a post of absolutely no political content
Sep. 24th, 2008 03:01 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lauraanne_gilmanthought for the day:
Life is uncertain. Hit deadline first.
To those on the beach, it must have seemed that the princeling's sword-blow decapitated the beast, the heavy blade sliding through scales and flesh without hesitation. Only someone watching the prince would see his reaction, his muscle-awareness that he hadn't struck hard enough to land that sort of blow.
The beast wobbled, its voice cut off mid-roar, and the coastline resounded with that silence for a heartbeat before the huge head fell backward into the deeper water, and the body followed, collapsing on its side, half on the sand, half in the water, sending wavelets racing back and forth and forcing the humans to retreat to a safer distance or risk being swamped.
The spell had done the work. The spell, and Jerzy's casting of it.
He had just enough time to feel a swell of pride before the fisherfolk were dropping their makeshift weapons and rushing toward their prince, shouting his name and cheering.
What did you expect? a voice crawled up to whisper in his ear. Ranulf was the man with the sword and the circlet. All they know is you were the messenger, the servant, the slave. You did nothing. You earned nothing. No shouts for you. No glad praise or—
Over the voice came the cool mental voice of the Guardian, impossible at this distance, and yet unmistakable. You are Vineart.
Life is uncertain. Hit deadline first.
To those on the beach, it must have seemed that the princeling's sword-blow decapitated the beast, the heavy blade sliding through scales and flesh without hesitation. Only someone watching the prince would see his reaction, his muscle-awareness that he hadn't struck hard enough to land that sort of blow.
The beast wobbled, its voice cut off mid-roar, and the coastline resounded with that silence for a heartbeat before the huge head fell backward into the deeper water, and the body followed, collapsing on its side, half on the sand, half in the water, sending wavelets racing back and forth and forcing the humans to retreat to a safer distance or risk being swamped.
The spell had done the work. The spell, and Jerzy's casting of it.
He had just enough time to feel a swell of pride before the fisherfolk were dropping their makeshift weapons and rushing toward their prince, shouting his name and cheering.
What did you expect? a voice crawled up to whisper in his ear. Ranulf was the man with the sword and the circlet. All they know is you were the messenger, the servant, the slave. You did nothing. You earned nothing. No shouts for you. No glad praise or—
Over the voice came the cool mental voice of the Guardian, impossible at this distance, and yet unmistakable. You are Vineart.
