Novel Treatments / Legends of Old Karel Chapter 1 vsn 3
Adyan looked out of his window, and shivered as the first cold of the autumn struck through the glass. The night was dark and the moon, though full, was obscured by clouds. A thin, misty rain shrouded the stone walls of the great Temple and Abbey of Marus, which had been his home since birth. As his breath misted the glass he hoped the murk and gloom would fog the view of any watchers, and that his escape would be un-remarked till morning. He felt confident that no one would be about. Most would surely be snug in bed; though his mother, and the Abbess of Marus, would both be watching over his brother. Watching, praying, and worrying as women did. No good would be done by their vigil, Marik would either live and be lamed in foot and hand for the rest of his life, or if he was lucky he would die.
He peered into the murk. The path outside his window, faded into well-tended lawns of grass and chamomile. The Abbey sprawled across its isolated hilltop, its warren of buildings barely contained within the surrounding grass-covered earthworks. Large arched windows showed gleams of yellow lamplight here and there, picking out the honey coloured stone of the walls and the ancient greenery that clung to them. Others, dark and unlit, seemed to spy with flat, dead eyes. It was his home, but Adyan knew he had to leave. He could not bear to live here with his shame. If only he had not been so stupid and impulsive then Marik would not be dying. He had known that the beast they hunted in the thicket of thorn was no harmless deer. Even though it was hidden from view he had sensed its bulk and weight as it moved. He should have stopped, should have been smart enough to know to stop! He flung himself, in a fit of self-hatred and contempt, away from the window and onto the bed behind him.
Marik and he had set off early that morning, laughing and joking. They had planned the trip together, a hunt to find their own feast-day meal. That evening they would be celebrating their sixteenth birthday; counted men at last, and proud of their skills. The autumn sun had warmed their backs, though a breeze from the north put a little chill into the air. The twins, both tall, lithe and with identical tangles of red hair, had headed east from the old Abbey. They had walked several miles splashing through the streams that tumbled down towards the river. As the sun rose higher, pointing towards noon, they had rested for a while on mossy boulders, filling empty bellies with thickly buttered, crusty bread and slabs of cold bacon. Afterwards, Adyan had led as they climbed out of the river valley. The scrub and the large flat-headed plants, brown now and dying, had fallen away, replaced by shorter grass and thickets of thorn, and the soil itself became noticeably lighter and sandier. As they reached these more open uplands they became quiet and alert, hopeful of game worthy of them. Down in the valley there were rabbits, hares, and birds aplenty, but up here it was possible to find small deer, or larger game. With luck they would find some of the wild pigs that rooted in the bushes, the young ones grown well by now and very much a tender and juicy feast.
They had both heard the heavy movement deep inside the huge, tangled thicket of thorn that stood at the top of a small slope. Raising his hand, Adyan had motioned Marik around to the lower edge, where the cover was thinnest. Whatever was inside would surely bolt that way, and Marik would be able to spear it. He had climbed higher up the hill, behind the thicket, with the sun full in his face. He had hesitated a moment, trying to see into the glare, past the dense mass of sharp-needled branches and the golden yellow flowers which still showed here and there. He had known that whatever beast had made its lair there it was no rabbit. It had to be something much bigger, deer maybe or with luck a wild piglet.
Suddenly, a thick branch had moved, creaking and snapping. As it swayed to the side he caught a glimpse of a hairy hide moving deep inside the tangle. Seizing the moment, he had launched himself with a great shout, and with a firm and practiced arm he thrust his spear into the thornbush. He had felt so alive, thrilled and exulted with the intensity of this particular moment. He had felt the sharp iron blade bite deep into flesh and then, shockingly, a perception of appalling brute strength. His wrist and arm were wrenched round and he was dragged lurching forward, face first, against the spikes of thorn. The polished wooden shaft with its plaited hide grip was ripped and twisted from his grasp. After that there was simply a noise, a great raging squeal. Deafening. The beast hurled itself forwards, out of the thicket, towards the only target it could see, Marik.
