Category Archives: Line By Line

Poetry by myself and others.

Excerpt from “Project Burning Bush”

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For #LineByLineTime “Guilty”

Minji rubbed her face with both hands. When she sat up on the log, her hands dropping to her lap, her expression was haunted. “I’m a murderer,” she whispered. “I told the seamen who rescued me everyone else had died in a storm, but I killed them.”

Nita raised her eyebrows. “You? The Dragonlady? Miss Prim and Proper? A killer? No way. You passed out after you whacked that soldier. No way you could kill your family.”

Minji’s smile was twisted. “It brought back very bad memories. Memories I worked hard to erase.”

“What, you hit your family members over the head, too?” Harper asked.

“Impossible,” Luthor stated.

“I did not attack them. I poisoned them.”

Nita paced on the other side of the fire. “Was the whole ‘boat refugee’ bit a lie, then?”

Minji shook her head. “No. We escaped my country in a boat and were carried by the current out into the ocean. My father and uncles poisoned everyone but me. But I found the poison. I was so angry. I put it in their food. They liked highly spiced food, so they did not taste it. They died horrible, painful deaths. It took them a while. When they could no longer hurt me, I dragged them to the side of the boat and threw them to the sharks. Some of them were still screaming when the sharks ate them.”

“Sounds like a good ending for them,” Harper commented. “You should be looking satisfied, not guilty.”

“Satisfied? I am a murderer, just like them! I have never wanted to kill anyone in my life! I was a child! I killed my father!”

Nita stopped in front of Minji and held the other girl’s face with tight fingers and stared into her eyes, nose to nose. “You survived. They were killers. Not you. You were a survivor. You did what you had to, and avenged the other family members they killed. You remember that. You. Are. Not. A. Murderer!”

Excerpt from The Warlord’s Heart

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For #LineByLineTime : Injury

“Edward! What happened? Who attacked you?” Betsy’s screech made Edward and the Royal Guards flinch.

“Everything’s fine, Betsy…” Edward’s calm response was lost under her frantic cries as she rushed to him, shoving the Guardsmen out of the way.

“What did they do to you? Was it the assassins? Were they killed? How did they get in? I didn’t hear an alarm raised!” She waved her hands, looking for a place to touch him, trying to avoid the blood, not knowing where his cuts were.

He and the other men looked at each other, wondering how to calm her. Edward finally shrugged and caught her face between his hands and kissed her hard. When she stopped struggling and stood still, he raised his head. “Betsy! Listen to me! Nobody attacked me! Hush!” he commanded when she opened her mouth again. “Let me explain! Now, are you listening?” He stared at her, eyebrows raised, until she took a deep breath and relaxed.

The guardsman next to him made a valiant effort to control his snicker and went back to washing the blood off Edward’s arms and chest. “He’s naught but scratched, lass. He’ll not even need stitches. A little washing, some ointment, and a bit of bandaging is all that’s needed. No doubt he’ll be sore in the morning, but I wager he’s had worse. Eh, lad?”

“Much worse,” Edward agreed with a wry smile. “And the healers on the front line are not nearly so gentle as you men.”

“But…”

Edward laid a finger on her lips. “There was no attack. We were practicing, that’s all. They were showing me how the assassins used their swords, and it took me a bit to get used to the new style. I hope to have fewer scratches next time.”

Betsy drew herself up and huffed her outrage. “You were practicing a new sword style with REAL swords?” She glared at the guardsmen around her. Edward was fascinated to see them cringe before the young woman almost half their size.

“I just got scratched, Betsy. It was my idea, so don’t blame them. I’m fine. Like he said, I’ll be sore tomorrow, that’s all. All I have to do is watch for infection, but the healing ointment we soldiers use works very well to prevent it. Now let them finish so I can dress and we can get to bed.” He narrowed his eyes and gave the guardsmen who snickered a hard stare. They quickly straightened their faces and looked away.

