"Searching"

Excerpt from "Season of Crows." Ash must find Elder Veil and ask him to lend aid...

 

The sun climbed higher and burned with deathly intensity as Ash battled his way through the seemingly endless sea of skeletal grasses. Fat grasshoppers rose in clicking arches over him, settling again beyond his sight.

The trees of Torzeria loomed larger now as he fought his way toward their promise of shade. The land sloped downward, which made his journey a little easier. At the bottom of the slope, the grass thinned somewhat, and he was able to make his push for the trees much quicker. At long last, he reached the first shade on the edge of Torzeria. He paused, breathless, drinking deeply from his water pouch.

The trees here grew about as close together as they did in Evershade, but the undergrowth was thicker, with very few discernible paths cutting through the brush. At last, he discovered what appeared to be an old trail and followed it deeper into the little wood.

Recalling the king’s words, he forged ahead in search of the heart of Torzeria, for that was where Elder Veil would likely be. The ground rose slightly, and soon fat wedges of limestone bedrock jutted out of the slope. Ahead, the trees thinned noticeably, allowing a pool of light to dapple the earth. The underbrush all but disappeared here. He stepped into a roughly semi-circular clearing edged by the oldest and largest trees of the little wood. To his left, thick shelves of moss-entrenched bedrock in various stages of erosion erupted from the earth. At their base, the ground leveled off and remained relatively flat to the edge of the clearing, then sloped gently away into the trees.

An unexplainable sensation of something very ancient resonated here. He could feel it in his whiskers. He paused and listened, his torn ear trembling in anticipation. Time seemed to stop, and his sense of urgency faded gently away. All was still, but he sensed a low, gentle pulse vibrating up his legs from the very earth. He exhaled. This truly was a holy place.

He strode gingerly into the clearing, allowing the patches of sunlight to splash across his fur as he crunched through the bed of dry leaves that covered the ground. He scanned the bedrock for any sign of the turtles, peering into the bushes and hollows made by gnarled tree roots at the clearing’s edge. But there was not a sign the turtles had ever been there.

“Elder Veil?” he half-whispered. His voice sounded strange, almost musical. Then, louder, “Elder Veil?”

At once, there was a slow, deliberate movement among the rocks. The large, round form of Elder Veil emerged from the moss and layers of leaves on the stone outcropping above. Ash stood stock still and gawked openly at the turtle. Elder Veil had been completely camouflaged, and he had been none the wiser.

 

 

"Maple and Cob"

This is an excerpt from the feast, chapter three of "Season of Crows." Two plump mice have an argument...

A stout Huller mouse named Cob, whose fur was stained dark from his chin to his hindpaws, sat at the end of the table nearest the bakery, arguing with Maple.

“I tell ye I have washed up! Them is stains from yestermorn. I fished a mess o’ them hulls out o’ the edge o’ the creek fer t’take t’the sludge pit.”

Maple stood over Cob, fists planted firmly on her hips, a spoon in one paw. “If that be true, then the water woulda washed ’em clean.”

“If I’da finished the job at the creek, sure, but I spent the rest o’ the mornin’ muckin’ around in the hulls fer my hullin’ blade what got lost at harvest.”

“And ya didn’t have no water to wash up with, I s’pose,” Maple said, eyeing him suspiciously.

“By the time noonmeal came, them stains was set, water er no water,” Cob said, glaring at her.

“Stains or no stains, ya ain’t touchin’ my fruit ’n nut bread with them filthy paws,” Maple declared as she confiscated a large slice lathered with honey butter from his plate.

Cob stood up and snatched it back, plopping down in his seat again.

“Why, you rascal! I have a good mind to whop ya over yer nugget with my spoon!” Maple screeched, shaking the spoon in Cob’s face.

“Not with no broken spoon, y’ain’t!” Cob snatched the spoon from Maple and poised it over his knee threateningly.

“Oh, no ya don’t!” Maple bellowed as she snatched it back.

Ash and the others chewed their food and sipped their drinks with wide eyes as they watched the two mice squabble back and forth.

Elder Veil, whose back was turned on the pair, asked the king if the bickering mice were married. When the king informed him that they were not, Elder Veil replied, “Ah, then it’s only a matter of time.”

"Elder Veil"

An honored guest arrives at the feast.  (Excerpt from "Season of Crows")

From behind the king’s platform, a creature emerged slowly from the darkness. It took careful, measured steps as it steadily crossed The Commons, clearly aiming for his table. A pointed nod from Leap told him that this creature was Their Majesties’ honored guest, so Ash scooted his bench down, allowing the visitor room to position himself next to the king. As more Keepers noticed the guest’s arrival, they fell into silence, staring unashamedly at the magnificent turtle who stood beside King Obsidian.

He was large as box turtles go. Ash assumed he must be very old. His cheeks, neck, and throat were the color of a fiery dawn, made more vivid by the pulsing of his throat as he breathed. But it was his shell that appeared to grab everyone’s attention. A maddening array of patterns had been carved into the dome—circles within ovals, zigzags peppered with dots, diamonds within squares, all manner of geometric designs. And each groove of the carvings had been filled with dyes according to their shape—diamonds were blue, squares were burgundy, dots were white—so that the carvings and colors created a dazzling, intricate maze across the old turtle’s shell. And over all of this brilliant design, patches of plush, green moss grew, dangling and dripping from his shell so that it dragged the ground as he walked.

