Believable Non-human Character

I've given a lot of thought about how a centaur could exist. I mean, I've thought of it ever since I was a kid. I once saw this kit where you could see through the skin and see how all the bones and organs fit together. I'm pretty sure it was something that needed to be put together maybe something like a puzzle. I never got a chance to actually look at it. I never got to handle the box even. But then, not long after that, I saw one of a horse. I so wanted to get both of them and see if I could build a centaur out of the pieces. But then I've never seen them again, and I know I wouldn't be able to mold the pieces well enough for my idea to work.

So that left me with my imagination and what little I know of the anatomy of both creatures. Of course the biggest issue is things like a heart and the intestines, because if you just shove them together, you get two. Here is how I put them together in my head and subsequently in my book, Druid Derrick.

Heart, digestion, and reproduction is all in the horse part where they belong, albeit with a few alterations which I'll get into later. Up in the human half is all the throaty stuff normally found in the neck of a horse, though sized and adjusted just a little differently too, what with the more upright posture.

So how does the chest and arms work in all this, you ask? Quite simply, really. We all know that the bone structure is there to support muscle, and there is an entire chest and back structure necessary to support arms, even the ribs are important in this, SO they are there. Upper body ribs in a centaur are less important for protecting vital organs so there aren't so many of them and they are wider to support more muscle as well as the bone structure of the shoulders. Shoot a centaur in the human-half heart and you'd be lucky to get past a rib let alone hit an artery, which is there.

That accounts for most of what one might see, but there are other differences smaller and more subtle.

• The hand:

We know from archeological digs that the horse evolved from a small critter that actually started out with five toes. What might count as your little finger and your thumb never touched the ground, and through evolution, they quickly became vestiges. Of the three remaining toes, the two outer toes withdrew up into the ankle leaving only the center toe we see today. If you feel around in that area, you can still feel something of a narrow palm-like structure, like if you were to squeeze your thumb and little finger together.

Since I didn't know about the five finger thing with early horses, I went with a four finger structure, giving my centaurs an opposable thumb, but it's not like ours. For us, if someone were to tell you to hold up your primary finger, you'd probably hold up your first finger since it is the most versatile finger on your hand. If you were to ask my centaur to do this, he or she would hold up their middle finger. It is the heaviest and strongest of the three, and their thumb is directly opposite that finger. For us it would be like it was growing out of the middle of your wrist, and no, they cannot set their hand flat on the ground.

• Eating:

The digestion of a horse is something like that of a human, only they have a much larger gut. To my thinking, since centaurs are hunters, their diet would be much like ours, getting little useful sustenance from grass. Following that logic, their gut would be trimmer around the belly. Now if you were to stand a grain-fed horse next to a grass-fed horse, the grass-fed horse might look pregnant by comparison. I took that comparison one step farther toward the skinny end and gave them a noticeably thin waist and possibly a tighter appearing rib-cage. I figure this structure would also lend to agility if fighting in close quarters. Also this trimness gets a little thick around the middle with childbearing and age. I mean, we all get kinda thick around the middle as we get older.

• Face:

Faces are interesting, and centaur faces are a study in blending. They need to have a humanoid face, but I let them be a little heavier than your average man. Since they are hunters, their eyes are in front, but they are still very horsey in appearance - not human eyes - no whites to speak of, and not inset like ours.

Their noses and mouths are very horse in nature, being more molded into their face than ours, and being more closely molded into their lips, which are also very horsey - You wouldn't put lipstick on these lips no matter what. However the mouth is flexible and articulate like ours making speech possible, they just look horsey.

Their hair is also very horsey, as is their ears. They have a mane which gives them the horsey forelocks and it trails clear down their human-half spine until it reaches their horse-half withers.

• Size:

I took an image of an average man standing next to an average horse and the man's shoulder was about even with the horse's withers - that's the top of the spine at the shoulder. I figured a centaur would be roughly the same as a man sitting on said horse, so if your average man was to approach one of my centaurs, his head might be about even with the centaur's elbow.

• Coloring:

For this, I'm using every kind of horse color I can think of. There are dominate kinds of coloring per herd, but centaur clans also tend to mix as young males are known to travel to other clans in search for a mate. Not always, but it happens frequently enough to keep the colors mixing. And since they are covered entirely in horse hair just like any horse, the coloring can extend even onto the face, and it's not always symmetrical.

• Society:

I had a lot of fun with centaur society. There is a ritual with the changing of leadership, and there is a very elaborate affair surrounding a marriage, but I don't think I'll go into it with this post. Suffice it to say, since I have a marriage, I need to have a divorce something too.

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A Druid's Justice

Most hunters would take time to assess the target, scoping out a location or watching prey to assess weaknesses. It’s what Derrick would have done, but inexperienced hunters, glutted with past successes hadn’t learned that lesson. Their strike came so soon, it almost took Derrick by surprise. He had anticipated several failures before being successful in actually being their target. He could only blame the new guy, anxious to get the hunt over with and prove himself worthy of his friends.

There was a whisper of movement behind Derrick’s right shoulder and the over-sensitive nerves of the hunted caused him to dodge to the side just as a fist flashed past his face.

Having actually hit nothing with all of his might, the man was over balanced, and then he was taken completely by surprise when Derrick grabbed his wrist and jerked him forward. With his next step, Derrick was behind his attacker, and with a vicious twist, bones broke and the man now identified as the newbie, screamed.

The other four, for some unidentifiable reason, closed in for their own attack. Experienced predators would have held off; dangerous prey earned caution, but these men obviously felt safety in numbers. Normally, this might have been true, but the average human prey wasn’t elf trained and hardened by the life of a druid as Derrick defined it. The odds were still in Derrick’s favor.

Of the first two to close, one carried a knife – a small folding toy with no more than a three-inch blade. Their clash was brief and suddenly they were down, one curled up, trying to convince his chest to flex some air into his lungs, the other quite still. The third attacker was right on their heels. His attack held some finesse as he whirled into action, but his exotic spin merely caused him to meet the street from a higher altitude as Derrick caught his jumping spin kick and carried his foot far higher than he ever planned. The fourth man didn’t bother to close the distance; he took careful aim and fired, but Derrick was still in motion.

Though the bullet tore through his thigh, Derrick landed like a cat and like a cat, or perhaps a wolf, he launched himself at his last and deadliest attacker in a long dive. His right hand reached for a throat hold, and even as another round was fired with not enough accuracy, Derrick’s left hand grabbed the wrist, seeking control of the weapon. When they hit the ground, the shooter remained completely still. Derrick retained his grip for a few moments, but as soon as he determined that there was no pulse under his hand, he stood. First thing he did was look around in an effort to see if the wayward bullet had hit anyone, but if it hit anything at all, it was stone.

This was a civilized city, there was an assortment of shops along this street, and many of them were lit up. A dozen people altogether were gathered in front of half of those, but as soon as he looked their direction, they melted away.

He healed his leg and then touched his medallion. “Enders. I’m in front of a place called Lloyd’s Cleaners. I’m afraid I’ve made something of a mess. I don’t know the street.”

“There can’t be too many Lloyd’s Cleaners in this city. I’ll find you. Wait there.”

Derrick waited. He went around to check the others. As he approached the initial attacker, the man cowered away from him. “The police will be here soon.” He waved his hand in front of the man’s face, making no effort to obscure the move necessary to cast his command. “You will tell them the truth.”

The man gulped and nodded.

Derrick paced the center of his battlefield until Enders showed up nearly an hour later. By the time he drove up, another of the men had wakened, but Derrick refused to allow any of them to do more than sit up. When one attempted to stand, Derrick was immediately over him offering to contest the issue. The man thought better of his desire.

When Enders arrived, he didn’t bother to park. He stopped and stood at the open door of his car. He took one look at Derrick and his battlefield, and then reached back in for the radio and called for an ambulance, a wagon, and some backup.

Derrick noticed that he wore a dark blue jacket now, one with a badge on the chest. “I only killed one. I didn’t have much choice.”

Enders glanced down at the bloodstain down the side of Derrick’s leg. “You need to see a doctor? That looks pretty bad.”

Derrick looked down too. “No, I’m fine. I can’t say the same for the others, though I did try not to kill any of them.” He noticed the light colored jacket Enders had lent him; it was now a little worse for the abuse. “I’ll get you a new jacket as soon as I can. Sorry.”

Enders shrugged off the comment. “You’re going to have to press charges.”

“Press charges? What does that mean?”

“He just attacked us,” said one of the men sitting on the street, holding his head. “We was just walking along and he came out of nowhere and attacked us.”

Derrick was about to call out the lie when his first assailant beat him to it. “No he didn’t. He was supposed to be my target. He was gonna be my first. I never got the chance to tag him. I ain’t never seen anyone move as fast as he did. I think he took a bullet though. Greg fired a couple shots at him and I saw blood.”

“Shut the fuck up, Timmy,” said the first speaker. “Quit being a gasbag.”

“Don’t call me that,” said the one labeled Timmy.

“Be quiet, both of you. You’ll both get a chance to speak your peace,” said Enders. He pulled Derrick over to the sidewalk and spoke quietly. “You have to sign a statement telling what happened here, that these guys attacked you, and you have to be willing to go to court and tell a judge as much too. If you don’t, we can’t do anything to them.”

