One Grievous Day (Len's Song, 2022 edition, Snippet 13)

A story fragment from the Dustsong Cycle

(Read Len’s Song, 2022 edition, Snippet 12.)

In the earliest days—

Hidden among forever-greens and thorn-trees, Len watched Sceg stand silent in the meadow just below. Boulders of varied sizes seemed to weight the blanket of grass, while rocky outcrops punctured it up to shoulder height. A spread of flowers, comingled specks of red and white, kept trying to draw Len’s eye. On a different day, and in a different mood, he might’ve let them.

The far side of the meadow ended in a shelf of rock and earth, but the grass grew right to the edge. That was where Sceg loitered, with the cool, dry wind lapping against his cloak. His small flock of sheep, woolly creatures with gnarled horns, had scattered in the grass behind him to graze. With his back to Len, Sceg leaned on his sheep-herding crook and looked south, presumably taking in the view.

Above and all around the brothers sprawled the mountainous remnants of the battle where time began, betwixt Livyat and the Wright. The fangs of the vanquished serpent nearly encircled the cool river valley afore they vanished into misty clouds in all directions, excepting the east. There they simply ran to ground in the wastes.

But Len wasn’t here to appreciate the Wright’s handiwork. He slid down a short, grass-tufted slope into the meadow. Though he hadn’t noticed the sharp rock edges that scraped his feet and bit his calves, he didn’t much care. The pain of bruised and torn flesh was an irritant that only deepened his agitation.

He picked himself up but didn’t bother dusting himself off as he trod, bold as summer thunder, through the pale green, knee-high blades. Sensing his mood, a sheep scampered out of his path. Len was angrified and didn’t try to keep it from his face.