Ash couldn’t quite pinpoint the feeling he got when he looked at the turtle, but the old reptile had a presence that commanded respect. His very countenance breathed with the knowledge of the ancients. The turtle fairly oozed antiquity.

"An Act of Mercy"

This is the opening scene of "Season of Crows."   

 

Ash twitched his tail as he watched the nearly naked chick plummet to earth from its nest. Its tiny body with its fragile outstretched wings tumbled through the air, spinning in sickening cartwheels until it landed in the high green and gold grass of the meadow. Ash looked up to see a jet black crow clutching the little fellow’s sibling in its beak. With a triumphant cackle, it flapped its wings and flew off to the oak wood across the way, its meal dangling limply from its greedy mouth.

The chick’s parents were nowhere to be seen. Perhaps they were driven off by that crow, Ash thought grimly. The young mouse made his way along the well-worn path that wove between the clumps of grass growing near the meadow’s edge. When he reached the spot where he thought the chick had landed, he set down his gathering basket and scanned the ground. A slight gasp from above startled him, and he jumped back, ready to spring for safety.

 

Caught in a clump of last year’s dried grass stalks, the body of the chick hung upside down, its tiny bright beak opening and closing, uttering only a faint gasp. Carefully parting the grasses so as not to let the chick fall further, Ash clamored up the stiff shafts until he reached the little fellow. Placing his mouth gingerly around its middle like a mother mouse, Ash climbed back down and set the chick on the cool earth. He examined it carefully. Its skin was a ruddy pink and dotted with bizarrely placed patches of fluffy down. The beak was bright and wide, revealing a red, hungry throat as it opened and closed in silent cries. It had no eyes, only the bulging blue promise of them beneath transparent eyelids. To Ash's dismay, the chick’s left wing stuck out at an odd angle. Broken at the shoulder, I’d imagine, the young mouse thought.

High above him, the nest sat cockeyed in the crook of a branch, ripped grasses and fibers dangling loosely. The parents were certain not to return to such a nest. Ash glanced out over the meadow, scratching at his torn ear as he searched for wisdom. What would his mother and father have done? Would they have let nature take its course and leave the chick as it lay, or would they follow their hearts and take the injured chick back to Evershade? Ash didn’t even know what kind of bird it was. Would it grow to be a hunter, endangering the residents of Evershade if it were allowed to stay?

The little fellow's bright yellow beak opened and closed again as its tiny chest rose and fell rapidly. In a moment Ash had made his decision. He would take this tiny hatchling to Evershade and present it to the king. His Majesty could decide what to do with it.

 

 

Please visit Amazon or Barnes and Noble to order your copy of “Season of Crows” today, and please remember to leave a review once you’ve read it. (I now review every book I read because I know how important they are for authors.)

 

Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/Season-Crows-Evershade-Prix-Gautney/dp/1633731537/

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/season-of-crows-prix-gautney/1124763398?ean=9781633731530

Ebook: https://www.amazon.com/Season-Crows-Evershade-Prix-Gautney-ebook/dp/B01M3PW03L/

 

"The First to Die"

As always, life is trying to swallow me whole. As a result, I am going to post excerpts from my published novel, "Season of Crows." This scene takes place at the beginning of the battle with the crows. Ash is guarding the entrance to the King's Chamber on the Home Tree.

~*~

“Walnut Keepers!” Roan’s deep voice rumbled across The Commons. “Stand fast. Let loose your fear. The crows are nearly upon us, and you must fight with your very soul or die!”

Every hair of every creature stood on end at these words. This was their time. This was their moment to make a difference in the world.

Ash stood fast on the king’s balcony and gripped his spear tightly, scanning the bits of sky visible between the leaves. Just inside the tree, Sky had crept up to the opening of the King’s Chamber to peer out.

“The time has come, old friend,” he said quietly to Ash.

He started at the sound of Sky’s voice. “What do you mean, young prince?” It was odd to be called old friend by someone so young.

The heir of Evershade grew uncharacteristically sober. “You saved my life many months ago, but it may have been for nothing. I may not live through the night.”

“Nonsense, young prince,” Ash said, managing a weak smile. “I am here to guard you. Besides, if you die, who would be heir to the throne?”

A loud caw sounded close by, and he was certain he could hear the beating of wings.

“Get back inside!” he hissed.

At once, a flurry of black wings and shrieking cries filled the air. The noise was maddening. A solitary crow wove its way through the canopy to The Commons, its head turning left and right in search of an easy target. It spied him and veered right sharply, gliding toward the balcony. From nowhere, a dart zipped through the air, glancing off the crow’s black beak and penetrating its eye. The crow gave a shriek and tumbled clumsily forward onto the balcony, right onto Ash's outstretched spear.

He stood in place, horrified to find the black bird impaled on the end of his weapon. A sickening pulse traveled the length of the wooden shaft to his paws, and it was a moment before he realized the pulse was the dying bird’s heartbeat. The young crow screamed and stumbled backward, hitting the rail and falling over the side, the spear still protruding from its chest. The bird landed with a nauseating thud far below, where it flopped helplessly about on the ground.

Petal appeared on the steps below, paws clamped over her mouth in horror.

“It was you?” he asked in wonderment.

She nodded.

The two leaned over the railing from their respective places and watched with an equal mixture of awe and disgust as Mr. Barkwhistle waddled over to the fallen crow and beat it to death with his strong, flat tail.

~*~

 

"Season of Crows" is available on Amazon in both paperback and ebook formats.