He forced the memory away and opened his eyes, looking blankly upwards into the gloom of the unlit room. He could not endure the pain he had caused to his mother and brother. He could not live with the sympathy and pity that would be shown to his face, or the well-deserved contempt behind his back. He had to leave. But, where to go? Where to hide? The thought made him pause. He had waited all evening for the dark to deepen sufficiently to hide his flight, but had not given even a single thought to any destination other than simply away. Now the moment had arrived he was lost. He had lived in the Tribelands all his life, as had his father and grand-fathers before him, for over two centuries so the family legend had it. He knew the story. A child, it was said, in danger from the false Emperor, Sophos the Usurper. Taken in secret by his nurse from the great city of Karel, then the heart of an Empire. A returning. The idea gripped him. Karel. That would be his destination he decided, suddenly certain
Still lying on the bed he listened intently. The Temple and Abbey were quiet, no movement, no hint that any one else was awake. He hesitated, his mind awash with a swirl of thought. He had everything he needed for his flight, except his sword and sword belt that he had worn yesterday at practice. The scabbard had some loose stitching that his mother had promised to repair. They would be in her chambers.
He rose, and moved away from his bed. His boot-heels clicked on the stone flagged floor and he stopped, thinking that the sound would betray him. He sat down gently on the ancient oaken bench set into the recess in front of the window, and eased them off. Stocking clad, he moved without sound to the door and pressed his ear to it. Holding his breath, his mouth slightly open and head cocked upwards at a slight angle, he listened for any sound. Nothing. But it was a thick and heavy door. Like the bench it was old and solid, and it was not designed to let sound in or out, merely to be an effective barrier when required. He bit his lip and grasping the heavy, iron ring with both hands he turned it as slowly as he could. His right wrist gave a small click, deep in the joint, as it was twisted under the left, felt rather than heard. He paused for a split second, then continued. As the latch lifted he pulled the door back a few inches and waited, heart pounding. “Don’t rush. Think.” he ordered himself, “You know what happens when you just bull on.” One step at a time, feeling stupid and ridiculous like he was a child playing hide and seek he moved into the corridor, then, forcing courage he began to move more swiftly.
The corridor was quiet. He moved stealthily out of his room, and along towards his mother’s apartments. She would be with Marik, in the infirmary wing of the Abbey building, and her maid would be absent. “Probably in the servants’ quarters” he thought. Then, angry again with himself, “Don’t assume. Think!” He went through all of the possibilities in his head, how would he enter his Mother’s room? He couldn’t sneak in. How would that look if the maid were there? “Stupid! Stupid child”, he chided himself. Why should he even try to hide? He was simply collecting his sword, no could know he was planning to run, there was nothing to hide, nothing to worry about but his own fears.
He began to feel more in control of himself and moved steadily now, quietly, but no longer skulking along his guilt proclaimed by appearance.
At the entrance to his mother’s rooms he stopped and listened, and then boldly stepped up and knocked on the door. Not too loud, not a great thump to wake all who heard, but sufficient to announce his presence to any on the other side. He waited. Silence. Bolder now, he knocked again, and this time after only the briefest of waits he turned the handle and walked in. No one was there. Against one wall of the chamber, on a side table, a glass of red wine stood waiting, on a small silver tray. A fine glass lid covered it against the dust. On the other side of a red velvet armchair a candle burned on the matching table, flickering in the draft of the open door. A yard or so in front of the chair was a fireplace, the fire banked up for the night giving off a slumberous red glow. A bright gleam of silver from the wall opposite the fire suddenly caught his eye, drawing him in to the room.
The great silver boar stood in its accustomed place of honour, a niche set in the wall and lined with deep emerald cloth. It was very old, and had been engraved with such craftsmanship and delicacy that it seemed as though the muscles bunched in life. Ruby eyes picked up the glimmering firelight and its polished silver flanks threw back the red glow. The beast seemed for a moment to be looking right at him, crouched ready to charge, a foreleg raised, and dire threat in the set of its head and wicked looking yellowing ivory tusks. Swallowing hard against sudden tears he quickly crossed the room and seized it. It was heavy in his hands, solid and somehow reassuring. A presence, familiar since babyhood.