Betsy didn’t notice the byplay. Her eyes were anxiously fixed on the guardsman working on Edward’s bare chest. She blinked and took a quick breath. His. Bare. Chest… Her hands started to reach out, then suddenly wrapped themselves together and slammed back against her stomach.

Excerpt from Project Burning Bush

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For #LineByLineTime : By Moonlight

“Whatever,” Nita shrugged and jerked her head toward the Spaniards’ camp. “Let’s get to work. I want to hear what’s up.”

They slipped with careful footsteps up to the camp perimeter. Harper nudged Nita, pointing with a grin at a sleeping guard. Nita rolled her eyes and eased past some cactus. They found a spot just beyond the firelight behind some trees and stretched out on the ground. Harper lay with his head pointed away from the camp, watching their rear.

Long moments passed as Nita listened to the soldiers talk, drink, and often make rude noises with various belches and other bodily noises. Sometimes they broke out into song. Suddenly she tensed and Harper looked warily behind himself, but nobody had noticed them.

Finally, she rose to a crouch and jerked her head at him, moving slowly away from the camp. The perimeter guard was still sleeping. They moved faster to the trail they had come down and when they reached it, she started running. Harper’s mouth dropped open, but he took off after her. Both still made no noise as they ran. They only slowed to ease through tight spots of brush.

At last, they reached the Apache camp. Harper grabbed Nita’s arm and held up a finger as she jerked to a stop and whirled on him, fury on her face. He shook his head and held up his finger again. Putting his hands to his mouth, he trilled a soft birdsong. “Don’t want to get attacked rushing in there,” he whispered. “Minji has a mean swing with that staff.”

Nita smiled but it looked strained. She hurried on to the opening of the clearing. Everybody came to their feet as they entered.

“What did you hear?” Minji demanded.

“I heard enough to know we need to kill all of them and get to that settlement as fast as possible!” Nita panted.

Excerpt from “The Warlord’s Heart”

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For #LineByLineTime: Birthday

The Warlord glanced up as his aide tapped his door. “Come.”

The seemingly always nervous young man opened the door just enough to peer around it. Since the Warlord did not look upset, he relaxed enough to show his entire face. “Beg your pardon, milord, but his lordship, I mean, Lord Whitley has asked to speak to you.”

“Send him in, then. I’ll let you know if I need you to take notes.”

His aide took a deep breath and threw the door open wide. He cleared his throat and announced loudly, “Lord Whitley!”

The Warlord kept his face very still and neutral. His expression nearly broke as Lord Whitley bustled in, rolling his eyes as he passed the young aide.

“Fine, boy, fine, we know each other, no need for introductions! Off with you now, he’ll call if he needs you.” Lord Whitley waved his hands at the young man, shooing him away.

The aide blinked at the pudgy lord, then at the Warlord. The Warlord managed to nod, and the lad hurried out, closing the door carefully. The two men managed to contain their laughter until the door closed all the way.

When he could finally speak again, the Warlord leaned back in his chair. “Now, Whitley, I assume this is about the coronation ceremony?”

Whitley sighed and sank into a chair on the other side of the desk. “The coronation, the Princess’ birthday, the graduation of the officers…”

“What, all three?”

“Oh yes. All thanks to Princess Alexandria. It seems she doesn’t want separate celebrations. No, no, she wants to combine them all!”

“How on earth did she decide on that?”

“That’s what I wanted to know! When I asked, she told me three separate celebrations were ridiculous when all the nobility would be present for the graduation, and everybody including the common folk would be celebrating her coronation, and since it would be her birthday all on the same day, why have separate occasions?” The colorfully dressed lord leaned forward over the desk. “She said it would save money!” he whispered loudly.

The Warlord laughed and slapped the desk with an open palm. “I can just hear her father saying that! Alex was always keeping a close eye on the royal treasury. He couldn’t do anything about his wedding to the Queen, but when Alexandria was born, remember how he insisted everything be more sedate?”

Whitley nodded, a fond look on his face. “I remember him saying he refused to leave his soldiers wanting for supplies, when they were there to protect his daughter. A very quiet celebration it was here in the palace.”