 

https://www.amazon.com/Season-Crows-Evershade-Prix-Gautney/dp/1633731537/

 

https://www.amazon.com/Season-Crows-Evershade-Prix-Gautney-ebook/dp/B01M3PW03L/



"Changing of the Guard"

(As told by Queen Sapphire to her adopted son Sky.)

 

The great badger turned and let Ebony be. Skulking toward the mound where the fox and snake looked down upon him, the badger lowered his head, a low growl resonating form deep within the beast's chest. The fox and snake appeared unconcerned. Ebony slowly pulled himself from his shell to watch the exchange.

 

"He does not seem to have heeded our warning, Rasp," the snake said to the fox.

 

"No, indeed," Rasp answered.

 

Ebony perked up when he heard the fox's name. Emerging fully from his shell, the great snail gazed upon the red fox with the blue jay feathers in his tail and wooden pegs in his ear. All of the adornments were new, but the voice was unmistakable. This was the fox Ebony had driven from his cave.

 

The badger snarled at the newcomers and stopped in his tracks.

 

"What do you want from me?"

 

"For you to leave," the snake replied.

 

"Unlikely."

 

The snake flicked his tongue, his clouded eyes unfocused but seeming to look right at the badger.  Turning his head to Rasp, he whispered, "End him."

 

The badger's gaze fell on the fox, and the fox stared hard at the badger. In a moment's flash, there was a wet, cracking thud, and everything was still. The badger stood like a stone, a long wooden spear protruding from his forehead. He emitted a soft exhale, then collapsed in a heap on the ground.

 

Ebony stared at the badger's body in disbelief. Only moments after he thought he would die, his enemy lay dead only feet from him.

 

His companion Snail Lords emerged from their protective shells and looked about, startled by the sudden change of events.

 

The black snake with his sightless eyes turned to address the small gathering.

 

"You are free to move on, but do not return to the Crystal Caverns," he said in his smooth, dangerous voice.

 

Ebony considered arguing the point, but a glance at the bleeding badger, whose body was beginning to cool and grow stiff with death, changed his mind.

 

Without a word, High Lord Ebony and his friends slowly crept along the path to the south, leaving the territory of the Crystal Caverns behind, apparently to be ruled by a blind snake and a red fox with a very deadly aim.

 



"The Watchers"

(As told by Queen Sapphire to her adopted son Sky.)

 

The massive badger crept forward on large, wide paws. Ebony's comrades ducked into their shells and suctioned themselves to the earth. But the great badger had no interest in them.

 

Ebony continued to flash warning colors as the badger edged closer. Believing all was lost, the great snail ducked inside his shell and secured himself to the ground as his companions had done. The badger reached him and sniffed all about. Taking a great paw, the badger pried at the High Lord's shell where it was secured to the earth, trying to dislodge him. And the great beast would have succeeded had not two voices called to him.

 

"Be still," ordered the first voice.

 

"Or you will surely die," said the second. The smooth, sinister ribbon of his voice chilled every soul present to the very core.

 

The great badger turned his lumbering frame slowly about to see who had dared interrupt his meal.

 

To the side of the path, the land sloped upward into a low mound dotted with young trees. In a little clearing among the trees stood the red-orange form of a fox with wooden pegs drilled through his ear and blue jay feathers braided into his tail.

 

Beside him lay the source of the second, unnerving voice--an enormous black snake as large around as a sizeable limb.

 

A snake blind in both eyes...

 



"Stranger in a Strange Land"

(As told by Queen Sapphire to her adopted son Sky.)

 

High Lord Ebony and the three Snail Lords crept away from the Crystal Caverns, leaving the bodies of their comrades where they died. The flood had brought nothing but sorrow and death in its waters, and the caverns were tainted forever with the stench of death.

 

They inched along a path that led away from the flooded stream. Ahead of them in the center of the trail lay a soggy, miserable-looking creature with silver fur caked in clumps across its body and a black and white striped face. It was large and muscular and looked to be as large as the Snail Lords themselves.

 

"Stay here," Ebony said.

 

He crept forward to investigate the creature. The stench of wet fur filled the air the closer he got to the beast. Ebony approached carefully and bent low. The creature's muzzle twitched, sniffing the air. Slowly, its eyes cracked open, focusing on Ebony.

 

The great snail backed away slowly as the creature lifted its head, clearly exhausted but possessing a strength that was tangible.

 

Ebony's shell glowed warning shades of yellow and red, and the other Snail Lords began to back away in response.

 

The beast struggled to its feet and stood low to the ground on four dark, shaky legs. It lowered its head so that its back hunched in an aggressive posture, which alarmed the great snail. It turned to face Ebony fully.

 

The High Lord glanced at his companions. "Duck!"

 

A thick, raspy voice growled behind him. "No. Badger."

 

 

 

 



"Walnut Season Draws to a Close"

Halloween is nearly upon us, and the black walnut trees of the Missouri Ozarks have shed their crop. Most have, at any rate. A few stubborn trees continue to hold onto their valuable nuts...it's like dollar bills hanging on the branches for those of us who harvest them...

The bright autumn sunshine and the spicy, woody aroma of the walnut hulls is shifting to moldy, damp smells and graying skies.

Winter is nearly here, and I, for one, am praying for snow...

"Snail Lords"

(As told by Queen Sapphire to her adopted son Sky.)