For a few moments he re-lived the attack on Marik. It had been a wild boar. Not one of the half grown wild piglets or even one of the smaller sows, but a fully-grown boar. Immensely powerful and almost unstoppable if they charged, these were the ultimate prize of any hunt; but the boys had not been equipped to take one. A boar spear was much longer and heavier than those carried by the twins, and had a bar across the shaft a few feet from the blade. If not for this then any boar would carry on charging even if impaled, and run up the spear to get at the wielder. Adyan had run frantically around the edge of the thorn bush, through it in places, tearing face and legs on the thorns without noticing. Breaking clear, he had seen the boar with Marik’s spear sticking through the edge of its throat. The slender ash shaft had snapped, the butt end pushed into the earth where Marik had tried to brace it, the other embedded in the animal. The iron blade had been forced clear through its neck and the broken end was slick and dripping with the blood that was pouring from the gaping wound. The boar had crashed into his brother’s right side, ripping and tearing with its sharp and viciously curved tusks. Marik had been flung to the ground, arm raised to protect himself as the beast trampled over his face and head. Sickened, Adyan had seen the beast tear at the upraised arm and then, as Marik’s leg was flung up behind it, watched it turn and seize his foot in its jaws.
Without thought, Adyan had pulled his long hunting knife free and flung himself at the animal. He had crashed into it from the side, face pressed against the coarse black hairs and crusted mud. Clutching the bristles he had stabbed wildly, overhand, at the top of its neck, driving the blade into its spine. As he struck he could feel the heat pouring off its body. There was a sharp ammonia stench as the beast’s bladder let go and it pissed in a great, hot, spurting stream over his legs; the rising vapour forcing its way down the back of his throat and making him gag. The boar squealed again in rage. Then, suddenly, its legs seemed to collapse under it. It rolled to the floor onto its right side, back legs dragging uselessly and its front ones kicking wildly. As its great head lunged and bit at the air, gobs of spittle flying and spattering, Adyan had stood up. Moving quickly, he placed the needle-point of his knife between two of its ribs, just back from the pocket where its foreleg joined its body, and thrust the long blade in. He leaned his full weight on to it as he did so and the beast gave a great convulsion, thick, dark blood suddenly vomited from its mouth, and it was still.
The great silver heirloom swum back into focus as the memory faded. It was his. His by right, as eldest son, if only by a matter of minutes. Part of the family legend, brought out of Karel with the fleeing child and his nurse. He turned it over, looking at it, fascinated by it, and then with a decisive movement placed it gently on the table beside the wine. He stood up, and after a moment to gather his wits, turned and looked around for his sword. It was propped in the far corner. He stepped over past the fireplace and strapped the swordbelt over his shoulder, adjusted the pommel of the yard-long weapon behind his left shoulder; then immediately took it off again, conscious that, if he was seen, then to carry it was explainable, but to be wearing it?
Steadier now, and with growing confidence, he stepped back out into the corridor and after a glance along the length of it he went quickly back to his own room. He pushed through the door then shut it firmly behind him, and as an afterthought, shot home the bolt. He put on his worn green hunting cloak, heavy cloth, waxed, and proof against rain and thorns and slid his feet back into the supple leather of his boots. After stamping his feet into place he wound the sword belt around his shoulders once more. Almost without thought he slipped his hunting knife into the top of his right boot, and a rather light purse inside his shirt. Quickly, without hesitation, he opened the window wide and looked out. The rain was harder now, and the air colder. A sharp breeze spat water into his face. He lifted his hood over his head in response and stepped out over the sill.
He would have to walk, there were no riding horses on the high grasslands, only the small ponies whose shoulders came no higher than his chest. Though they were strong and hardy pack animals, pulling both farm carts and the chariots of the fighters, these short ponies were no good to ride. Adyan was superb in a chariot, as either driver or fighter. He gained advantage from a frame that, while a head taller than most Tribesmen, was not as heavy. He had a rangy athletic quality, compared to their more powerful square bulk. He and Marik had made a pair, both alike, and both adept in either role. But he didn’t have a chariot, nor did he have the ponies, nor the harness, so that was an end to it.
He would need to avoid the more densely populated areas around the Vale, but anyway the river led south and the quickest way to Karel was north. The Tribes were mainly nomadic, moving from pasture to pasture with cattle and sheep and depending on the farms in Marus Vale for vegetables and grain. Trouble was rare, except in the east where attacks came now and again from the savage stone-using barbarians who lived over the Whitewater River and despised metal as unholy.
North was the quick way, but that would also lead him past one of only two towns in the Tribelands, Ecum. The trading place was right at the top of the high, steep escarpment that separated the Empire from the Tribes. Instead, he decided, he would head west, towards the hills that bounded the Empire’s New Province. He knew the area a little, and was confident he could find a way through and down to the river that flowed at their feet. “Keep east of the river”, he muttered to himself. That way, when he turned north he would be unlikely to meet Imperial border troops. The Tribes rarely went that far, and never this late in the year when their grazing lands were in the more sheltered regions south and east of Marus. He had sword and knife, and he knew his slingshot and game bag were in the deep pocket inside the cloak. He had no bow and no way to get one, but small game would fall to the sling. He made his way over the lawns that surrounded the Abbey and over to the graveled path which ran up to the main entrance. He would pick up a few suitable stones now, and then be gone.