The Warlord chuckled. “And how loud it was outside it! But Alex just shrugged and said as long as the money wasn’t coming out of the royal treasury, the subjects could do as they wished. He never allowed his men to go without.”

His companion laughed until he wheezed and slapped his silk-covered leg. “Remember how outraged that one diplomat was to be offered common beef roast and wine instead of some fancy dish and champagne? Alex told him to be grateful he wasn’t getting soldiers’ rations. And when the diplomat appealed to Queen Beatrice, she laughed at him and said she enjoyed marriage to a wise steward instead of a spendthrift.”

“Heh. That silenced him, since he was here to ask for a loan for his kingdom after his king emptied his royal purse on expensive foolishness. But Alexandria is following her father’s example even more closely, eh?”

“Aye. She ordered that the graduation of the cadets be held in the morning, followed immediately by her coronation. Then she would go out to the common folk and join the celebrations they chose to have.” The man drooped. “I was so looking forward to arranging some grand parties and festivals, feasts and music, and fancy dress…”

The Warlord nodded slowly. “Don’t tell me, let me guess. She said there’s a war going on, and the money was better spent on it.”

Lord Whitley wrinkled his nose. “Ah, you know her so well!”

“I knew her father even better,” the Warlord said wryly, and sighed. “She’s so much like him, it twists my heart sometimes, even though the older she gets, the more she looks like her mother.”

“Queen Alexandria,” Lord Whitley muttered, and looked over the desk. “I hear rumors of a possible interesting young man?” His eyebrows bounced up and down. “Perhaps I can create a grand wedding?”

The other man sighed. “A royal wedding? Who knows? I’m not sure the young man even knows of her interest.”

Whitley drummed his fingers on his knee. “And what of Betsy?” he asked softly. “What is her opinion?”

“She fully approves, and is determined to see it done. She told me I would accept it, and no arguments!”

“That sounds like Betsy, alright. Alexandria might hesitate on a decision, but Betsy will charge forward like a siege weapon.” The two men shared an expression of longsuffering.

Excerpt from Tales of the Lunatics

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For #LineByLineTime : Inexperienced or Naive?

Striker pointed her tail at the shackled male and scowled. “Show some respect for the Den Mother!”

The male tipped his head sideways. “Den Mother? What’s a Den Mother?” His repetition of her intonation showed he understood it was a title.

Everybody in the den stared at him. He looked around and shrugged. “What? We had no mothers in the prison mines. No one was allowed to mate.”

Striker sat back on her haunches and curled her tail into a question. “Didn’t you have a pack before you were placed in the mines? Where did you live before you were sentenced?”

Loper and Shadowstalker came close to him. Their tails curled as well. “How long have you been in the mines? What was your crime, anyway?” Loper asked.

The male shrugged again. Without a tail, he could not communicate easily. “I don’t remember anything before prison. I did ask why I was there. They said I murdered a female.”

Moonsinger sucked in a breath. “You murdered a female? Who?”

“No idea. Like I said, I don’t remember anything before the prison. I know I was a lot smaller when I first woke. It’s been a while, I think.”

Moonsinger rubbed her chin with the tip of her claw. “Children are not to be placed in prison. Not even youths. Do you remember how many moltings you went through?”

The male laughed. “Too many to remember.”

Striker rocked back and forth on her tail. “You know nothing of pack life then. Nothing of a den mother, a pack leader, alphas, betas, omegas?”

The male waved a front limb, still bloody from the fight with the rogue. “I had a work team of males and females. I told them what to do and they did it. I made sure they were fed and watered, and protected them from the guards. We worked the mine, ate, drank, and slept. That’s been all I’ve known – that I can remember. Then I was taken away from my team, shackled, and told I had to go with these two. If you want me to show respect, you’ll have to explain what you want.”

Moonsinger stared at the older female. “He’s a blank slate. We’ll have to teach him EVERYTHING!”

Excerpt from “Project Promised Land”

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For #LineByLineTime : “Get Out of Bed!”