 

"It was not long before more snails joined Ebony in the Crystal Caverns. The great Snail Lords discovered the entrances to many caves littering the bank, each finding his own crystal chamber deep inside the outcroppings that flanked the old streambed.

 

Ebony, who had settled in the first cave and taken it from the fox, became High Lord, which is what they called kings in those days. For many seasons, the Snail Lords lived peacefully in the Crystal Caverns. But, as you know, peace does not always last.

 

It was during a fierce storm that trouble came. The sky bruised and darkened, belching sheets of rain over the land. The dry streambed filled quickly and spilled over the banks. Before long, the rising water reached the entrances to several caverns, filling them with the dirty floodwaters.  Many Snail Lords could not escape their homes and drowned in the water, their patterned, glowing shells snuffed out for good.

 

But those who survived became severely ill once the waters receded. The great Snail Lords became confused--many of them crawling onto the ceiling of their caves and remaining there until their bodies grew weak and dropped to the floor, shattering their shells. As they lay dying, a strange thing happened. Something grew between their eyestalks, bulging the skin outward like a swollen parasite. At last, a single, pale mushroom burst from each of their brains, killing them instantly and pinning them to the spot where they died.

 

High Lord Ebony and three other Snail Lords had managed to escape the floodwaters, and that means they escaped the deadly mushroom spores that the flood had brought with it.

 

But they did not escape everything, for the flood brought with it other dangers.

 

Dangers they were not prepared to face."

 



Release of My Debut Novel

Well, it's release week, and I have been through the ringer lately, what with my mother dying, our household losing half its income, my daughter getting a concussion, and a good friend dying. But on a positive note, "Season of Crows" is available for pre-order now. The official release date is Friday, October 14th.

This is the first of five books in the series, and I will continue to work on them once walnut season is over.  October at our house is all about selling Boy Scout popcorn, attending the Ozark Creative Writers conference (where I met my publisher), and harvesting black walnuts, which happens to be how "Evershade" came about in the first place--thanks to my son and a 3,000 lb. heap of walnuts at the corner of our house.

I encourage you to take a look at the world I've created, and when you do, please leave a review. It means more than you know.

(Link to my listing on Amazon is beneath the photo.)

 

https://www.amazon.com/Season-Crows-Evershade-Prix-Gautney/dp/1633731537/

"Autumn is Upon Us"

The leaves are dropping, and the weather can't decide if it wants to be hot, cool, moderately warm, or positively stuffy. Cool breezes filter through the fields and meadows, coaxing the crisp, browning leaves from their branches.

The ground cover in some areas has died, leaving bare patches of earth until spring comes again. Flocks of birds flutter and settle and gather in great numbers, preparing for their yearly migration.

Webworms have mummified trees across the Ozarks, shrouding the once proud sentinels in ghostly cloaks of webs. The fuzzy "worms" swarm the fences and homes and rain barrels and gardens. They huddle on doorsteps and crawl across the threshold to look for new places to conquer.

Sunlight slants differently now, its light seeming a little whiter, the sky a little less blue. It takes longer for our burning orb to chase away the thick mist that huddles over the meadows in the early morning. The white mist clouds linger like residual spirits, unsure whether to stay or cross over to the next place.

Soon, the black walnuts will fall, and harvest will begin. And the leaves will turn gold and red and apricot and caramel and burgundy. The bright orange pumpkins and pale cornstalks will dot the landscape, and the smells of earth and walnut hulls and mold and baking bread will fill the countryside. 

Autumn, my friends, is here.

"The Encounter"

Part 2

 

(As told by Queen Sapphire to her adopted son Sky.)

 

"Who are you?" Ebony stretched his neck to its full length and peered into a corner of the crystal cavern.

 

A dark figure, blacker than the surrounding crystals, stood up to its full height and stared back at the enormous snail without answering.

 

Ebony spoke again, louder this time. "Who are you?"

 

The creature took a step toward Ebony. "I am a traveler. Nothing more."

 

The great snail crept forward to get a better view of the creature. The glow from Ebony's shell reflected off the crystals and cast light onto the creature's fur. It was the color of fire.

 

Ebony stopped. "You are a fox, are you not?"

 

The fox shifted uncomfortably. "I am."

 

Ebony did not fear the fox, for he was much larger than the hunter. Snails were enormous then, remember.

 

"I am called Ebony. What are you called?"

 

"Rasp," the fox replied.

 

"Rasp," the great snail repeated, committing the name to memory. "Did you come here to escape the heat?"

 

"I did. As I said, I am a traveler. I do not plan to stay."

 

Ebony studied the red fox thoughtfully.

 

"I do not fear you. I am as poison to you," he said.

 

"Yes, I know. I lost my brother to a snail."

 

"Then you will not challenge me when I claim this cavern as my own," Ebony said firmly.

 

Rasp swished his tail. "No. I am just traveling through."

 

Rasp moved forward toward Ebony. The great snail did not move. Edging past him, Rasp skirted a cluster of crystals and vanished into the tunnel that led to the world outside.

 

Ebony glowed alone in the crystal cavern. He had won. The cave was his.

 



Taking a Break

Life Hit Me in August

 

I am taking a break from this blog for this week at least, perhaps the next. I have had my life turned inside out and then put back together since August 1, and though I have tried to hold it together, I'm not doing a very good job of it. 

 

The truth is, I'm overwhelmed, and I have a raging urinary tract infection that makes me feel awful all over, which doesn't help. After having our household income sliced in half and my bills doubled at the same time, and getting a call that my mother was likely dying this week, then being transferred to a new nursing home closer to us and doing okay, I am ready to get off this rollercoaster.  But it's still making me dizzy.