He came to the edge of the lawn, and crouched down, bending to feel for the right sized stones, smooth, rounded, even, not too heavy and not too feeble. He was feeling confident, now. He had a plan; he was ready; and in a moment he would be gone. It was a moment or two before he suddenly registered the soft crunch of gravel caused by a gentle footfall. Startled, he looked up to see a slight figure approaching. He froze, and then realizing that the figure must have seen him, slowly straightened, his heart once more thumping and mind racing. The approaching shape stopped and regarded him for a moment, “Hello,” it said in a surprisingly gentle and decidedly feminine voice, “Who is there? Can I help you?”
He recognized the voice at once; it was Liyen, one of the novice nuns of the Abbey. She and the twins had been friends since they were children. She was almost a year older than they, and had taken her novitiate vows some months before.
Adyan thought quickly, “Hello to you too, Liyen. Have you seen it?”
“Seen what? Is that you Adyan?”
“Yes it’s me. The fox, have you seen the fox? I saw it from my window. The Abbess said that foxes had been wrecking her henhouses, so I thought, maybe I could get it.”
“No, Adyan, I have seen nothing. It’s so dark I can hardly see you. You must have good eyes to see a fox in this!”
“It was right by my window, the cheeky bastard. I saw it look at me and then head off. So I slipped out after it. I needed some slingstones, you can grab me a few if you’ve time.” He tried to head off further questions by going on the offensive, “Anyway, what are you doing wandering the grounds in the dark, not got a boy out here somewhere, have you?”
“Adyan!” she sounded shocked, “No, and don’t swear either. I’m on an errand for the Infirmarian, he needs herbs and I’m going to the outstore to get them. They’re for Marik. Maybe“, she added primly, in revenge for the boyfriend gibe, “You should visit him instead of frolicking off after some fox that’s long gone by now. Your mother and the Abbess hold vigil, maybe you should too.”
The attack stung him and he could not speak for a moment, his throat tight, voice liable to betray him. As they both felt the silence draw out, she relented, “Adyan, I’m sorry. That was cruel of me, and thoughtless. Go off, get that fox and make the Abbess grateful for small mercies. But, you should visit Marik, if only for your mother’s sake.”
Still he could not speak, but mumbled and nodded. Liyen looked at him oddly, but then gathered herself and smiled, “I must go, I was told to hurry. Take care, Adyan. It wasn’t your fault you know, and you saved his life. Gods bless you, Adyan.” She touched him lightly on his left shoulder, turned away, and hurried down the path.
Adyan stood still, “Saved his life?” he repeated in a whisper. Only afterwards, when the harm had been done he thought, bitterly. Quickly he grabbed what stones lay near, and then moved off himself, crossing the gravel pathway, and heading over the lawn to the deep ditch and the high earthen bank which ran along outside of it, completely encircling the whole Abbey secluding it from the world and holding it private and sacred. Crossing the ditch and then climbing to the top of the bank he continued down the other side and out into the dark.
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Great narrative and vision. you unfolded amazing scenes with your narrators dscriptions. Wonderful work with the characters.
The story flowed real nicely, and failed to grind me down anywhere. I was able to maintain a comfortable pace as to soak in the narrators language.
Very nice work here. I would recommend closing the gaps, but other than that really good work. Thank you for the oppertunity to review it.
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I thought this story was very interesting. The beginning dialogue should be made into its own paragraphs for easier digestion to the reader. You use a good range of vocabulary without seeming like you’re trying too hard which is very nice to see. I think you have something here, and I’d be interested in seeing more.
(Do you use “Word”? You can set up spellcheck to help with grammar and punctuation. I won’t ding on those, but be aware my processor is freaking out over the missing commas, etc.)
This being the first chapter, I would suggest introducing the characters sooner and make their relationships clearer. Currently it is confusing, takes an effort to capture the who, what, when and where, and you don’t want to do that – at least until you’ve “hooked” the reader)
Most would be snug in bed
(Most what? Guards?)
by their vigil, Marik would
(I would put a period after “vigil.” Better effect)
earthworks, and at its heart
(I would break after “earthworks” and make us pause. Gives us time to really develop the visual)
The different buildings . . . grass and chamomile.