“These are the men who attacked Gage. They needed to be punished.”

“I believe you, but we have no proof, and your word on that just isn’t good enough; you weren’t there either.”

“But Gage…”

“Doesn’t remember; he doesn’t even remember going to the store. If you don’t do anything, if you walk away here, all we’ll have is their word, and you’ve already heard what that will be. In no time at all, they’ll be innocent people just heading to the pool hall over there when this guy came out of nowhere and…” he nodded toward the people-littered street. “And with a body, you would be on our most wanted list in no time. They could even give descriptions, and I would likely be jobless, if not in jail, for letting you go ‘cause I sure as hell ain’t gonna try to keep you here.”

Derrick looked at Enders hard, and then he growled and paced away. He hated being forced to take an action. Three steps later, he turned. “I should have just killed them all and vanished. Justice served. They would have paid for their crime, and the crime against them could have just gone unsolved. You know I’m right. I know even better that I’m right, and they know they deserve it, if not for the attack against Gage, then against someone else.”

The three men sitting in the street waiting to be arrested and carted off to the hospital, looked at Derrick in horror.

“This is not your mountains,” said Enders.

“No, this is your city, and I hate getting mixed up in it worse every time. You tie your own hands with things like this.” Derrick whirled to face the man with the broken arm. “Tell him what you did three nights ago.”

“Three nights ago?” His voice shook, and even though Derrick stood more than twenty feet away, he cowered away at being singled out. “Three nights ago, Sanders popped this old guy. He wanted to show me how it was done. I never seen a guy drop so fast. He had a hard jaw though. Sanders’ knuckles are still bruised; I seen them this morning.”

Derrick turned back to Enders. “Do you need more proof?”

“Maybe not. I still want you to come down to the station and sign a statement.”

Derrick’s growl was audible. “Fine.”

As they waited for the emergency vehicles to make it through traffic to their location, Derrick paced like a caged lion, stopping occasionally to check on the one man who had yet to wake.

Enders moved his car over to the curb to make room for the vehicles when they came, then he joined Derrick as he bent over the unconscious man.

“Well, how is he?” asked Enders.

“Bad, like Gage was. Maybe not as bad, but bad enough.” He looked up at Enders. “Your call. Do I waste the energy on him and help him, or do we allow him to die or become a zombie, if he’s so lucky. Either way, he will likely be of no value to you and your case. I don’t expect him to be able to remember any better than Gage can, though it’s possible.”

“You’re giving me this choice?”

“I have no sympathy for him, and this is your city.”

“Do what you can for him. I’d rather he not die on my watch.”

“You have too much sympathy for these people,” said Derrick, but he rested a hand on the man’s forehead and whispered his spell.

“What did you just do? You did that to Gage too, didn’t you? And the food? What all can you do?” asked Enders, surprised at the seemingly too simple solution to the problem.

“If you have not put enough of the clues together yourself, I will not enlighten you. The less you know, the better. Suffice it to say, he will recover in a few hours or less, I should think.”

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A Christmas Unremembered

 At this point, Derrick has no memories of a life in the real world - our world. He has no memory of Christmas or Christmases past.

From: Druid Derrick, Book 4

Derrick was observing his customary new moon quiet in the middle of December when a knock came at his door late that evening. Derrick thrilled with excitement; here was the invitation to moot he’d always hoped for. Instead, standing there in all his Robinhood glory plus a few layers, was Gamitch, and behind him was what looked like the entire gnome population. As soon as the door was open, they all filed in with their burdens and put them away in Derrick’s new lab. It was all things Derrick had used in the gnome’s lab. “Gamitch, what’s the meaning of this?”

“I fully intend to teach you everything I know. By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be the next potions master.”

Though disappointed at once again not being invited to moot, Derrick was thoroughly flattered. “But this is all your things. Why are you bringing it here? I can still come up there for you to teach me.”

The old gnome waved the question away. Everything had been stowed and despite the cold, the women were preparing a feast outside.

Derrick stepped out to see that more than gnomes had gathered. The dwarves brought their share as did the centaurs and in no time at all there was much playing of music and dancing, telling of stories and laughing – a fine house warming party.

When the sun rose, Derrick’s house was his alone, and he was still in a happy kind of shock when Mariah showed up. She showed him a small box of decorations and then pulled him back along the trail a short distance. She pointed to a small tree, scarcely taller than she was and made a cutting motion with her hand.

Not understanding at first, Derrick was appalled that she wanted him to cut such a small tree. “No, I’m not cutting that. It’s way too small to be of any use. It’s only about five years old.”

She looked disappointed, but even when she pointed to a slightly larger tree, Derrick refused. “No. Why do you want me to cut a tree?”

She pointed back toward the cabin, shaping the box she’d brought with her hands, then she pulled an imaginary item from the box and mimed hanging it on the little tree’s branches and then putting the whole thing in Derrick’s house.

“What? You want to take this tree to the house and put all those things on it? Why?”

The question stumped her. For the first time, Mariah’s signs weren’t enough to explain her reasoning.

Derrick led her back to the house. Seeing that she was near tears about something she couldn’t explain, he tried to cheer her by going through the box she’d brought. It was full of silver fluffy ropes and colorful balls, some of which were decorated with shards of colorful beads. Since Derrick refused to have a tree, she ended up hanging them all around the house. She made Derrick participate too as some of the places were out of reach.

When all the decorations were out of the box, she presented Derrick with the last thing, a small box wrapped in red and green paper, and tied with a red ribbon. The gift reminded him that at roughly this time last winter, Anya had brought him a birthday present. He still didn’t remember what day was his birthday, and if Anya had found out his age she hadn’t passed the knowledge along.

The gift was another ornament after a fashion though it wasn’t made to hang from a hook like all the other decorations. It was a globe filled with water, and inside was a tiny cabin nestled among some very tall trees. Mariah shook it and then showed him the snow fly around the cabin in a miniature blizzard. Among the snowflakes was a few little white angels now swirling the cabin. She pointed them out with a swirling finger that traced their flight around the cabin, making wing motions with her arms so Derrick would notice which ones she was pointing out. Then she poked Derrick in the chest and pointed off toward her house, making the flying motions again – she was telling Derrick that he was the guardian angel that flew around their house.

Derrick set it in the middle of the table and they watched the flakes settle. Mariah gave the house one last look and smiled, then she pointed to herself and toward home. She had to go so she could get back before the dark.

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Solve the Problem

Druid Derrick

Derrick has a problem. It seems there’s a plane crash; it’s one of those small planes and it crashed in a ravine, now mostly hidden by brush and soon the coming darkness. Now, Derrick has a problem. He’d really rather not have search parties flying over and combing the woods looking for this aircraft.

I know. This post is really short, but my hand is a little screwed up and I’ve only been able to start typing again today (day 3).

So, here’s the question. What do you think Derrick would do? As I see it he has two choices. Hide the crash completely or perform the rescue himself, thus shortening the search. Do you have another idea? Let me know. This is your chance to help me sculpt this book.

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A Centaur's Mating

Druid Derrick

I'm sure you've heard me talking about this book before - my longest-living work in progress, and very likely my longest work in progress when all is said and done.

Anyway, I recently had something of a small problem. In an effort to help another, which my character always tries to do if he can and if it's logical, I threw him into a second wedding - an unofficial one - one he has no intention of consummating (though I might decide to mess with him there too - haven't decided).

Anyway, Derrick waltzed into the centaur village carrying the fruits of his latest hunt intending to trade the meat for someone to turn the pelt into a winter coat, and the only way he was going to be able to carry the carcass for half a day was, logically, in the form of a centaur. 

Unbeknownst to him, young male centaurs do such things when they are in the market for a mate. If the filly of his desire is in his own village, he presents the kill at or near the front door of her father's door (proximity might be an indication of how open he was to other advances). Yes, centaurs can take in more than one mate - the average is two or three. Though it happens, both mates are seldom selected at the same time.

If the young suitor can't find anyone in his home village, he goes to another village to look and presents his kill in the center of the clearing. Eligible fillies are quick to help him unload and present his kill to the leader of the clan. If he's impressed, enough the young hunter gets to choose a mate. The meat is not given away, not to the leader of the clan or to the filly's father, it is to be the young couple's first supplies in their house.

There's another part of this mating that is of importance. It is a father's responsibility to see to it his daughter has a home to move into as soon as she accepts a mate, and it is the wives in her father's house, commonly all acknowledged as her mothers, who are responsible for furnishing the house with the basics at the very least.

The filly's mothers and other female friends will take her aside and make sure she's all prettied up for her special day. If the young male is new to the village, the village leader will take him around to meet all the families. During these meetings, he is treated to a taste of whatever the man of the house is most willing to show off - usually some kind of food or drink. The women in the house will add a small decoration to the visitor by braiding in a colorful strip of leather and/or combing an aromatic oil into his mane and tale.