 

So, please forgive the lack of a blog.  I will get back on track, except this time I want to get on a different ride...

 



"The Discovery"

Part 1

 

(As told by Queen Sapphire to her young adopted son Sky.)

 

"A very long time ago, long before your father and I were born, snails grew to be enormous, even larger than us. Their great spiral shells grew to be as big around as the Home Tree. Yes, the very tree in which you are sitting right now.

 

"The heat of the sun drove the snails underground during the summer, and one day a Snail Lord named Ebony ventured into a limestone cave to escape the heat. He crept to the very back of the little cave where the shadows were deepest, and discovered a secret passage.

 

"When Ebony entered the passage, something very special happened. His shell began to glow. You see, in those days a snail's shell would glow to help him see in the darkness, for they spent much more time in the dark than we do now. Each shell was different from the next, and his shell's glow was in the shape of a fern leaf that wound around and around.

 

"Ebony's glow filled the tunnel. He followed the passageway until he reached a large cavern. And what do you suppose he saw? Crystals! Thousands upon thousands of crystals. It was the most amazing sight he had ever beheld. Forests of crystals sprouted from the floor and clusters of every size hung down from the ceiling.

 

"What do you suppose he said when he saw such a sight? He said, 'This is mine.' And his cavern it would have been, had there not been for one thing...he was not alone."

 

 



The Real Evershade

There is a grove of trees quite near my home that has always caught my eye. On the north side is a low field, which becomes the meadow in my book. A little stream wanders through it, separating the meadow from the High Field. The real Evershade, you see, is situated at a place where the land slopes abruptly downward. The stream has cut away the hillside over time, and trees have grown from the hill's base. They tower over the meadow, but the treetops are almost level with the grass of the High Field. 

This fact is made clear when one sees Evershade in the wintertime through the naked branches of the grove. Naturally, this is not when I took the photos, so to you it may simply look like a clump of trees.

At the western of edge of Evershade, the High Field slopes down to the meadow, and the land levels out again. I decided that this would make an excellent place for Mr. Barkwhistle to construct his dam and create his pond. The old beaver is, after all, responsible for burying the dead of Evershade, and it is simple for them to float the bodies down the Fray to his pond on tiny rafts where he can add them to the burial mound.

The western edge of Evershade where Mr. Barkwhistle makes his home, right in that gap where the cattle are grazing...

 

At last, the real Evershade with the meadow where the Walnut Keepers gather herbs and seeds--and where one amazing mouse changes his fate--stretches out before it...

More Locations that Inspired Evershade

July marks the release of my debut novel, "Evershade: Season of Crows," so I am adding more photos of the real locations that inspired the world of the Walnut Keepers.

Torzeria is the "The Holy Place," and it is south of Evershade across the High Field. There is a natural bowl in the land, and where it slopes up, a little grove of trees sits clustered on the edge of the field. This is where I see many turtles cross the stone river each spring, so it seemed natural to make this particular grove the home of the turtles in my book. 

The turtles speak the common language as well as Tortuli, the ancient tongue remembered by the turtles alone. Elder Veil, their leader, is particularly wise and at all times knows more than he lets on. His shell is carved with intricate designs that are filled with beautiful colors. A healthy thatch of moss drips from his shell, and his bright orange throat pulses as he breathes. 

He may be called upon to help Evershade in its hour of need, but what can a single turtle do to change the fate of the kingdom?

This is the real Torzeria as it sits beyond the natural bowl of the High Field:

The Locations that Inspired Evershade

Rather than write a bit of backstory this week, I have decided to share with you some photos of the real locations that inspired "Evershade: Season of Crows." The locations are on private property, so I must take the photos at a distance from the stone river. Otherwise, I will get shot, go to jail, or get severely talked at. I don't want any of those things to happen this week...

The area near our home has inspired me for years. We live in the Ozarks about five miles from the nearest town. The countryside is dotted with rolling fields of fat cattle and little groves of trees that occasionally develop into extensive forests.

In my novel, there is one particular grove of trees that is simply called "the Little Grove." When Evershade's Watcher, Roan, banishes two mousemaids during the drought, they are forced to cross the stone river into the neighboring field. If they have any hope of survival, they must shelter in the Little Grove and ride out the drought the best they can.

This is the real Little Grove:

It is from here that one of the banished mousemaids, Aster, hatches a plan to exact her revenge on Evershade and its king. Her wicked scheme leads her across the field to the East, where the thin strip of trees harbors the Crow Council--and her destiny.

The trees in the distance are part of the Crow Kingdom:

"Marked"

Part 5

 

The young white squirrel clambered down the tree trunk to the forest floor where the blue jay he'd killed only moments before lay in a crumpled heap. Ripple and Twilight, his gray siblings, raced over to him when he reached the dead bird. They stared at the beautiful, lifeless blue jay.

 

"Why did you do that?" Ripple asked, clutching her throat.

 

Storm stared hard at his sister. "He tried to kill me."

 

"Well, he didn't do a very good job," Twilight observed, a hint of awe coating his words. "He's deader than a drowned rat."

 

Storm looked upon his enemy's corpse. The powdery blue feathers caught in the light that filtered through the canopy above. He spotted something dark pooling beneath the bird's skull. Blood. His enemy's blood.

