Meet the Author's Author

Meet the Author's Author
Live for Jesus! That's what matters! That you see the light in me and come along! :)

Monday, March 07, 2011


My good friend and sister Samii and I did a writing race earlier, for 20 minutes. We wrote randomly as neither of us could think of or, I think, could have stuck with a subject line. I'm not sure what Samii came out with, as she had to leave immediately afterwards, but I had this.

Writing from the book I originally intended as my debut OYAN Adventure Novel, which was called "For Queen and Country", based on the life of a British slave girl, Andraste, who was in service to Queen Boudicea of the Iceni.

She looked up sharply as the leaves rustled again. At first she’d thought it was the wind that was brushing the branches with tender spring breezes, but the sound was too distinct for that. Glancing back down at the disturbed dirt tracks of a wild boar, she pretended that she’d heard nothing and moved on. A few moments later, she felt a footfall vibrate through the soil into the sole of her foot. She was definitely being tracked now. Nervously, she began to edge around a tree. Many wild things were loose in the woods, and she had no idea if it was a wild animal or what was far worse – a Roman. The Romans had never reached this far before, but all Briton children were subjected to the red cloaked bogeyman, and the tribes throughout the valleys and hills of Cymru lived in daily tension of when thousands of the metal studded sandals would crash in orderly rhythm across their lives, smashing everything familiar.

“Kyfri?” she called, a soft, thin wavering voice. Maybe it was her pet wolf, broken loose and following her.

The silence was broken as something – or someone – crashed through the brush. She screamed as a huge muscled man blocked her path, and turned to run. He put two dirt-darkened fingers to his mouth and uttered a piercing whistle. Pounding hooves raced towards them, threatening to cut off her escape. She fled, wildly, jumping logs and puddles of stagnant water, leaving easy tracks behind her as she slipped and stumbled along, crying blindly.

Why did I leave home this morning? I thought Mama wouldn’t mind my slipping out the house when I brought those flowers she loses me for her birthday instead!

Nothing fooled her as to the men behind her. Slaves traders from another tribe. It explained why her mother had been keeping her and her siblings close to home for the past few days, and why her father had only left for brief hunting spells. The horse was close behind her now, and in increased terror, she took greater risks. One moment before she fell, she realised that the leap over the last log was too short. She struggled to get up, winded, but felt a pressure heavy in the middle of her back.

“All right, let her up!”

The horse neighed, and for a moment, she thought he meant to ride over her. The pounding halted, and someone grabbed the scruff of her gown, yanking her to her feet and spinning her round to face the horse.
He leaned down a little, a cynical smile crossing his darkly stubbled face.

“Probably the youngest slave I’ve ever handled. What’s your name, girl?”

She looked down. He jumped off the horse and shoved the butt of his whip under her chin, forcing her to look up.

“I asked you a question. Answer it now, unless you want the taste of the other end on your back.”

“I’m...I’m freeborn, and your countrywoman,” she managed to falter.

He laughed.

“We own no country but the one that pays us the most. Your name?”

And....there we end. :P If you want any more, you have to challenge me to another 20 minutes writing session. :P