The end of the day is crowned by the filly's father throwing a feast. During this feast, the young couple is on display in all their splendor, in the very center. If they ate at a table, they would be in the center of the table. Centaurs don't sit at tables though, instead, rugs or pelts are spread out on the ground, the males rest on them with their first wives beside them. Second wives serve their seniors before settling themselves. The lowest wife generally manages the children, though some are allowed to attend if they can behave properly. Since the young couple is the center of the event, they are expected to be the very last to leave the 'table'. Also, for the duration of the feast, they feed each other. Yes, they are expected to eat and drink until everyone else has asked to be excused or until the host has run out of food. It is a huge embarrassment if the host runs out of food, but those gathered generally try to avoid such an occurrence. Just like in every other small village, everyone knows everyone's at least somewhat. For instance at a poor couple's feast, guests would start to beg off after the first plate. However, a rich couple's feast might be more fun, as everyone is doing their best to test the new couple's endurance to the limit. Yeah, they gotta keep eating and drinking to the very last. How big is your bladder? Am I evil or what?

After the feast, the young couple go home and start their life. Have I missed anything? Please let me know if you have any ideas to add. It's all fun.

My druid, Derrick, took a girl, when it became clear that she would no longer be accepted back into the home of her father. All her life she had been blamed for the death of her mother, who died in childbirth when her twin was born wrong. Since her birth mother was dead and her father basically rejected her, her 'mothers' allowed her to run wild most of the time, giving her the minimum attention that would keep her alive. Terrified of dieing in childbirth like her mother, she had rejected too many previous advances to mate. For a filly to be kicked out of her father's house wasn't really all that bad; she could still carve her own home out of the hillside and take care of herself. She is generally not cold-shouldered by anyone just because she was single and on her own. It also didn't mean that she stopped getting advances, but such an act was still an insult perpetrated upon her by her father. There are many forms of insult, but bullying isn't very common at all.

Derrick's accepting this mating enable the girl to use the home her father was required to build for her. But since he is already married to a human woman who lives in the city, his intentions are pure. Besides, how will he explain to his wife that he married a centaur? I'm going to have fun with that one too. At least now he has someone who will make the coat he needs. I'm sorry, his city wife wouldn't have a clue. Can you see her if he was to come to the door with some kind of carcass, in this case a mountain goat? "Here honey, I need you to tan up this hide and stitch me up a coat." She'd be like, "What?" And yes, she is fully away of who and what he is, but I'm thinking this would be going a bit too far.

So now Derrick has someone else to be responsible for. His world is becoming more complicated by the year. Just wait until he finds out his (city) wife is pregnant.

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Druid Derrick - Meditation doesn't always come easily

Thoughts on the last few days churned through Derrick’s mind making the quiet hard to come by, but the Lady came anyway. Chill hands came to rest on his shoulders then moved to his neck, and then to his cheeks. Cold fingernails combed hair back from his temples and then raked his braid loose in a single leisurely motion.

Then like the smoke, she drifted in front of him and rested her cool cheek against his; her icy breath tickled his ear as she whispered to his soul. Then she changed sides, whispering something else into his other ear. These words he understood.

“Say it,” she whispered. “Prove to me that you remember what you ask of me.”

Derrick was confused, but then she showed him the meeting with the teachers, the meeting with Anya and the two men needing some healing, the meeting with Daniel at the car, Simon giving him the chest, Marissa reading his cards, the meeting with Cade, Sidney and the others at his door. It didn’t take him long to catch on to what he was seeing. All people meeting with him, seeking his attention for one reason or another, ticked back over the last several months. But it was the last meeting that jogged the necessary memory, the dark elves. “Never let me forget my purpose in this life. Never allow the things and people that come and go to distract me away from my very first vow. My heart and my soul and all of my weapons are yours to command in all things. All else is secondary and transient.”

Her satisfaction was felt in the warmth that exploded from his heart, and then she sealed it with a brief kiss full on the mouth.

As if he wasn’t having enough trouble breathing, he found himself gasping as he opened his eyes.

Writer's Block or Procrastination

So exactly what is writer's block? According to Wikipedia, it can be as minor as a temporary interruption in productivity or as bad as a complete abandonment of writing altogether. The writer can simply run out of inspiration, or it can be that the work is simply beyond the writer's ability; I've run into that one a time or two. There are also as many coping strategies as there are writers having this problem. You need to fish around and find what works for you.

I discussed my first confrontation with this issue here. Ultimately I went back and rewrote that part, and the story continues to flow now. The interruptions are still in place, and even more have been added, to include a paid editing project I've been working on lately. So Druid Derrick may be my biggest project; it is also my longest ongoing project. But I hope to have it finished one day relatively soon.

So, do you have a block sitting right in the middle of your writing? I think it happens to all of us at some point and to some degree. I have found that the myriad of distractions in our lives can be the biggest blocks, taking the form of a type of procrastination. I know, ever since I got internet and started promoting my books and socializing, my disturbance-free window for new creation is very small. Many of my writer friends lean on music to inspire them and maybe help set the mood; I happen to find the noise distracting. My husband is one of those people that simply has to have some kind of noise going in the background. If not the radio, then the TV as soon as the generator is running. Since the TV is sitting directly in front of me, only the width of the table away, it's quite a distraction. Given the opportunity, I get up early and write before anything else gets turned on (and before my husband gets up). Sometimes I'll get up in the middle of the night when an idea won't let me rest.

I like to give my stories their own life, and a life needs attention just like any child you're trying to raise to a strong, self-sufficient adult. If you don't give this life enough attention, it will be less than it could be. Also, as a 'life', sometimes you might want to go in one direction but your story simply insists on going another way. My advice is to listen to your story. Most of the time, it really does know best. It's another way of saying 'listen to your subconscious mind'. If you're not comfortable with a scenario, change it. If you are still stuck, shoot the idea at anyone, me if you like, I'm a good sounding board. More often than not, either an idea will ring true with you, or the mere act of asking will turn on the light in a dark room and a new idea will occur to you all of your own.

My issue with Druid Derrick was something of a redundancy. At first a traditional Christian marriage that would make her parents happy, and then a druid marriage my character would see as far more binding. I did all the research. I had it all planned out, but it was like my character had simply dug in his heels and refused to go forward with it. There is also the issue of redundancy, and though the ceremonies would be drastically different, there was still the issue of getting married twice. What was the point? What was the real value to the story? Through the course of this story, it became my window into today's druid society, but though a druid ceremony would have been interesting, in truth, Derrick's wife is a very secondary character and the second ceremony would have been overdoing it. It's still something that might happen, but really I don't think so. There's already a lot of things planned for this book, and this particular issue has been semi-permanently shelved. You never know, a birth is expected, Derrick might want to cement his relationship over that. We'll have to see. At the moment, he's still learning how to socialize. He's reached a point in his druid life where he can no longer afford to hide, nor does he need to; he's a big boy now.

What is your strategy for dealing with Writer's Block. Do share; it might help someone else.

Druid Derrick Cover

Here's my latest cover. It is an original by Candace L. Bowser at Dark Water Arts on Facebook. 

I know a couple digital artists and their work is really awesome. I however have very little understanding of how it is done. I'm fairly certain it bears little resemblance to Paint, and I know the kinds of hours I put into creating pictures with that. hahaha And believe me, what I turned out was nothing like this. I've also taken a stab at actual painting, you know with acrylics and a brush. I can only see this accomplished with an airbrush; something I didn't have the patience for, though it was fun to play with. So, my hat is off to anyone who can accomplish this with a computer, no matter how 'packaged' each part is.

To finish this picture, I figure I'll add a little more black at the bottom to make room for my byline, and maybe around the edges just a bit, so the blue isn't touching the edge. Can you guess which book this will go to? Eh, so it isn't exactly like the guy in my book, but it's still great. Who knows, maybe by the time it goes live, some things can be adjusted. I'll worry about that some other time. This is what it is for now and I'm completely thrilled.

I've blogged about Druid Derrick a few times. Here is where I talk about how it came to be. But more importantly to this post, here is where I started to worry about publishing it. 

Since the book was going to be very long, it was important that it be broken up. I ended up settling on level advancement as a break point, and with that in mind, I'm going to have to make some adjustments, but that's okay. I even found proper enough druid symbols to use for each section. Speaking of which, I think I'll go back to Candace and see what she can do for me. Do check out the post; I'm still looking for feedback. I figure the backgrounds of each section will be a solid color. One suggestion was to alter the color slightly between sections - still gotta think about that - I mean, what color? Shaded darker? Shaded lighter? Go through the colors of the rainbow? (now that's an idea) 

This one, however will be used for the book as a whole - I seriously hope I can publish it that way. Anyway, whatcha think? Can you just see Druid Derrick in some cool font across the top there? I'll have to see about that blue color, but I'm thinking white, or maybe a lighter blue. We'll see when I get to playing with it, what I end up with.

Ain't publishing grand? You get to play with some awesome pictures, and you get to meet some really great artists, whether they are digital artists like this or photo artists, like are more common.

In case you're interested, here is when Derrick took his first steps onto the path of being a druid:

Chapter 2 Sundered Soul

Derrick had looked into most all things druid, and according to druid rituals, Imbolic, which was a February first ritual, was where those who followed the faith contemplated a new beginning. The new beginning Derrick looked forward to was the new dungeon Leopold had been working on for weeks. He could hardly wait; dawn seemed so far away just now as he could only sit at the table doing his homework. His other books were scattered across the table along with a glass half-full of water, his notebooks and his pencil pouch.