 

The white squirrel crouched down and dipped his paw into the dark liquid.

 

"Storm, don't," Ripple warned.

 

He ignored her and lifted his paw to examine the sticky red lifeforce. It was bright against his pale coat. He wiped the blood across his hind leg and stared down at the three short lines smeared into his fur, smirking. It made him feel powerful to wear his enemy's blood.

 

Storm dipped his paw into the drying pool again and stained the opposite leg as his siblings watched with an equal mixture of horror and awe. He marked his forelegs and his chest, tipping the long hairs of his tail with the crimson lifeblood. At last, he smeared a circle around one eye and slashed a line through it from his forehead to his cheek.

 

He rose to his full height, standing before Ripple and Twilight. They looked back at him with jaws open.

 

Storm's transformation into an elite warrior had begun.

 



"The Storm is Here"

Part 4

 

Storm leveled his gaze on the creature before him. The white squirrel's tail swished irritably as he held his staff in a defensive posture.

 

The large blue jay stared at the red-eyed squirrel. Storm watched the wicked bird clack his beak.

 

"I asked your name, Child of Snow," the blue jay said dangerously.

 

The young squirrel straightened to his full height. "I am called Storm. And I don't care who you are."

 

Storm swept his staff toward the bird's legs, and the blue jay jumped, landing lightly on the branch again. The white squirrel scowled. He thrust the staff at the bird's chest and grazed the jay's feathers before it leapt back.

 

"Feisty little morsel," the bird taunted.

 

Storm growled and lunged forward, driving the staff into the blue jay's abdomen. Thrown off-balance, the bird stumbled backward, and Storm pounced. He struck the jay repeatedly, attacking the body, face, and wings. At last, Storm heard a loud crack when his staff thwacked the blue jay's right wing.

 

The jay looked into the white squirrel's eyes for one startled moment before he lost his balance and tipped over the edge of the branch. Storm watched the bird flap its one good wing in vain as its broken wing trailed helplessly through the air. The jay's body collided with a branch and spun in sickening circles, striking a second branch before it landed on the ground with a satisfying crunch.

 

Storm gazed down at the bird's lifeless form. His remorseless red eyes flashed with understanding.

 

This was his first kill. 

 

It would not be his last.

 



"Before the Storm"

Part 3

 

"No, Storm! You're going to get in trouble," the little gray squirrel called up to her younger, larger  white brother.

 

The robust white squirrel pup raced along a low-hanging branch above his sister and brother, who watched him from the safety of the ground.

 

"Mom's going to kill you," Ripple called again, stamping her hindpaw on the packed earth.

 

"No, she won't," Twilight whispered in her ear.

 

The two siblings stood with their jaws open, watching their pale brother flash through the canopy.

 

Storm moved along the branches like a ghost. The early days of infant plumpness had disappeared, replaced by stout, solid muscle--even at his young age--and he carried himself with quiet, steady confidence.

 

The white squirrel flicked his tail and switched directions as he launched himself onto the neighboring branch. His heart beat wildly as he carved his path along the outstretched limb, dodging leaves and nearly invisible spiderwebs. Storm smiled to himself in an almost manic way. He felt alive. And strong. And invincible.

 

He leapt onto the trunk of an old oak and shimmied up the bark until he was certain he was hidden from his siblings' view. Storm reached a sturdy branch and crawled onto it. Above him, a straight twig that had been stripped of its bark jutted out from a hollow in the trunk. In one mighty leap, he reached up and snagged it. The hollow served as a perfect stash for weapons. It housed a collection of stones for throwing, but the staff was by far his favorite instrument. 

 

Edging along the branch, he thrust and twirled and snapped the staff at invisible foes. His blood-red eyes sparked with fire as the imagined enemies fell.

 

Abruptly, the pale squirrel stopped. He froze in place, and the fur prickled on the back of his neck as a foreboding sensation overwhelmed him.

 

A dry, sinister voice spoke from behind.

 

"And who might you be, little morsel?"

 

 



"Naming"

Part 2

 

Healer Slate held the pale, newborn baby squirrel to his chest as he wiped the birthing muck from his eyes and nose with a clover leaf. The little squirrel blinked up at the Healer and made a squeaking sound in his throat.

 

Feather stared at the plump white newborn, an equal mixture of horror and fascination washing across her face. She glanced over at her husband, Dusk, who held their two gray newborns in his lap. He looked just as dumbfounded as she felt.

 

Feather's gaze shifted back to Healer Slate. "Is he--okay?"

 

The old squirrel grunted. "He seems healthy. He's hefty enough."

 

The Healer looked down into the white squirrel's eyes, squinting as he examined them.

 

"Oh, stars! His eyes..."

 

"What is it?" Feather asked, alarmed.

 

"His eyes...they're as red as blood."

 

Dusk stood up and crossed the burrow to hand the gray newborns to Feather. She accepted them gingerly as her husband edged closer to the Healer.

 

The old squirrel handed the robust newborn to Dusk, and the little white squirrel gazed up into his father's eyes.

 

"Red and pink--I've never seen anything like it."

 

Dusk glanced up at Healer Slate, a questioning look etched across his face.

 

"I have heard of a white deer who walks these woods, but I have never seen it." The Healer placed a reassuring paw on Dusk's shoulder. "Do not worry, my friend. Perhaps he is destined for something great."

 

Feather and Dusk looked at one another. Dusk turned and brought the pale baby to Feather's side.

