up quickly and somewhat eager to help carry stacks of dishware to the kitchen. We were done just as quick, and we followed the small librarian to her domain, the place she spent her days. The door was down a short hallway, and seemed rather plain for the great treasures behind it. With a flourish, she tossed open the door to lead us into a cavernous room. Shelves, twice higher than a full-grown man, lined every bit of wall. The only empty spots were the windows, which let in the fading rays of the setting sun. Books even wrapped around the windows on both sides, top, and bottom. A few freestanding shelves towered overhead near the far end of the room. Closer to use were a couple tables and benches, also piled high with literature. We walked towards the middle, taking in the entire scene. Surely she'd hae some kind of literature here tha would help me with my quest. Granny Becca lowered a chandelier that was well loved and well used and lit the many lamps it held
We'd soon need this light (as I'm sure she'd depended on it before) to read, not to mention see, anything in the library.
  “I love to share my beautiful books with people. That's why I collect them, so that they can be appreciated by others as I do.” I strolled before the shelves with my head ****ed to the side, reading the many titles. “Histories from across the Sea”, “To Refine Silver”, and “Jabal's Guide to Wild Creatures” were just a few. What an odd assortment.... There were so many books, and no apparent order to them.
  “Ma'am?” I called out. “Are these sorted in some way?”
  She chuckled. “Don't looking for order here, son. It doesn't exist in this room. I can find whatever it is my company is looking for... most of the time. Are you looking for anything in particular?”
  ...Yes, actually. Would you have anything about the ancient legends, more specifically, the ones concerning the Wardens and the Medallion?” I wasn't quite ready to let Granny Becca in on our secret. The old woman hurried, relatively speaking, to  to the far shelves and began scanning the various titles, saying something about those stories being her favorites. She pulled out hree books, each from a different place, and brought them to a table. Was it really that simple? I flipped through them all, not thinking they were quite what I was looking for. One was a chronicle of the last dozen or so Wardens, another was filled with with sketches and details on the species of Skayles. Perhaps 'flipping' wasn't the right word for what I was doing, though. The yellow, aged pages were stiff and crumbling around the edges. I was somewhat nervous turning each sheet. Surely the elderly lady would have a heart attack if her book disintegrated in my hands. The fact that these books were still even semi-readable was a testimony to her loving care. The lettering was still understandable, though the flowing script took a little extra effort to discern.  I was a little unsettled by the highly detailed drawings of dozens of reptiles, all fierce, all horrendous. I assumed that they were realistic, even with all of the fantasy surrounding the creatures. If I was willing to consider this amulet as real, then I really had no ground for not accepting the rest of the legends.
  Raging reptilian faces glared out of the pages. The faintly faded ink sketches instilled a blood-chilling tingle down ones spine, a small taste of the terror that would pound in ones heart if these cold-blooded horrors was encountered. My eyes took in each frightening image, burning them into memory, despite my inner desire to shut the book and toss it away. Why did these pictures have such a strong affect on me? The fear our ancestors bore was passed down in its entirety through our story-telling. Each brittle page beheld more lizards; Cliffwalkers, Spitvypers, Lockjaws, Wetfoots, and Watcherbacks. Closer to the end was the greatest of them all, with 'greatest' meaning 'worst'. The alpha, the leader, the Black Cobra. It towered over the tallest oak trees, holding its torso high above the ground. The serpent's lower coils stretched behind it to an unreasonable length. Each scale was almost literally the same size of the shields the warriors carried into battle. Fangs as long as a man's arm lined the open jaws. Cold, yellow slitted eyes, filled with death, bore down on its prey. It boasted a spreading hood , and (it's most fearsome attribute) massive claws at the end of two long arms. This beast was the embodiment of fear itself. Brave men were frozen below its heartless gaze, hopeless, doomed to die. Even the horde of other Skayles cowered submissively in its presence. None of the others compared to this one monstrosity. The cobra acted as general; he led his 'troops' to attack, to raid, to destroy. Where he went, the havoc of the horde followed. It was only by defeating him that the Warden Reggick, the first, was able to fight off the invaders. At the start of the Great Winter, the blood-thirsty Skayle commander lead an advance on the Glacier Mountains; his hunger knew no bounds. Though the frigid air made the horde sluggish, it had no noticeable effect on their king. The defending natives fought valiantly, finally having an advantage. Reggick almost single handedly slayed the Black Cobra, thrusting his spear through its eye. That was our first victory, though thankfully not our last. As an expression of gratitude, the Warden's army crafted for him a medal, made of bronze, with a piece of the dreaded fangs set in the center. Skillfully, they had carved the head of the monster, hood opened wide, fangs bared, and with a spear sticking out of its right eye*. It became the emblem of leadership and authority, both of which were inherited with the passing of the medallion. The position of Warden came to mean the owner of the Medallion.
  Subconsciously I lifted it from under my shirt and placed it beside the drawing in the book. It was a perfect match.
  “Oh!” said the librarian. She walked from across the room to where I was sitting. “I'll wager that book is what you were looking for, then.” Everyone else... Asher, Uncle Isaac, and Councilor Beyer... gathered behind me. We sat silent.
  “Is that enough evidence for you, Beyer?” My Uncle asked.
  “For me, yes. But I don't know about Borigard. Is there a...”
  “It says here that this is made from the Cobra's fang.” I traced the etch marks with my finger. “Could we test this to see if it really is?”
  Becca hustled to a far shelf – because it would be too convenient if it were closer – where she stretched on her toes as she reached above her head.
  “Well? Don't just stand there gentlemen... somebody come help this old, stooped woman!”
  With some help, she got yet another large, leather bound book down and brought it over to our table. We were running out of desk space.... It was another guide to fabled wild creatures. This, too, was filled  with sketches and diagrams of dangerous beasts: golden maned lions, powerful bears, wolves, and other mythological animals. As if she'd been studying this very book, the bookkeeper 'flipped' to the exact page. It had cross-sections, descriptions, and other information about all kinds of reptiles. (These were just little ones that supposedly liked to hide under rocks.)
  “Look here.” she began. “See how these fangs are hollow here? Not every lizard is said to have a venomous bite, but the ones who do have this opening. Look at your carving. Can you see the hole in the cobra's eye here?” She moved the Medallion over to her book and set it beside the matching picture. Though much larger, it was an exact comparison. There was in fact a hole about the size of a termite hole in the eye, right were the spear entered. We grew silent again.
  “I think that should be enough proof for Borigard....” Beyer said.
  “Okay, so now we know that this is it,” I said. My lips were a little dry. “But now what does that mean?”
  “Isn't it obvious?” began our hostess. Uncle Isaac spoke before she could continue,
  “That's for the Council to decide. Am I correct, Beyer?”
  “Well, yes... I'd like to believe the other members would know enough of the legends to come to a decision now that we know for sure that this is genuine.” Granny Becca nodded quietly. “We have sure enjoyed your hospitality, ma'am,”
  “And dinner was amazing,” said Asher.
  “... But we really should be heading back now. Thank you so much for taking care of us strangers.”
  “Oh, my pleasure. Now you all hurry back to wherever you're off to... it's already quite late. You must come let me know what happens next though. I must know how this story ends!”
  “Certainly ma'am,” I said. “Thanks again!”
  “I'll be seeing  you shortly then. Take care!”