He kept glancing over at the men sitting in front of the TV, waiting for them to fall asleep. The day had been a long and stressful one; three different teachers had picked on him for answers – answers he had, but still, he wished they wouldn’t do that. And now, since his uncle was here for the ‘big game’, the two of them were lasting longer than usual. He looked back at his book; he had three more problems to do and he’d be finished. He could see the clock on the kitchen wall from where he sat; it was almost midnight. He sighed; tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough.

He glanced over at his father and uncle again; his father was looking blankly at the TV. That was a sure sign he would be passing out soon, and his uncle was already lounging far back in the couch.

He started to work on his paper again; hopefully they would be out by the time he finished. Suddenly, he felt a heavy hand in his hair. He thrust himself to his feet and tried to turn in an effort to see who it was, but the hand only bent him over the table, driving his head into its surface so hard he saw stars, though the effort to turn probably saved his nose from being broken. Books and notebooks went flying and the glass of water smashed on the floor.

Derrick tried to cry out for help, but with every sound he uttered, his head was bounced on the table again, making him see more stars.

The unidentified someone was leaning over him whispering, hissing in his ear, “Worthless mistake. No good little… Useless… Worse than useless… Good for nothing little…”

Derrick had no idea what was going on, not until his sweat pants were roughly pulled down.

The rape was brutal, and any cries of protest or pain he uttered were met with a harsh hissing laugh and another bash of his head on the table.

Then a strange voice spoke a single word, “Jhaeli” and Derrick was suddenly left in a quivering heap on the floor beside his overturned chair. Only when his uncle scooped up his coat and wove his way from the house did Derrick realize who his attacker had been. He was more than stunned; he was shocked. Never would he have considered his uncle doing such a thing. Never in all his life would he have considered such a thing happening to him. Never…

He looked up at the tall, dark-haired man that now stood in the center of the room. Past him, Derrick’s father was sprawled unmoving in his chair in front of the TV, snoring softly. His mother remained in her room behind a closed door. No one had heard his cries. No one had heard the noise. No one had come to help him, and now a stranger was in their house. He was not safe in his own home. He couldn’t remember if he had ever felt safe here.

The stranger spoke a whole string of words, but only a few of them made any sense. Each one laid ahold of his stunned mind. “Cyr vaesyl.” Derrick gasped. “Paji” shoved a wedge into his mind where none had been before. “Tylerol” pierced deeper. “Awstyrol paeras” touched something never touched before, leaving his mind feeling dug through – looted. “Mendraerol you should forget everything that happened here. Tari thaes for your safety, you need to escape this place.” The last one, “Pystolari vaesyl” settled a weight over it all, and then, with his final word, “Ailorordoloria” he touched himself in the center of his chest and was gone as if he had never been there, though Derrick had long since been cowering, unable to muster the strength to move.

Moments passed before Derrick numbly, mechanically, disentangled himself from his ruined and bloody pants and headed for the shower, the strangeness shut safely away. Waking his mother wasn’t even a thought, and he didn’t dare bother his father. Calling the police never occurred to him. In fact, there was very little thought at all. All he wanted to do was wash away the filth running down his legs, and hopefully the pain would go with it.

The hot water washed the blood and filth away, but did nothing for the pain. His right ear was throbbing, the whole side of his face was pounding with it, and more than one place bled freely, and that was nothing compared to the rending pain deep inside.

Scarcely bothering to towel dry, he made his way to his room. His room – it had always been a trap. Methodically, he wiped bloody water from his eyes and dressed. By rote, he dressed warmly, even taking time to lace up his boots while blood dripped from the crushed cut that traced a line of hamburger from his eyebrow to his cheekbone around his right eye.

In passing through the dining room again, he picked up his coat and buttoned it up completely while more blood dripped down his back from a two-inch long tear in his scalp.

His next target was his book bag; most of its usual contents were strewn over the floor with the broken glass, but he didn’t give them a second glance. The only thing left in his bag was his precious spell book and his pouch of oddments. The book was the fifth one he’d made; his father tended to find them and destroy them. So far, keeping the book with him at all times had insured its survival – the longest survival of them all.

He’d only just started to accumulate the contents of the small pouch; it was the discovery of a cat’s skull that started it. After acquiring the teeth, he’d decided to collect other spell components his spellbook asked for – he thought it might be fun to see how much he could come up with. He managed to accumulate a wooden nickel that he’d painstakingly carved into a tiny buffalo mask, a few puffball mushrooms he’d found in the yard last fall, two old rings he’d taken from his mother’s jewelry box – they looked like they might be platinum – and a handful of sawdust he kept in a Ziploc. Only the other day, he’d added a few pieces of dog food he’d discovered at the store when he went shopping with his mother; apparently some bag had a hole in it and it hadn’t all been cleaned up.

In passing through the kitchen, he pushed his wet hair back and backhanded blood from his cheek. He retrieved his water bottle from the dishwasher and filled it with water from the tap. On the back porch, he stopped at the freezer and packed a ham and a block of cheese into his backpack. He caught sight of the old blanket his mother kept draped over the old couch; he rolled it up and hung it over his shoulder using a corner of it to mop at his face again.

His numb mind wouldn’t let him conceive of anything beyond this, so he slung his pack across his shoulders and turned for the door. The two steps down from the porch to the yard was more than his shaky legs could stand and he found himself on his hands and knees in the grass, crisp and dry with winter frost. The hood of his coat flopped forward over his head and he made no effort to push it back.

He slowly climbed to his feet again and doggedly moved on. Movement distracted him from some of the pain. Movement ensured he wouldn’t have to start thinking. Movement took him away from the torture that was his existence. The chill air freezing his hair helped to numb some of the pain. 

Hope you like my idea. I'm going to try to get this finished by the end of next year. Cross your fingers for me.

Life is a Circle

In the newness of our time, we swim

In the first quarter of our time, we crawl

In the fullness of our time, we walk

In the last quarter of our time, we rest

Life is a circle

We rest, that we might remember how to swim

Death walks at our shoulder

He reaches for some of us sooner than others

The touch of Death can be a quick slap

The touch of Death can be a slow caress

Life is a circle

Rest, ye weary soldiers that you might remember how to swim

God is our Lord

His plans for us are a complicated weave

In His wisdom, He plucks one from here that He may place one there

Sometimes the thread of our life needs must be short and sometimes long

Life is a circle

Swim the long strokes that your next thread will hold God's weave

In the dawn of our time, we curl in the security of our womb

In the morning of our time, we learn to laugh and cry at our world

In the noon of our time, we learn to rile and rage at our life

In the evening of our time, our touch has been felt

Life is a circle

 It is time for us to teach the young to laugh

It is time to shed a tear for all those we have lost

We shed a tear so that we may remember how to swim

For without tears, there is no swimming

By Anna L. Walls

DRUID DERRICK - How it came to be

Most of the time when I start a book, I have an idea or a scene in mind. I then create a character and give him or her a goal where the book can end. At that point, it's like getting in the car and driving across the country - you know where you want to end up, but the trip, the places you might pull aside to visit, are completely impromptu. You gotta love that kind of journey, especially if there is no real deadline to worry about.

DRUID DERRICK came about in much the same way and it yet was very different. Growing up, I was never much of a game playing person, meaning board games then, though I do enjoy playing monopoly from time to time. I have the game on my computer but I haven't played it in ages. When I came online and discovered Facebook, as what I think of as a natural progression of the discovery, I tried out a few of the games I found there. In favor of my writing I have blocked whatever games I've been invited to, keeping my distractions down to only three and maybe soon just two. Outside of that, my most favorite of all games I have EVER played is Dungeons & Dragons. Never before or since have I had so much fun or laughed so much during a game. I still have all the books though I no longer play because there's no one around to play with and it is really difficult to play with only two people. Plus, just like all my other games, I'd rather write.

So the next best thing is to mix the two. Here's how I started. Following the rules of the game I rolled up a Druid. Now according to the rules that I had (the rules are constantly evolving so I know what I have is rather archaic), a player character couldn't become a druid until he was already a level nine Cleric. Then I had to determine some sort of timeline. Out of curiosity, I figured I'd take my druid all the way to the highest level. Now how can I determine how long that would take?

From time to time, as Dungeon Master, I have been asked how long a character needs to spend on studying a spell, thus giving the rest of the characters in the party the problem of what to do in the mean time. So I decided to give spell study a time value. I figured a level one spell would take a month to learn, a level two spell, two months, and so on, so a level seven spell would take seven months.

By the D&D rules, each character advances in level when they acquire a certain number of experience points, and with each level came a certain number of new spells. There is a different list of spells for Wizards and Druids or Clerics just as there is different rules involved with these characters and how many of what level of spells they get, but how many spells a character can use per day is handled the same way - this is one rule that always bothered me, but the rules were the rules and at the time I had no idea what to do about it.

Wizards went off to school or to some higher wizard to learn their new spells (all behind the scenes) - hence the need for a time span, but Clerics, Druids, Paladins and I think one or two other character were bestowed their spells by their god(s). Because of this major difference I wanted there to be a difference between how spells are recalled and used. I was okay with Wizards being able to memorize only so many spells per day, and as they gained experience, they became better at this and could therefore be able to memorize more spells per day.