 

"What shall we name him, my love?" he asked.

 

Feather gazed upon the little white squirrel with the bright red eyes.

 

"He is the color of snow, but he has eyes of fire. How about Storm? He reminds me of a winter storm."

 

Dusk smiled. "Storm it is."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



"A Ghost is Born"

Part 1

 

"Push a little more, Feather," the Healer urged.

 

The gray squirrel strained to push her third baby into the world. He seemed to be larger than the other two and was proving to be a challenge.

 

Between pushes, Feather allowed her gaze to wander across the burrow to her husband, Dusk, who sat in baffled delight as he held in his lap the two squirming infants that had been born only minutes before. She closed her eyes for the briefest of moments between contractions. Her breathing was ragged.

 

"A couple more good pushes should do it," the Healer said.

 

Feather opened her eyes and looked at Healer Slate. The large gray squirrel carried a lifetime of worries in his eyes, but he also carried a lifetime of kindness. His features softened when his gaze fell upon Feather.

 

"You're doing well for your first litter, my dear," the Healer assured. "Star nearly bit my paw in two when our first daughter was born."

 

The young squirrel attempted a weak smile, but the urge to push came back with a vengeance. She gritted her teeth and bore down hard.

 

"You're doing well, Feather," he repeated in his soothing voice. "Just a little mo--"

 

The Healer fell silent. He glanced at Dusk, who leaned forward, worry etched across his face. Oblivious to this exchange, Feather bent her chin to her chest and pushed with all her might.

 

At last, she exhaled with an explosion of air. The third baby was out. She opened her eyes to look at the infant.

 

Healer Slate held the wet, writhing baby in his paws and stood up to his full height for Dusk and Feather to see. They gasped.

 

The baby squirrel was unusually large--and he was as white as snow.

 

 



"Roan's First Days"

Part 8

 

Roan locked his eyes on the figure standing before him. Even standing on its hindpaws, the creature was half a torso shorter than him, but no less intimidating.

 

The creature was a field mouse. His fur was strangely dark from nose to tail, and he bore a pale scar that slashed across his right eye, making a long track from his brow to his shoulder. Roan squinted. The eye beneath the scar was clouded. The mouse was blind in that eye.

 

"What are you doing here?" the mouse repeated.

 

The large chipmunk straightened up to his full height before answering. "Looking for shelter."

 

The mouse nodded. "Your name?"

 

"Roan."

 

"Roan," the dark mouse repeated, testing the name on his tongue. "I am called Rasp. Do you know where you are?"

 

The chipmunk cast a quick glance around, searching his memory for stories of the old kingdoms his mother had told him long ago.

 

"Have I passed from the Crow Kingdom?" he asked. Rasp nodded. "Then this must be Evershade."

 

"It is," the dark mouse confirmed.

 

Roan stood in silence as Rasp assessed him with his one alert eye. At last, the mouse broke the silence.

 

"I have three questions for you."

 

"Go on," Roan said.

 

"How many gatherers have you killed?"

 

"None."

 

"How many hunters have you killed?"

 

The chipmunk stared hard at the mouse.

 

"One."

 

"Why?"

 

"It was about to kill me."

 

Rasp nodded his approval of Roan's responses. "Follow me," he said, turning on his heel.

 

"Wait, who are you? Are you king?" Roan called after him.

 

The mouse turned and grinned.

 

"No. I am no king. I am the Watcher."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



"Roan's First Days"

Part 7

 

Roan stepped onto the stone river. The warm, unmoving pebbles felt strange and unnatural beneath his paws. Pebbles were supposed to move when walked upon and not emit the sharp, awful odor that these did. Nostrils stinging, he hurried across the open expanse to the protection of the high grasses on the other side.

 

The chipmunk plunged into the vegetation to escape the acrid smell and the unnerving exposure of the stone river. He fought his way through the grasses until he found the little stream again, skirting it until he came to the first tree of the little grove that made its home along its banks.

 

There was little protection here, but he could see limestone outcroppings on the far side of the stream. Some of them appeared to have small caves that offered shelter from the elements. Roan scanned the surrounding fields for signs of danger. The shadows were beginning to lengthen, and it would not be long before the creatures of the night began to hunt.

 

A thin branch that had fallen from the oak tree nearby spanned the stream, and Roan made his way to it. He climbed on easily and crept across the rough bark. The end of the branch sat submerged in the water, and Roan made a great leap that landed him solidly on the bank.

 

He gazed about him and found a well-worn path leading downstream to his right. The chipmunk scowled.  He wondered who used the trail in order for it to be so well-defined. He hoped with his soul it was not a hunting trail. The lengthening shadows urged this thought from his mind, however, and he made his way to the first dark opening in the limestone.

 

Roan took half a dozen steps and stopped cold. His skin prickled, and his heart pounded.

 

A firm, stern voice growled behind him.

 

"What are you doing here?"

 

 

 

 



"Roan's First Days"

Part 6

 

Roan sucked in a breath and backpedaled as fast as he could go to escape the reach of the snake's strike. His eyes never left the rattle, for he could not see the viper's head. At last, the large chipmunk squeezed out the opening to the burrow and found himself drenched in autumn daylight once again.

 

He thanked the stars the weather was cool. It made the rattlesnake stiff and sluggish and too cold to strike.

 

Roan kept to the north side of the little stream and followed it out of the woods to an open field. The grasses were tall and yellowed, waving gently as the breeze rivered through them. Roan sniffed the air. The scent of acorns and damp leaves mingled with the smell of sun-warmed grasses and the metallic scent of the stream.