“Nita! You awake? Wake up, already!”

Nita groaned loudly, and waved her hand feebly. “Lemme alone, Chico! I feel like I been beat up again. Oh, my head! Ask Luthor for some aspirin or something. Ow!” She wrapped her arms around her head and rolled to her back, because the front of her head ached almost enough to make her cry, and she never cried.

“You weren’t beat up, but you hit your forehead. Do you remember everything?”

“Enough, already! Don’t ask me questions unless you’re holding a cup of strong coffee! Has anybody invented it yet on this timeline? Or did a miracle happen and we got back home? Please say we got back home.”

“Uh, no. Sorry.”

She groaned again and touched her forehead with a wary finger and winced. “Man, I’ve got the headache from hell!” Her head moved from side to side as she blinked. Then she sighed in deep annoyance.

“Look, Lizard Boy, you’d better have a really good excuse for waking me up before dawn. Can’t you at least turn on a flashlight or light a candle, for Pete’s sake? Are we having to hide? Where is everybody else? Is Tweetie okay? Did she have the baby?” She sat up abruptly and grabbed Harper’s shoulder. “Why are we in the dark? Are we hiding in the caves?”

Harper’s mouth moved but no sound emerged. He stared around at the others standing around Nita’s bed. They stared back, as helpless as he to find words. A breeze sighed through the open window, stirring the dust motes into dancing in the sunbeams illuminating the room.

Excerpt from “The Warlord’s Heart”

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For #LineByLineTime: Survivor

Marissa came awake slowly. She quickly wished she were still unconscious. Her body sent an urgent message and she rolled over as fast as she could to get her mouth over the edge of the bed. Strong hands caught her before she rolled off the bed and held her in place. She opened her eyes just in time to see a bucket shoved under her face.

Her stomach heaved again and again. Finally, she had nothing left to spew and rolled back again with the help of the unknown owner of the hands. A damp cloth wiped her sweating face and a strong arm went around her back to lift her to a sitting position.

“Here,” a familiar deep voice said softly in her ear. “Take a sip of this and wash your mouth out. I know that poison left a terrible taste in it.”

She forced heavy eyelids up and gasped at the sight of Benedict’s face so close to her.

“Poison?” she managed to whisper.

“Sip, then we’ll talk,” he ordered gruffly, and pressed a cup to her lips. Head whirling, she sipped automatically and obediently swished it in her mouth and spit it into the bucket. Benedict held her securely. She found herself wondering if her jumpy stomach was due to the poison he spoke of or his presence. Why was he caring for her? Where was everybody else? Where was Betsy? What had happened?

Excerpt from “Tales of the Lunatics”

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For #LineByLineTime “Rain”

Skyshaker dragged the mukat’s body into the cave and tossed it onto the pile of his other kills. “That’s the last. Think we’ll eat good tonight?”

Shadowstalker laughed. “I think we’ll be eating well for awhile! I haven’t seen that much meat at one time since the last Festival of Moons, and that was contributed by four clans!”

Striker stumped over to the outer entrance and stared out. She pointed her staff at the horizon. “Just in time, too. See the clouds? They tell of a storm that can last days. Could be we’ll need every bit of that meat, and all the plants we’ve gathered. Do we have enough of the fire rocks to last a while? Gathering more from the lower caverns will give us something to do when we can’t go outside.”

Skyshaker laughed. “Are you afraid you’ll melt in the rain?”

He blinked as all the others stared at him, their jaws dropped. “What? Did I say something?”

Loper shook his head. “If nothing else, that remark reminds us you have spent most of your life underground in the mines.”

“What do you mean?”

Moonsinger sighed. “The storm Striker speaks of is one well known to us. It does not come often, but when it does, everyone hides from it. It is not just rain, it is wind, and sometimes balls of ice bigger than rocks. Trees fall under its fury. Because our opening to the outside is large here, we must take our belongings and food down to a lower cave, where the storm’s power is muted. How long do we have, Striker?”