According to the D&D rules, Druids' spell casting was handled the same. I suppose, in the interest of simplicity, that was best, but it never settled well with me. Recently (long after I no longer played) I decided to make another small change to the rules. Just as I assigned a time span to learning a spell, I assigned an energy value to those spells bestowed by the gods. Now there's a little difference here because there are level zero spells so I assigned them one point, level one spells got two points, and so on, so level seven spells got eight points. Using these points, my character had 41 energy points as a level nine Cleric turned level one Druid, and he could spend these point rather like hit points on any spell he has been given. That means he could cast up to eight level four spells or forty-one level zero spells before needing to rest and reconnect with his god (meditate). I stay with the rest of the spell restrictions when it comes to acquiring a new level of spells. So as a level one druid he can only cast up to level four spells. At level two he can cast level five spells. At level four he can cast level six spells. And at level nine he can cast level seven spells. He reaches Grand Druid before he can cast level eight spells, and since that is where my book ends I didn't take my table any further.

Enough of that - back to my timeline

Going back to the need for time to pass, especially since I didn't have experience points to go by, I went back to what I gave a Wizard to learn a new spell. I also went back to the original table listing how many of what level spells a Druid gets when he advances a level. Using this information I determined that it would take an average of 7.6 months (sometimes seven, eight, or nine months) to advance a level. That was the backbone of my timeline. Now it was time to fill in some details. How many and of what level spells he gained determined how many spell energy points he gained.

Here was the beginning of my biggest problem. My timeline would cover ten years. But what did I know at the time - onward with my planning.

According to the rules, there were special skills acquired as time went on so those had to be added in, and there was what was called feats where over time he becomes better at some skill or another. There was also set times when he is can figure out how to use a new weapon or he has managed to get better with one he already has. The best is the special skills, the most notable of which is his ability to change shape, but there is something to go with every level.

Okay, so that is the meat and bones of my timeline, but that is by no means the end. According to D&D rules, I'm supposed to roll the dice for wandering monsters every day, and twice during the night; it served to fill the game day, as the character party was going to or from some dungeon, or even within a dungeon for that matter. Now here's another thing I changed in the game. I figured in the 'real' world, a level nine character stood just as good a chance of finding a level one monster as anything, but since I didn't want my level one characters to be immediately squished by some level nine monster, I figured they weren't really going where the big monsters were anyway, however, I was rather more brutal than the game rules called for, meaning level nine characters could meet level nine monsters. The pesky rats and bats might annoy a level 36 player but I figured if they ever existed in their world, they would always exist in their world, so why not include them. If any of you gamers out there would like any of my lists and tables just shoot me an email and I'll send it to you. As you might have guessed by now, I've spent a lot of time thinking on this game even though I no longer play it.

I didn't want to clutter up my book with wandering monsters on every page so I altered the world. Since my druid was walking around in USA today, I put the recognized D&D history, battles and most of their monsters and magics into a carefully hidden past. The war was ultimately won and most of the monsters were wiped out. Much of the magics that enabled extra-planier monsters to come over was outlawed along with any magic involving animating the dead. Also in some great council of magic users, everyone agreed that humans could no longer be trusted with the skill - yes even the human Wizards agreed, besides by then they were likely in a minority. At any rate, because of all this, and what with a little extinction along the way, my list of monsters narrowed down to something far more manageable. So, to free up the pages of my book, I decided to roll for 'monsters' only twice a month, once for sentients and once for animals.

Now I had my timeline. Now I could start my book.

Now I needed an event, a trauma, a reason for my character to turn druid being as he's only a normal fifteen year old American kid. To sculpt this, I gave my character an unpleasant home life - not so bad that he was driven from his home, allowing enough ties to keep him home (his friends and perhaps his mother) with enough enticements to wish for things to be different (the D&D game he played with his friends). The trauma I picked was a rape, something I figured would be particularly traumatic for a boy. I've been told from a couple different sources that this is way too cliche, but I can't think of anything better. At any rate, I used that to tip the scale, that and a little magic to hide his memories, not that he wanted to remember his life, and my character was heading into his life as a Druid.

Now you might think that an average American boy taking up the life of a Druid, no matter how close to a D&D Druid he wanted to be, would be little more than a hermit, but not only did he have help during his first few steps, but there was a reason he had help, that reason being rather sinister, after a fashion, and planned since before his very conception, believe it or not. Ah but now I'm getting into some of the threads I've woven in since I started the story. Always a puzzle - the whys of the things that happen, and the stumbling upon the clues as we go along. Also, if he was only a hermit, no matter how glorified, there would be no dryads in the grove, no Chrystal Palace somewhere in the Rockies full of elves, no pixies living under his bed, no centaurs, halflings or dwarves either.

This is the foundation of this book. In another month (book time) year seven will begin, so in book time I'm a little over 2/3rds of the way to the end. Here is where the problem with my ten-year time span comes in. As of today, my document is 793 pages long and the last month of my timeline is on page 818. Those last 25 pages is not all simple timeline with small notes to tell me who or what he meets, there's also notes on ideas for parts here and there. Though not many, they can be anywhere from a paragraph or two to a page or two. In most of my timeline, each month takes up only from say 4 lines to around 8 lines. Then there is section breaks for when a new 'level' is reached - these levels are the only place where I start the chapter on the next page.

This book is the only book where I constructed any kind of an outline. Notes like what creature he meets or what skill he learns all need a plausible reason to occur, therein is the text of my book. I hope to finish it this year, or rather by this time next year, but there is no real hurry. Like I said I really love the impromptu journey to a known end. I figure when Derrick takes his seat as the youngest Grand Druid in centuries, at age 25, he's going to outline some drastic changes that will change the entire druid society.

I'll have to get there though. You never know what might happen along the way. I certainly don't.

Mmuahahahahaha

The Evil Behind a Sweet Face - From Druid Derrick, a work in progress

During his new moon’s fast, both the Lady and her consort visited Derrick. The Lady’s touch left him staggering, but Actaeon’s massive hand kept him on his feet until he could retain his own balance. Though their visit was silent and quite brief compared to other visits, the Lady’s smile and Actaeon’s nod were infinitely more preferable to her displeasure and his punishment.

For the first time, Derrick didn’t pass out when the new spells were crowded into his brain, but none-the-less, the overlarge boulder rattling around between his ears kept him indoors for several days, moving from his bed only when his stomach clamored for some attention, or when he couldn’t put off going to the outhouse any longer.

When his headache finally lifted, he had to catch up on spring chores and patrols, and he had to send a message to the Grand Druid; he’d never gotten around to sending one last time.

He was just returning from the mountain and his Fertility Ceremony, two weeks after the Lady’s visit, fully intending to be spending the night in the grove for the full moon, but he found a halfling pacing back and forth before his door. Waiting for his arrival.

“I have news that may interest you,” he said, even before Derrick had crossed half the yard.

“Who died?” asked Derrick. Seriously, he couldn’t think of any other reason for the halfling’s distress.

“My brother’s sister’s cousin’s oldest son saw a girl heading this way and more humans are following her, chasing her. She means trouble if you ask me.”

“Where?” asked Derrick, finding it hard not to smile at the family tree string the little man had felt the need to clarify.

“When I got the news, she’d already passed my cousin’s sister’s place. Has everyone in an uproar, she does.”

“Tell me how to find her, so I can make sure she doesn’t find anything she shouldn’t.”

“Well then, you might cross her track if you head south east of here. I’m sure she’s passed my old gaffer’s place by now.”

“And her followers? What can you tell me about them?”

“They’re humans.”

“Are they carrying weapons? Are they out to do damage to the girl? Can you tell?”

“Three men and a woman. They make a lot of noise. Don’t know anything else about ‘em.”

“Okay. Thanks for the warning. I’ll see if I can find her. See if she’s in trouble. Keep her out of trouble. You go on home and tell everyone to stay out of sight.”

“Eh. Nobody sees…” but the halfling was already trotting off and what exactly nobody sees was lost by distance and decreasing volume as his words rapidly decreased to a mutter.

Smiling, Derrick stepped into the house and collected his bow and quiver, then, thinking to increase his chances of finding the girl, he changed into a wolf. It would allow him to travel faster too.

It was midafternoon when he found her, but he didn’t really have all that much trouble; she wasn’t trying to hide. She seemed to be more interested in traveling fast than anything else.

Not wanting to frighten her, he shifted back before stepping into her view. Not that he was any less dangerous as a human, but at least he would be upright and a safe sight.

As soon as she saw him, she turned to run, but he called out, “Wait. Are you lost? Can I help you?”

At Derrick’s words, she spun on the spot, tears suddenly streamed down her face and sobs shook her voice. “Oh I’m so glad I found someone. I was so afraid I’d be lost forever. Help me please. There are people chasing me. They’re…” But then the tears vanished and whatever else she was going to say, never got said. Instead, she said, “Cyr cestal,” then did a small happy dance right there. “I’ve never had human magic to play with before,” she said. “It tastes different.”

The sudden tears and sobs, and the equally sudden lack of them weren’t nearly as stunning as the result of the elven words she’d uttered. She’d used his own magic against him and he was too surprised to resist. And though she’d called the spell using ‘hold human’ rather than ‘hold person’, it had worked well enough. What he thought was merely a six-year-old little girl – maybe an albino – was really an elf, but never before had he heard of any creature being able to make use of another’s personal magic; there were scrolls and potions enough for that.

