Creative Writing: Things Fall Apart

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Taran pounded the front of his black-tar-covered shield with his fist. “Hold up the gods damned shield! Not down by your feet, but up over your head! And why do all these shields look like a wolf’s chewed on them?” He flung his own weapons down onto the ground and stormed up to the line of his warriors, all of whom stood there shamefaced. It was not like Taran to curse and bluster in public. He’d all but forgotten about the dozen or so villagers looking on, a common occurrence on training days when the weather was pleasant, such as it was today. “Look at these shields!” He kicked at Angus’s warped and dinged-up armor. “You need to re-tar them when they’re in disrepair. And if they’re too far gone, talk to Bili so he can have new ones made.”…show more content…
“No, you won’t.” Bryce took a step forward. “Sire, you claim to differ from your father, but he listened to his subjects.” Taran knew Bryce was trying to goad him and wondered how far the man would take it. Would he dare to speak of Leese? Even if he did, Taran promised himself he would remain calm. “My father listened to subjects with whom he agreed. Though I disagree with you, vehemently, I have stood here and listened to you. You’ll receive no reprimand, no censure. Tell me, if you’d spoken against my father’s beliefs, what do you think the result might have been?” Bryce glanced away. “A good point, Sire. But I request we put this matter out to a vote at the next council meeting. Allow the entire village to weigh in.” “That sounds reasonable. Will you excuse me now?” “Of course, my king.” Bryce nodded and strode away. Taran spotted Lutren and Veerah in the distance, taking refuge from the bright sun under the shade of a tall evergreen tree. Several other spectators still milled around, and Taran owed them an apology, too. He moved toward the people and Bili caught up with him. “That man is a flagrant asshole,” said…show more content…
“I want the king to stay at my house so I can brag.” “As long as it’s all right with your mother,” said Taran, taking a knee before the wagon. “Well swap stories and I’ll bring my sword.” Lutren opened his eyes. “You’ll let me hold it?” “Keep the thing in the scabbard and you can sleep with it for all I care.” “Yeah, I’ll touch the king’s sword.” Lutren coughed again and closed his eyes. “Quick rest…” Taran stood up. “You’ll call for me if there are any changes?” he asked Veerah. “Yes, right away, Sire.” She flicked a tear from her eye. “What is it?” “Nothing. And everything. It’s all so difficult sometimes. And with children…” Somehow, they ended up in an awkward, half-embrace. Taran allowed his face to linger close to her hair, where he picked up on the scent of sweet heather and fresh water. This woman affected him in many ways, and he took a step back before the guilt choked him again. “I’ll be digging this afternoon, just south of the river and Loch Gael. If you need me.” Veerah, her cheeks red instead of pink now, brushed her dark hair away from her face. “Thank you. I… I’ll see you this

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