    It was already pretty dark by the time we left the oversized, comfy home of Granny Becca. I think it's fair to say we walked a bit faster underneath the stars that night. Thankfully, the lights from town were a convenient point of reference, helping us know we were heading the right way. We parted with Beyer closer to town, right before I was hit by a wave of drowsiness. It had been a long night.... I think I was asleep before I hit the bed in our rented room.
  Sunrise came and went. Eventually, we made our way back to the council chamber, where we waited while the last few members arrived. Most of them were already there, seemingly anxious to hear about our trip the night before. Well, they wouldn't be disappointed....  Finally, the door was closed as they all took their seats. Borigard spoke first,
  “So Isaachar, was our suggestion of any use to you?”
  “Yes sir, we found our answers.” He gave away nothing with his voice however, and gestured at me. I stepped forward while, once again, pulling my medal off of my neck. 
  “We're convinced that this is the one Medallion. As you'd imagined, your librarian friend had books with all manner of descriptions and drawings. I have no doubt myself that this is what we suspect it to be. This is it, sir.”
  “It's true...” said Borigard. That far-off look swept over his face again. First one, then another, then all of the councilors rose from their seats, in a sovereign silence. The hairs on my neck and back rose and stood on end. Borigard looked at me now with that whimsical look, which changed into an expression of admiration and confidence.
  “We came a decision while you were on your short trip.” He rose as well. “It was determined that if you had found the ancient Medallion, it would not be taken from you. There is no other who has the honor that is your right. That is yours to bear, if you accept it. To keep and possess the Warden's Medallion is to accept the role of Warden, with all of tits privileges and duties. You have the choice to leave it here, to walk away from it. Or you choose ownership, and leadership, for it is yours to keep, if that is your decision.” All eyes were on me. My head swam, and my knees weakened. I hadn't really even considered this since coming to town. I wasn't prepared with an answer.. how was one to make a choice of this caliber? What was I supposed to say? Somewhere in the back of my mind, I'd accepted the likelihood of it being taken from me, or asked for, but now... Was it even an option to not take this once-in-an-eternity opportunity? Was it even an option to accept it?!? Apparently, there was no obvious answer. If I declined, life would go as as it always had; I'd be back in my shop tomorrow, eating Aunt Tally's professional cooking, … and telling everyone what I had given up. How could I live with that... cowardice? What would I say to my children? 'When your father was young, he could have been the Warden, but he was too scared.' I didn't want that. But I definitely didn't want to be Warden. Who knows where that would take me? Literally, I'd probably sleep in a different town every night. Sure, I'd have the best food that anyone could make (other than my aunt's), I'd be given the best of everything, the most attention. My word would be law. I would have the most power of any man in the country; though not all-powerful, the people would be eager to take my advice, accept my suggestions, and fulfill my desires without it even being a command. The Warden was an upright man. There was no need for doubt, concern, or any lack of faith. He was Trustworthy. He truly had his people's well-being as his greatest motive in every decision. People followed him like sheep. 
  I was breathing hard, though apparently no one noticed my inner anguish. The silence from the spectators unnerved me. They were still waiting! They really expected me to decide, here, and now! Could I fill this role? Would I fail miserably , causing harm to those who trusted me? I couldn't bear that guilt... I was going to pass out. I didn't hear the footsteps behind me, and I nearly jumped when Asher touched my shoulder.
  “Ruben...” was the only word he spoke. But his eyes said so much more. And so did my Uncle's. 'Trust' is all they said, and it was all they needed to say.
  “I...” I couldn't speak, my mouth was so dry. “I'll...” The words would not form, my thoughts refused to take shape. “I... I'll take it!”

((Author's note: I described the Medallion differently in an earlier passage (where he'd first opened the box) but this is the description I'm going to stick with. Also, I know there's some kind of discrepancy between tonight's passage and what I'd previously written, but I can't quite figure out what it is... maybe about the Warden's history?... if anyone spots it, please tell me! ) Shoot, any criticism would be gladly received!)

[radgeek]

My Chee brain can't find the discrepancy you speak of.