“Ailos,” she said next, her word allowing her to inflict whatever damage she chose, fortunately, she only elected to cut the tendons at his heels; it wasn’t life-threatening damage, but without healing, he’d be unable to walk. The hold person spell did nothing to support him, nor did it shield him from feeling the pain, but it did prevent him from crying out, though he thought he might explode with the need.

She watched dispassionately as he was toppled onto the grass and then she pulled his weapons away and tossed them out of reach. Lastly she pulled his cloak free and started going through the pockets, giggling with glee at every discovery.

At the sound of a far away call, she said, “Shar os sys,” drawing a close circle around them with a wave of her hand, her words causing a wall of thorns to surround them and cutting him off from any hope of reaching his weapons. Nothing, but the smallest creatures were going to get past the three-inch thorns and his weapons were now beneath them.

When it started to sprinkle she looked up with indignation, as if ‘how dare nature spit on her’, but then the appropriate spell was there for that too. “Aelesi tyr,” she called out, touching herself in the center of her chest, but endure elements wasn’t quite what she wanted. Though it was a bit chilly, and now damp, there was no damage being done, not yet, and her coat was warm enough. Furious, she turned to Derrick. “Why didn’t it work?” She flipped the rain from her fingers at him saying, “Cori mae,” turning each drop into a tiny, very sharp projectile.

It was like getting a dozen sudden paper cuts and all of them laced with salt, and now that the hold person spell was just wearing off, Derrick was free to voice his pain, now redoubled since this new assault caused him to move his feet, which felt like they were on fire.

Desperately trying to get a grip on himself, he clamped his jaws on any further outcry. “Why are you doing this?” he asked through clenched teeth, the words nearly making room for another cry of pain, but he managed to keep it to a gasp. He was trying to buy time, time to gather his wits and his strength, time to figure out what he could do.

“Because I can,” she said suddenly quite happy. “I’m thirsty. Taeri sharaes,” she said, creating a pitcher of water and winning a groan from Derrick. Then suddenly, once again, she spun on him, totally furious. “Why isn’t there a cup? Cori mae!” she screamed, and then let out an even louder scream of pure frustration when there was no more drizzle for her to turn into knife spray. Derrick was thankful she didn’t think to throw the pitcher of water at him; it would have killed him in an instant.

Once again her mood switched with the speed of a thought and she turned away, drinking deep from the lip of the pitcher, and then she set it over to the side of their space, safe for later.

Derrick had never been so stunned. Every spell she cast felt like she was grabbing at his magical energy with a hard cold fist, yanking it to her control with force enough to take him to near fainting each time. Every spell she cast was every bit a blow as any affect the spell itself had.

Her thirst slackened, she swept down on him and pulled his shirt open. There was no retreat. He couldn’t move beyond her reach. He couldn’t think. She combed her fingers down his chest and then flattened her palm right above his thumping heart. “It’s been a long day,” she said with exaggerated sweetness. “Paer caer,” she said so sweetly as to belie the intent of the death knell spell. It was supposed to be used on an already fatally injured creature. Their final life force going to bolster the casters energy, thus giving him vital energy needed to continue whatever battle he was fighting for a little while longer, perhaps long enough to survive the encounter. The spell worked best that way, but it worked to a certain degree no matter what. Cast on a relatively healthy person, the victim was only weakened for a while. The energy she took from Derrick must have been sweet nonetheless, because she let out a sigh of relish, or perhaps it was just more over dramatization.

Derrick remembered the one time he’d used this spell. The man had died. Had he died from the spell? Derrick found himself wishing for that end – briefly.

Derrick had never felt the like before; not only was she sucking at his magical strength like a vampire sucks at blood, but she was damaging him too – only a little here and a little there, but mind-numbing damage just the same. This was more insidious even than a wraith’s touch. He rolled up with a growl to reach for her.

“Ailos,” she cried, and as if he had just put his hand through a glass window, his arm was shredded from his hand to his elbow.

Derrick recoiled. “Stop this,” he yelled.

“Oh no,” she said with a very sweet smile. Her smile looked truly evil coming from such a young and innocent looking face.

Returning to an earlier tactic, she said, “Vaerorali.” Making him wonder why she wanted a resistance spell. But then she examined a pinch of something very fine sticking to her damp fingers and she smiled through slitted eyes. “Aili mys,” she cried as she flicked the bit of damp dust in the air with an exaggerated flourish.

Derrick took some satisfaction from watching her realize that her resistance spell wasn’t as much protection from her ice storm spell as she expected, but she took shelter under Derrick’s cloak and then hunkered down close to her thorn wall and so took remarkably little damage. Derrick wasn’t so lucky. Sprawled out under the full brunt of the short storm, he thought he might die. If the storm had lasted longer than a few minutes, he would have died. He threw his left arm over his eyes to protect his face from the snowball sized hail stones, but that left the rest of him vulnerable, though he rolled over onto his side to protect his vitals. By the time the hail stopped, he was left with broken ribs, a broken arm and hand and deep bruises. Just before he passed out, he heard the girl let out a whoop of glee as if it had been the height of fun for her.

When he woke, he found himself upright and bound tightly in the thorn bushes that made up their barrier. She was pacing back and forth in front of him. What did she have in store for him now? Though he had used all of his spells at some point or other during his existences, he had never done so to only one enemy and never with such meticulous glee. It was as if she couldn’t wait to cast the next spell and do the next bit of damage, though that last was more than just a bit of damage.

As soon as she noticed his eyes tracking her pacing she said, “Thaes os Pys,” effectively combining two spells into one command by telling him to fear his doom without bothering to tell him what his doom was supposed to be. She didn’t really need to though; he already felt doomed and he had never been so afraid – not ever. The pain of the sharp thorns helped him resist struggling though; it wasn’t healthy to struggle while in the grip of a wall of thorns. Was it the magical energy she relished, or was it his pain? He couldn’t tell. For the life of him, he couldn’t remember ever encountering anyone like this little girl before.

Much to Derrick’s dismay, she apparently wasn’t satisfied with the amount of damage her thorns were doing, so she cast another minor wounds spell, ensuring that each spot where a thorn touched his skin did indeed pierce, allowing a trail of blood to escape from each puncture.

Derrick spit blood from his mouth. The pain from her spells was forcing his chest muscles into immobility making breathing nearly impossible and making his head spin. She didn’t seem to be in the slightest concerned as she cast thornwrack saying, “Sys shas,” and drew a scream out of him, drowning out her giggles of delight.

Over the next ten eternal minutes, Derrick’s ribs grew jagged thorns of their own. One thorn at a time, eight in total, drilled its way slowly out through his skin from the inside until the bur was several inches long and had torn an inch wide hole in his flesh, then they began to recede, infinity slower than they had grown, grinding their way back through their wound. Derrick was helpless, but to cry out and writhe against the thorn barrier. By the time the bony thorns were gone, Derrick was drenched in blood.

Long before the spell was over – long before even half of the thorns had burst through his skin – the girl grew bored. There was no variety, just screaming and squirming and bleeding, so “Shaer tarn” were her next words, and her fingers turned to razors, and with them, she played ‘connect the dots’ by tracing slow and careful cuts from thorn to thorn as they appeared and even including some of the dots created from exterior thorns.

Derrick heard a sound that might have been a voice, but then the girl said, “Shi paes” and all sound was wiped away. Even if her pursuers were close, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to muster enough air to call out to them.

A few moments, and another spell, later he felt her mind in his. Not that she’d said much before, but now Derrick could taste her demented reasoning.

Unfortunately, the spell worked both ways and his revulsion pissed her off. She took a swipe at his belly with her razor clawed hands, but the beast claws spell picked that moment to run out – at least his guts were still inside where they belonged. That didn’t stop her from using a cause light wounds spell to do some of the damage she’d intended with the claws, and what was whole of the skin across his chest and belly grew more cuts.

And then to further torture him, she said, “Caes os si shaes.” Casting bear’s heart to falsely emboldened him and feed him strength to draw out her game, but he knew it wouldn’t last long enough for him to accomplish enough, so, though he felt stronger, he horded it carefully. When the spell ran out, it would tax him enough without spending what it offered, and he didn’t have much left to fall back on.

Finally her thoughts turned toward furthering her escape, this game was getting boring and her care-jailors were getting close – a thought Derrick relished. An end, any end would do, even death. Hastily, she started to cast spells on herself, or for herself, as the case may be. She created food and wrapped it up in his cloak then she made fire seeds twice to arm herself with eight acorn firebombs. Then she cast death ward, barkskin, magic vestment and endurance on herself as fast as she could put them together – each spell leaving Derrick feeling deflated and weaker. Blood dripped from the corner of his mouth; he no longer had the energy to spit.

In the middle of that, bear’s heart wore off and Derrick fainted. She woke him with more pain, though he hurt so much already, he couldn’t determine what other damage she’d done, and then she said, “ai tystal o sais hi molail.” He was a moment understanding the elven words, but the command silenced him just as well. In her place, he would have simply left himself unconscious, but no, she just had to wake him. Another spell told her which direction was north and then wind walk took her away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Did she get away scott free? You may have to wait until the book comes out. A little sweet talking might get you an answer though.