(Whoa!! This is a w-a-a-a-y long sentence. Let me catch a breath – or two! Is it necessary to list all those buildings? If you call it a complex, or a keep, or various other terms familiar to the genre, we’ll know what you mean.
Running into a lot of these, so I’ll make one more quick note, then shut up about it. Long sentences. Read your stuff out loud, and don’t take a breath until you hit a period. You’ll find them :-D )
He had known that the beast in the thicket of thorn was no harmless deer. Even though it was hidden from view he had sensed its bulk and weight as it moved.
(Not sure I get this. Is he outside hunting or something? This should be established earlier.)
identical in appearance,
(honestly, I feel this is extraneous. When people hear “twins” they assume identical. Only if they are NOT identical is the point made)
(I’m confused. Is the guy in the bushes one of the twins, and the other twin is the brother being prayed over?)
Now suddenly in the more open uplands they began
(Hm. Take out “now” and decide on whether this is a sudden or gradual action. “Began” implies gradual)
(5 paragraphs in, and it’s starting to become clear. A clue as to my train of thought. When I am perusing books to read, I am standing in an airport, late for a plane, or at the library on my lunch hour, late to get back. I’ll read the back, and the first 2-3 paragraphs. If I’m not “into it” by then, I’ll put it down and move on. So far, I put this one down after the second paragraph)
Still lying on the bed
(Another tip: If you read the submission guidelines for most publishers, they like to see three asterisks or number signs to indicate the passage of time, or distinct change of scene. That would help us here)
practice, the scabbard had some
(I’d put a dash here – something to set apart the explanation)
towards his mothers apartments.
(toward his mother’s apartments)
how would he enter his Mother’s room?
(maybe a short explanation as to why he needs to be so secretive about all this)
seeing anew something which he had known since babyhood
(do you mean like “with new eyes” or had he not seen it since babyhood, in which case he wouldn’t remember it at all…)
(Suddenly, this character Adyan – is this Marik’s twin brother?)
The slender ash shaft
(very nice touch of detail, about the ash being a softwood, I mean.)
sharp ammonia stench
(not sure where the ammonia is coming from? When we butchered, we weren’t smelling ammonia! Fresh blood is sour, acrid, metallic, cloying, heavy, sickly-sweet ish )
He turned it over
(Let us see him reverently pick it up first, and share this moment with him)
over his shoulder
(great detail. I would have assumed waistbelt, not shoulder scabbard)
worn green cloak
(worn? I thought he was like, a prince or something? Someone said his mom was )
covering his red hair
(finally, a hint as to his physical appearance ::grins:: I’ve played the movie so far not having a clue except that he was 16)
the cheeky bastard
(such language with a nun! – doh – nevermind, she busted him)
There’s a lot of jumping around past to present at the beginning of the piece. I understand your goal – I’ve been told it’s good to start in the middle of the action to hook the reader, then go back and explain later. Maybe make the transitions smoother so we can tell when to shift our frame of reference.
This is really good. You have an awesome imagination. It’s hard isn’t it – getting that movie out of your head and onto paper in such a way that other people can see it too?
your use of imagery is marvolous you actually make the reader feel as if they are there sights sound surroundings down to the grass and lighter sandier soil. I think you should give a general character description though to help the reader paint a better picture of the characters in their heads this shouldn’t be too hard for you considering the wonderful imagery you use to paint the world they live in. This is well written and easy to read as well.
I can tell you spent a lot of time trying to go in depth with your imagery. I like the way you gradually allowed your characters to grow
The story is not without merit but your telling the story when the 1st rule of writing is to show the story, don’t tell the story.
What this means is that your writing in a passive voice, telling the reader the information instead of showing the readers the story through your characters eyes. You want to be writing in Active voice.
Secondly, the opening is mostly back story and not where you want to start. The opening of any fictional work should draw the reader in, hold them by their short hairs and make them want to read on, and turn pages. Back story is best told in snippets and where needed. Dialogue and flashback are best to use in this form of storytelling, but not at the beginning.
In short, your other chapters may be more engrossing, but this opening will get you a rejection letter from any agent or publisher, which is your goal. In todays publishing world, the agents are the first line of defense to publishers, acting as critic’s to screen the slush from the gems of writing. The agents earn 15%, so they are very selective on what they select and only 2% to 10% of what they accept gets published.