“Not as much as we need.” Striker spat out the opening. “We must hurry. Make sure the firestarters are safe from the wet first. Skyshaker, how weary are you? The rest of us will struggle to move that meat, but we must get it down below. Now!”

Skyshaker shrugged. “I’ll be fine. I won’t take it all the way down, just partway and then toss it. Just keep the bottom of the ramp clear.”

“Move, you laggards!” Striker shouted. Everyone in the cavern leaped into action.

Striker was correct. Just hours later, Skyshaker collapsed after tossing the last body down the ramp to the lower cavern. After catching his breath, he sat up and stretched aching muscles. The silence caught his attention. Usually the caverns were alive with the sound of the diggers chittering to each other or their claws scraping through the rock walls of the mountain. He looked around. They had all vanished. He ventured down the ramp and looked around. The other den members were huddled around a big fire. Striker had her biggest pot sitting over it, steam rising off the top. None of them were making a noise either.

His mouth opened to question the silence when the sound came from above him. As he jerked his head around, he saw the others flinch and huddle tighter. He raced back up the ramp. The wind met him with a face full of water and a rising scream in his ears. Holding his tail over his eyes, he managed to block the wind and rain enough to see the outside opening lit with a sky full of fire as lightning flashed nonstop.

Excerpt from “Sweet Talking Man”

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For #LineByLineTime: Meet Cute

This is an excerpt from a short romance.

After that night he refused any more offers of introductions to women. He was lonely, but it was better than listening to remarks like that.  Unfortunately, she had only been the latest in a long line of disappointing dates. His friends had even tried setting him up with a deaf woman, but he didn’t know sign language and she couldn’t read his lips if he rarely said anything. No, it was better to suffer in silence.

“Look! Over here!”  An excited squeal almost in his ear made him jerk his head around. A young woman with short blonde hair, dressed in a light teeshirt covered with cartoon flowers and snug jeans beneath leaped onto the fence beside him. She waved wildly with one arm and whooped loudly. “Marian! Marian! Go get ’em, Marian! Woo hoo!”  Several of the passing riders laughed and waved back.

“For heaven’s sake, Cathy! They’re only exercising before the show starts. There’s no need to make a spectacle of yourself like that. Now calm down and stop embarrassing me!”

Nick raised his eyebrows. This guy was a real charmer.

(SKIP)

Nick watched the man step back and throw his hands in the air. “That’s it! I’ve had enough!” He glared at the woman. “They warned me you were called ‘Chatty Cathy’, but they didn’t tell me you enjoyed making a fool of yourself – and me – in public! I don’t have to put up with this!”  He stomped off, muttering.

Nick looked back at the woman beside him. Please don’t cry, please don’t cry, he thought desperately. Instead, she peered after the angry man from around Nick’s sheltering bulk. When the man vanished in the moving crowd, she blew out her breath and wiped nonexistent sweat from her forehead.

“I thought I would NEVER get rid of him! Honestly, what were my friends thinking, trying to fix me up with that drip?”  She shook her head, exasperated. “Do you have friends like that? The ones with their pictures as the illustration for the saying about ‘the road to hell’ business?”

Nick was startled into a laugh. He felt a warm sense of relief that such a cheerful person was not connected in any way with such an unpleasant man. He wished he could tell her that, but he settled for nodding, and managing to utter “Rude!” He tilted his head in the direction of the stranger, hoping she would understand he meant him.

She nodded. “He was like that from the moment he met me here this morning. Thank goodness I drove myself. I’ve learned my lesson about that! The first thing he said to me after ‘hello’ was ‘Don’t you watch the weather? You’re dressed all wrong!’  Can you imagine? Would you say that to a stranger?”

Nick shook his head quickly. Searching for a response, he decided on “Raised better.”

“Yes! Exactly! Why, my momma would bust my butt if I ever talked like that!”

Nick grinned again. What a firecracker! He hadn’t been this amused in years. Feeling the wind shove against his back, he braced his hands on the fence. Glancing at her, he saw her shiver and rub her arms. She caught his raised eyebrows.