How They Met

For those of you who might be curious about last week's post, this is how Derrick and Melody met.

Broken Heart

Derrick went directly to the grove. He stared at the pond morosely; he’d missed the solstice, and his observances of the moons were diminutive at best. He climbed up to sit on the cromlech in an effort to find some kind of calm. I thought I had recovered from what Alexina did to me. Am I so vulnerable? And then another thought bubbled its way to the surface of his dark thoughts. Why did I bring Hollie here? I can’t have a woman here, not a normal woman. How could I possibly be so selfish?

Next thing he knew, his mouth was being wedged open by fingers that smelled of green and earth, and a sweet liquid was being dripped in. His throat was absorbing the liquid before he could make the muscles there move enough to swallow. The sun’s heat alternated with the moon’s chill twice while the sweet liquid trickled down his throat, but when Derrick remained unresponsive, a hard hand rocked his head first to one side and then to the other.

“What are you trying to do, human? Do you wish to die? Would you curse this place with your death?” The hand struck again. “Wake, human. If you must die, go somewhere else.”

Derrick tried to move, but nothing responded. Not even the knowledge that his death here would curse the grove could motivate his mind with enough cohesion to move his body away from this place.

The sweet water continued to trickle down his throat and the heat and chill of the outside world continued to pass over. The voice changed from time to time, but the words were much the same.

Sometime later, other hands came and Derrick felt motion, and then he was no longer lying on stone. His final resting place was soft and warm, and the voices he heard were smooth and slick; the only thing that hadn’t changed was the sweet water that continued to trickle down his throat.

Another stretch of time passed in that dark warmth. Dimly he was aware of being moved again. His resting place was less soft, less warm, but not cold. No more of the sweet water trickled down his throat. The slick voices were replaced by a soft, but persistent beeping.

Eventually the beep brought a spark…and then, quite unwanted, came memories. At first, they were just snapshots…faces…emotions…words. The faces grew identities…the emotions turned into tidal waves…the words began to string together – to make sense – to spark more emotions and more faces – faces that laughed – faces that cried – faces he loved.

He yearned for shelter from the faces and what they brought with them, but there was none. Each woman appearing before his mind’s eye brought up such sweet memories, and such painful ones. Words of endearment caressed his heart, and news of death ripped it to shreds.

Sometimes he was the one to die first and there was unbelievable regret, and sometimes the face didn’t pull at his heartstrings so hard, but it was the times when she was the one to die first that came near to killing him.

Most of the times it was death that separated them; the times when she turned away were hard, but understanding shored up some of the shredding.

Somewhere along the line, he realized that those memories were coming from those other lives drifting in the back of his mind. They came forward now to show him that he had survived before; that he could do it again. The only difference was that, always in the past, it had been her to turn away. This time, it had been he who had sent her away and understanding did nothing to cushion the pain – not this time. All true, but the fact remained; he’d survived before, he would survive this time too.

The beeping put the memories where they belonged, but the tidal wave still washed. Renewed grief over a dozen painful losses pounded at him all at once. He opened his eyes; over there, standing in front of the window, was a woman. Her honey-brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. Suddenly breath came in painful gasps and the change caught her attention. She turned to see Derrick’s tear streaked face.

“Oh, lord.” She was beside him sitting on the edge of the bed. She pulled his arms apart and he wrapped them around her. Not sitting up, he buried his face in her belly and sobbed, his entire frame quaking with the force.

Long minutes later the sobs let up, leaving the tears still and he pushed himself away, ashamed that he’d gotten Anya’s shirt all wet. He sniffed and used the corner of the pillowcase to dry the tears that continued to flow.

She handed him a Kleenex from the bedside table and he blew his nose and soaked up more tears. “I’m glad to see you awake.” She was looking into his face, hoping for answers.

“I’ll…survive,” he said as more tears rolled.

“What happened?” she asked. No one knew and this was so unexpected. When a renewal of the sobs threatened, she stopped his attempt to answer. “Later. Save it for later.”

As he continued to gulp at air, she rolled his bed up some and poured him a glass of water, then she reached over and turned off the machine and its beep.

Drinking the glass of water showed Derrick the needle in his arm and the plastic tube that led to a bag hanging from a tall rack on the other side of the bed. He drew enough air to speak and forced his chest to stop convulsing. “How long have I been here? Where is here?”

“You’ve been here for a couple weeks, and here is Los Angles. The Los Angles Medical Center, where I work, in California. I told you once, remember.”

“I remember,” said Derrick, but then he frowned. “How did I get here and why here?”

Anya smiled. “Well, I’m glad you can ask questions. The elves brought you here. Aramil found you in your grove. The dryads had been doing what they could for you, but you wouldn’t wake. Not even Lord Galánodél could get a response out of you, so they brought you here. Nobody knows what happened. You sent Aramil home some three weeks before – if he hadn’t come back to check on you, who knows how much longer the dryads would have been able to keep you alive.”

Derrick gasped. “The grove.”

Anya watched the blood leave Derrick’s face. “Take it easy. The grove is fine.”

Derrick shook his head and then closed his eyes, dropping his head in shame. “I really messed things up this time. Maybe I should go back to my father’s house and give it all up.”

“No, Derrick. You’re a good guardian, maybe the best that’s been for hundreds of years, and if you hadn’t gone to the grove, you’d have died. Tell me what happened.”

Derrick sucked a deep breath and found that breathing wasn’t so difficult now. He’d been distracted enough that at least some of the words might come out with some kind of reason. He dropped his head back on his pillow and stared at the ceiling. “I’ve been in contact…from time to time…with the detective who was looking for me from the first. He handles cases like kidnappings and child abuse. Aramil and I were out hunting – sort of – when we came across a manhunt. I recognized one of the detectives…he was the partner. I asked him.” Derrick’s eyes traced contours in the ceiling while his mind ordered events. “They had lost their quarry. I had to find them or the hunt might penetrate too far.” Derrick closed his eyes and shook his head. “I took the girl home…to my home. It was so sudden…so fast. I think I would have died for her…I would have taken a bullet to protect her…her very existence was my life. He had beaten her and she was so afraid and so ashamed. She wouldn’t go to her home…not like that, so I took her with me. In truth, I could do nothing else. I made her a promise though – a promise I vowed to stand by. She had to tell me everything, no lies, not one; if she lied…” Derrick gasped hard three full times before he continued. “If she lied, I’d wash my hands of her. I don’t know what I would have done otherwise, but I was trying to think of a plan. I wanted her to stay. So bad, I wanted her to stay. I’d have done most anything…I think.” Tears were rolling down Derrick’s cheeks again, but his voice stayed clear. “She couldn’t do it; she told me a lie and it wasn’t just some little white lie, it was a big one, an important one. I think I died then…inside. I kept her there for another week and I think most of her lying habit had been broken. I taught her a few things and she grew confident…but I’d made a promise…a promise I had to keep. She’d lied to me. She had to go. I took her to the detective’s house and left her there. I remember going to the grove.” He sniffed and looked up at the ceiling again with red eyes. “I don’t remember much else in real time.” Anya handed him another Kleenex and he blew his nose again. “I had dreams though. Other wives. Other girlfriends. Me dying first. Them dying first. Sometimes old, most times young. Them deciding not to stay with me. I think I must be doomed to love too much – too hard. But if they died or they left…I survived.” He closed his eyes again and drew another deep breath. “I survived.”

“So this girl’s lie brought all this on? It must have been a pretty big lie.”

“Her lie was irrelevant – part of a fabric of lies she’d woven around herself to justify hating the man her mother had married. It’s just that…I wasn’t prepared. You see, she looks – looked like…like – ha, I can’t even remember her name now. I thought I loved her too. Her lies were all to cause my death, and I don’t remember why, but they did – one of the few deaths I can remember.” He looked at Anya directly. “I can tell you this now because I remember it now – what’s left of the memory that is, but I remembered none of it then. I think the rest of me did though. I think the rest of me tried to repeat history. I don’t ever want to feel like that again.”

Anya reached out and brushed some hair away from Derrick’s face. “The life of a druid isn’t always easy. Especially the kind of life you lead. Most of us have a job and a family, children. You know, there’re only two groves in the United States and you guard the oldest one. The other one is up in Yellowstone right out in the open. Nothing like yours, but a grove just the same and carefully watched over by several of us who work there.” She smiled a sympathetic smile. “Maybe you’ll meet someone at moot. You’ll feel differently then. I hear you’re fourth now. You’ll be getting a formal invitation to attend soon.”

“It’s fifth now, since…well, for almost three months now, I guess. I can’t ask another druid to join me,” said Derrick.

Anya’s smile grew a little wider. “Fifth? Amazing. The Grand Druid is advancing you so fast. He must want you to catch up with others of your age. And don’t worry about girls, though only druids and sometimes elves come to moot, that doesn’t mean that some of them don’t have daughters at home.”

“Ah no; you’re not going to play matchmaker on me, are you?”