Suggestions, read up on how to write fiction, there are many good books out there. Or do a google search on writing techniques. Remove your goal and concentrate on just creating an interesting story, refining it until it shines on its own. This is just a suggestion based on your goals.
Hope this helps,
Nick.
Your piece was exciting and interesting. I found it highly enjoyable.
I strongly believe that a first line has to be a clincher, and your line: “The night was dark. The moon, though full, was covered in thick cloud and a thin misty rain shrouded the stone walls of the great Temple and Abbey of Marus which sat isolated from the world high above the headwaters of the river which bore its name” was perfect, bringing me straight into the story and immersing us in this world.
I will point out that you missed a full stop at the end of the sentence: ”...bore its name”
I’m sure many peple have pointed this out, but just to be safe.
I felt that this sentence: “Steadier now, and with growing confidence, he stepped back out into the corridor, and after a glance along the length of it he went quickly back to his own room, closed the door behind him, and as an afterthought, shot home the bolt.” was a bit long winded.
You could’ve divided it up so it read “Steadier now, and with growing confidence, he stepped back out into the corridor. After a glance along the length of it he went quickly back to his own room, closed the door behind him, and as an afterthought, shot home the bolt.”
That other one may work for you better, but I feel this one has better structure.
There may be a few others that are a bit long, but I can’t find them at the moment.
Thank you for such a great read. Good Luck and keep writing.
The different buildings of the abbey, the cloisters, kitchens, refectory, sleeping quarters, offices, great public halls, the infirmary and other smaller stores, workshops, harness rooms and stables were all built of a hard yellow stone, honey coloured and covered in greenery, linked by graveled pathways and open, well-tended lawns of grass and chamomile.
This sentence is hard to read to much of an info dump .
He had to leave. He had known, should have known, should have thought. This sentence is not clear ..
We have had to wait a hell of a long time before we get any dialogue which is a shame. –
I have to say that the story did not grab me it didn’t flow and I found it heard to build pictures in my head
I would love to offer some hope but I cant , the whole thing seemed a bit forced and un natural
Sorry
Very well written, very engaging. I would pay the publisher’s price to read the rest of this story. Excellent job, in particular, on the lead paragraph, in which you set the scene, build tension and draw the reader in.
I noticed almost nothing to quibble with, grammar and mechanics-wise – just a missing period at the end of the second sentence. Other than that, your text seems very polished and professional.
The only issues I had included the fact that when you transition out of flashbacks of the hunting incident, in paragraphs 5 and 12, it’s not clear (at first) that the flashback is over, and we’re back to the present. The result is momentary confusion. Also – it’s a bit unclear from this short excerpt why Adyan is fleeing. I assume it’s clearer in the longer version, but the impression here is that he’s fleeing in shame over what happened to Marik. If that’s the case, it makes it a bit harder to sympathize with him (frankly, that seems a little cowardly). This might all be intentional, but I would suggest that if Adyan is to be a sympathetic protaganist you might find a way for him to redeem himself for this, lest your audience retain mixed feelings about him (unless of course, that’s what you want).
Finally, I’ll mention that at first, especially when you say that Adyan “had known that the beast in the thicket of thorn was no harmless deer”...I thought this was going to be a monster-hunting story (a la ‘Grendel’). Again, this might be intentional on your part, but if not you might find a way to spare your reader that brief misconception.
Those minor points aside, I really like this. Ten chapters in the bag means it’s going to be a finished product. Keep at it! I look forward to seeing a copy on my shelf.
“The complex of buildings…” redundant
The last sentence of the first paragraph reveals too much too soon. Maybe… “He had to leave, it was his fault his brother lay under vigil.” Or some such.
“rabbits, hares…” while not QUITE redundant… close enough to be splitting hairs.. LOL. Also if you want it to be really impressive game consider “boars” rather than “wild pigs”
”... tender and juicy feast. They had …” New paragraph at “They had…”
“Inside this fence were old…” maybe natural barrier rather than fence… fence implying man made.
”...to the floor onto its …” to the ground.
Ok so the above notes were done as I read so of course I see you brought the boar into it.
Well crafted… The legend is still a bit iffy… Make it more prominent so it can be more of a lure to Adyan’s reasoning.
Good job on the guilt as cause for his fleeing.
Will watch for more
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