 

An old rabbit trail skirted the stream, and he followed it a ways before it veered off and vanished into the high grasses. Roan departed from the path and plunged his way through the vegetation until he reached a large, dry ditch. He forged ahead and followed the slope downward, then climbed the bank on the other side, stopping abruptly when he reached the top. Before him spread a vast river made entirely of small gray stones. It stretched for as far as he could see in either direction, but the grasses waving at him from the opposite bank were not twenty paces away.

 

A strange odor arose from the stone river, and it stung Roan's nostrils. He touched the pebbles with his hindpaw. They were warm. Far beyond the opposite bank of the stone river, Roan could see the tops of trees clustered in a little grove. It appeared that the stream he had followed led right to it.

 

The chipmunk had come to a crossroads and had a decision to make. He turned to look over his shoulder toward the tree with the snake's burrow, and beyond that to the persimmon grove. Finally, his gaze returned to the unmoving gray mass of the stone river.

 

Should he go left, right, or forward?

 

Or should he go back?

 

 



"Roan's First Days"

Part 5

 

It took a moment for Roan's eyes to adjust to the darkness of the burrow. He blinked several times and squinted to see to the end of the short tunnel before taking a step inside.

 

The odor of mice was stronger, but it was definitely old, perhaps from mid-summer. The other smell, the one that was strange to him, filled the burrow. The large chipmunk felt along the wall and found that he had to duck his head several steps in.

 

He paused and breathed deeply, drawing the odor into his nostrils, willing his brain to work out what it was. It was an earthy, sour smell--almost the scent of--skin?

 

Roan pricked his ears. He thought he detected the sound of breathing ahead, but it was so faint that he thought it must have been an echo.

 

At last, his eyes adjusted to the darkness of the burrow. He could make out a flat, roundish object at the very end of the tunnel. It appeared to be a stone.

 

Roan approached, his senses ever alert. He stepped forward two paces and slammed his toe into something hard. Cursing under his breath, he limped back a half step. In the dim light of the burrow, a solitary object rose straight up from the stone, standing pale against the darkness. Roan swallowed hard.

 

The object was a viper's death rattle.

 

 





"Roan's First Days"

Part 4

 

 

Roan trudged out of the persimmon grove. It would never make a suitable home for him, for it reeked now of death. He had killed an enemy here. The weasel's corpse stood propped up on its death spear, staring after him with glazed, unseeing eyes as the chipmunk walked away without a backwards glance.

 

The little grove gave way to a small wood of young, gangly trees. They offered little cover from the coming winter, so Roan ignored this place and made for the sound of water.

 

The trees grew larger here, and clumps of grass sprouted up among their roots. Roan had nearly reached the edge of the wood, for he could see a vast field of gently waving dried grasses just beyond the trees. The sound of water was loud. To his right, the ground sloped sharply downward, and he followed an old rabbit trail down to a narrow gravel bar.

 

A little stream babbled happily in front of him, having carved its way through the gray limestone eons ago. The water was clear and free from silt. Roan scanned the bank. A small outcropping of stone jutted out on the other side. Above that stood a rather large sycamore tree, one gnarled root crawling over the edge of the rock shelf and reaching the water. Roan could see the entrance to a burrow at its base.

 

The chipmunk glanced upstream and spied a fallen branch that spanned the quiet brook, joining one side to the other. He bolted for the makeshift bridge and hurried across, finding himself at the mouth of the burrow within moments.

 

He sniffed the air and pricked his ears for sound. The burrow smelled of mice, but it was an old smell. And beneath that, there was another scent he couldn't quite place--a scent he hadn't encountered before.

 

Roan braced himself for danger and peered inside...

 

 



"Roan's First Days"

Part 3

 

The weasel lunged, mouth open and teeth bared. Roan struck hard with his twig staff, landing a blow to the beast's face and knocking it off balance. The predator shook its head and backed away, startled that its prey fought back.

 

The young chipmunk worked his way to the center of the clearing, careful to keep his staff aimed at the wicked creature should it lunge again. The weasel snarled and edged forward, giving Roan a wide berth at first. It sniffed the air, eyeing the large chipmunk as it began to circle.

 

Roan gave a sharp warning bark, which made the weasel pause, and the beast sniffed the air once more before making its move. Suddenly, the circular path it had been tracing tightened, and Roan found himself being stalked at much closer quarters than he liked.

 

The creature gnashed its teeth, and Roan whacked its nose with the tip of the staff. The lanky beast shook its head and staggered backwards. Roan lunged and struck again. The weasel growled and snapped at Roan's staff, unable to wrench it away from him. Roan took a half-step forward, and just as the beast opened its maw to snap again, the chipmunk gathered all of his strength and plunged the tip of the twig staff deep into the roof of its mouth.

 

The weasel's eyes grew wide, and the black pupils dilated as the life force drained from them. Roan buried the butt of the staff in the ground, and the weight of the weasel's body drove the staff into the soil just enough that it remained propped up, the weasel hanging in midair like a macabre scarecrow. 

 

Roan stared at the beast's face. In one quick move, he inhaled deeply, then hawked a wad of spit into the weasel's unblinking eyes. The phlegm-laced saliva dripped down the lifeless orbs and mingled with its short fur.

 

Roan wiped his mouth with his paw and turned away.

 

Victory was his.