“Chip the Drip was right, though,” she admitted ruefully. “I did forget to watch the weather, so I didn’t bring my coat.”  She leaned back and looked him up and down. “That wind is coming from behind you. Would you be terribly offended if I used you as a windbreak? I want to watch the show, but I’m really getting cold!”

Nick stepped back and waved a hand at the spot in front of him. He was cautiously cheered that she hadn’t seemed to find his silence awkward and took off herself. Instead she tucked herself between him and the fence and hugged herself.  “Oh, that’s much better!” she exclaimed. She looked over her shoulder with a sudden grin and offered a hand.  “Since I’m using you, I should introduce myself, I guess. Cathy Thompson.”

He took her hand and shook it gently. “Nick. Williams.”  There. He’d managed to introduce himself without problems, at least. He hoped she wouldn’t suddenly start trying to get to know him, and discover his conversational skills were hopeless, like all the other women he’d met. But she didn’t. She turned back around and chattered on about the horse show just beginning, her niece, and anything else that seemed to dart across her mind.

He noticed she still shivered as the wind gusted, though. He considered offering her his coat, but she was so much smaller than him the coat might be too heavy for her. Finally deciding on action, he unbuttoned it and held the sides out around her. He only meant to provide a windbreak on her sides, but she surprised him again.

“You don’t mind sharing? This is wonderful! Oh, wow, it’s lined with sheepskin and already so warm!”  She wrapped the lapels of the coat around her and leaned back against him. “This is great! You’re like an electric blanket!”

Nick blinked. She sure was a trusting little lady. He could be a pervert for all she knew. But mentally shrugging, he decided to make both more comfortable. Taking the lapels from her hands he rebuttoned his coat until only her face peeked out. Instead of tensing and acting trapped, she giggled like a little girl. He could feel her tucking her hands up in her armpits and risked a word again.

Excerpt from WIP Project Burning Bush

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For #LineByLineTime : Tropes (The Wise Old Man)

Nita chuckled. “He said his name was Dark Moon Rising, but I call him Moonie.”

“That is very rude!” Minji snapped.

“He doesn’t seem to mind.” Nita shrugged.

“Probably because he’s still scared of you,” Harper suggested, shaking his finger at her with a teasing grin. “Shame on you. Show some respect for your elders.”

Nita blew a raspberry at him. “Why start now?”

Minji threw her hands up in the air. “Perhaps because we may need their help getting back home?”

“Hey, they’re not Munchkins, okay? I haven’t seen any yellow brick road around here yet, and I doubt if Glinda the Good Witch is going to show up looking for snazzy red shoes.”

(Skip)

Moonie interrupted Luthor’s retort as he stumped up to Minji and patted her shoulder with his four-fingered hand. “Be at peace, young one,” he whispered. “I have also known the betrayal of family and watched my family members die because of my decisions and words.”

Minji sniffed and looked around at him. “Did you choose the losing side and someone in your family did not?”

“What, you haven’t figured out who he is?” Harper sounded a little surprised.

Nita stared at him. “What are you talking about, Chico? He’s a toothless bald old man with some missing parts and lots of scars. What’s to figure out? What, is he somebody famous or something? And how did you find out?”

Harper shook his head. “I just observed, made a few guesses, and then asked. Famous? More infamous, I guess, to the folks around here. Tell them your story, Moonie. It will help them understand what we’re up against.”

Moonie shivered. Minji sniffed again, grabbed one of the shemaughs out of her pack, and draped it around him. He offered her a weak smile and eased himself down beside Tweety.

“So many mistakes,” he muttered. “So much pain and death. My fault, all my fault.”

“Stop that,” Harper ordered. “This is all on him, not you. You didn’t put a gun – or a knife – to his throat to force him to make the choices he did.”

“Harper is correct,” the Voice said. “To claim all fault is arrogance and pride.”

Moonie blinked and sat a little straighter. “I cannot argue with the Great Spirit. This is my tale, then.”