“You never know what a rumor might accomplish,” said Anya. “The bathroom’s right through that door. As soon as you feel strong enough, why don’t you take a shower? I’ll lay out some fresh PJs for you.” She disconnected all the wires and removed the needle from his arm, then she went over to the cabinet by the door and pulled out folded material that she put in the bathroom and then she left, still smiling.

Derrick had to smile too, though it was more from dread than anything else. He wondered how many fathers would seek him out when he attended moot. He wondered if any of them would look him up before then. And then he thought about what she’d said about the Grand Druid. She doesn’t know that the Grand Druid hasn’t promoted me even once. He must be keeping it a secret. But why would he keep such a secret from the council? And then he remembered. I never sent him word of the Lady’s latest visit.

He lay there puzzling this out for a while longer, but lying in bed was rapidly getting old; he didn’t even have the beeping from the machine to keep him company.

When Derrick rolled over to get up just as he always did, he discovered that a lot of his strength had leached away over the last however long, forcing he to test his balance slowly and carefully, forgoing all efforts to tend the gown that was only tied at his neck. It was such an embarrassing piece of material and it was more of a hindrance than of any use, so as soon as he could balance on his own two feet alone, he untied it and discarded it. He had just reached the center of the room – two or three steps from the bed and still two or three steps left to go – when a young nurse came in.

“Oh,” she said when she saw Derrick in his altogether. Then she blushed and tried to hide a smile as she stepped forward to help him cover the rest of the distance. With his grip safely on the bathroom door, she asked, “Will you be all right, or would you like me to send in a male nurse?”

Derrick looked down on the dark golden knot at the back of her head. Her hands had been strong and solid despite her furious blush. Now, she was purposely facing away from him though she had not moved. “I think I’ll be fine. I’ll be careful.”

“Okay. Since you’re already up, I’m going to change your sheets. Just call if you need any help, or there’s a buzzer in there by the sink and one by the toilet.”

“All right, thanks.”

She stayed where she was until Derrick turned on the shower before going to his bed to strip the sheets.

Not since before he had gone into his mountains, had Derrick been shy about his physique, but he’d never been in a position where he had made some girl blush. The dryads and the Lady didn’t count and they certainly didn’t blush. It was a pleasing feeling, though he couldn’t be certain if it was his physique or his being nude that had been the cause. It didn’t matter really; it was another Band-Aid on his already rapidly mending heart.

He adjusted the water so it was far less than hot. He hadn’t taken a civilized shower for years, merely washing from a bucket of warmed water right there on the hearth or bathing in a creek on hot days.

He was just wishing for an accommodating branch to scratch his back when the nurse’s voice sounded from the door. “Can I help you wash your back? You’re still weak and it might be difficult for you.”

Derrick jumped and he dropped his soap, but he recovered quick enough to answer. “You must be a mind reader; that would be nice. My back really itches.”

Her hand scooped up the soap from the floor of the shower and then gently pulled the washrag from his. “The water’s pretty cold. Are you sure you don’t want it warmer?”

“It’s hot enough. I’m not used to a hot shower. I haven’t taken a shower at all for a long time.”

Her hand lifted his hair to in front of his shoulder and then started scrubbing the soapy rag up and down his back. His back did indeed itch and her firm hand was winning a purr from his chest.

She chuckled. “Are you purring or growling?”

“Yeuhmm, both. Don’t stop.”

She rinsed out the rag and soaped it up again. This time, her reach went up his neck and around his ribs. Derrick was in heaven.

“I’m going to set a stool in by your feet. Sit down and I’ll wash your hair.”

Derrick did as he was told while her fingers combed some sense into his hair before adding the shampoo. It didn’t take long before her fingers renewed his purrs and she chuckled again. She pulled the showerhead loose from its hook to rinse the soap from his hair. She repeated the process three times before she was satisfied.

“Do you need help back to bed?”

“Na, I think I’ll just fall asleep right here,” said Derrick, thoroughly calmed and soothed.

Her humor was leaking into her voice. “Oh no you don’t.” She dropped a towel into his lap and then used another to mop up his hair and dry his back.

Derrick moved the towel up his chest and buried his face in it.

“Do you think you can manage your pajamas? I could call for some help.”

“I’m not sure I can manage this towel, but don’t call anyone; you’re doing just fine.” Secretly, he wanted to see her blush again. He turned around and she dried his feet and lower legs before threading them into his pajama pants and pulling them up past his knees, then she spread her towel on the floor for him to stand on while she caught his towel as he pulled his pants up. Using his towel, she dried his arms and shoulders, squeezing more water from his hair, and then helped him with the pajama shirt.

Though he was steadier on his feet than before, he needed her support to negotiate the vast distance back to the bed.

“Do you feel like a chair? I could comb out your hair before it dries.”

Derrick doubted he could stay awake for another five minutes, but the offer of more pampering was irresistible. Sitting in the chair while first her fingers and then a comb ordered his hair with a light touch, Derrick first slipped down and then ducked his head a bit…and then fell asleep. Her touch melted into his dream…a dream where Mahentee did the same each night and again first thing in the morning. It was almost his favorite part of their relationship. Then his heart gave a painful lurch and Derrick jumped awake. Mahentee had died, leaving him with a newborn only days old.

“Are you all right?” asked the nurse.

Still reeling from the so vivid memory, Derrick said, “I’m fine, Mahentee, just a bad dream.” The moment he said the words, his dream slid back to its place in the background of his memories and the present took its place.

“My grandfather used to call me that when I was a child. He said it was his grandmother’s name. He told me he had a portrait of her and that I was going to look just like her. I never saw it.”

“You do,” said Derrick, and then regretted those words too. How could he possibly know? He didn’t tell her that Mahentee had worn her hair in a knot too, but only when he was away; when he came home, she’d let it down loose; her thick hair reached half way down her back. It always fanned out wide across her back when it was loose and it always smelled of…of her.

“Well that’s what he said.”

Her voice interrupted his thoughts and Derrick breathed a quiet sigh. She thought that was a question. Better shut up now.

Though his hair was still wet, she braided it loosely and had Derrick climb back in bed.

“What’s your name?” he asked before she left the room.

“Melody,” she replied.

Fitting.



A touch on his shoulder and a timid “Mr. Johnson? Supper” woke Derrick with a start, causing the girl to step back. “Sorry sir, but your supper is here. Can I roll your bed up?”

Derrick glanced around and saw that the sun was dimming outside and the various apparatuses he had been hooked to had been taken away. These people move around like ghosts. “Sorry. I didn’t hear you. I’m not usually such a sound sleeper. No, leave the bed the way it is please.” Derrick sat up in the middle of his bed while the girl placed his tray on a wheeled table and rolled it to within easy reach. “You’ve been sleeping for a long time.”

“Were you watching over me?” asked Derrick, knowing better, but wanting to see her reaction.

“Oh no, sir. I’m only here after school, but sometimes the door was open.” She ducked her head in an effort to hide a smile.

Derrick smiled back at her. “Thanks…for supper.”

She smiled even wider. He might have won a blush from her too, but she was much darker than the nurse and it didn’t show.

“Lorie, come on,” called a voice from the hall.

“Coming,” called the girl, Lorie, in return. “I gotta go. I’m glad you’re awake.” She hurried from the room, her white shoes making no sound on the tile floor.

Derrick watched her go. Fascinating creatures, women – girls too. He pulled his tray in front of him and after taking one look at the contents, considered making something else, but then he’d have to explain where the different food had come from or why he hadn’t eaten what was left behind. In the end, he decided he’d eat what he was given and make more if he was still hungry – he wasn’t.

After eating, he looked around for something to do. Without moving closer, he could see nothing from his window, and the rest of the room, though intended to feel comfortable, was merely functional. Having never been one to merely sit and do nothing, Derrick decided to explore both the limit of his endurance and his surroundings.

He wandered down the hall and found his way to a balcony on his first try. There he stood and watched the sun peek out from under a thick bank of clouds just as it disappeared below the horizon. Those clouds were way out there and didn’t show much sign of moving ashore. Here it was hot and dry. With a sigh he made use of the space and tried a few of his exercises – he just didn’t have energy for more than a sample of a few unarmed routines learned from the elves. He did, however, acquire an audience during his brief workout.

“I’m Nurse Carlyle. You’re Mr. Johnson? You just woke up this afternoon after a two-week coma and you’re able to do that much already?”

“This was pretty pitiful; I only managed a few minutes. But Anya says I’ll be here for a few more days. Perhaps you would like to join me.”

“I don’t think so. I’m very busy. You better get back to bed now. You did only just wake up.”

“Yeah, my thoughts exactly.” He headed back to his room; nurse Carlyle quickly leaving him behind.



Derrick woke early the next morning and made his way to the balcony again, preferring the leftover heat from yesterday to the artificial cool inside. He knelt in the center of the space to meditate, intending to stay there until full light. He wished for a small flame, even the rising sun, but neither were to be had – not here. Renewed and refreshed, but still feeling weak from his long sleep, his next order of business was to rebuild his strength as quickly as he could. He worked his way through the animal kingdom from the small squirrel to the fleet deer, touching on each one only briefly because he wanted enough energy left do some unarmed exercises and maybe even get up to speed.

He was just reaching a medium pace when his energy ran out and he was forced to a faltering halt. Breathing harder than he had in a long time, he clutched the railing of the balcony.

“There you are. I’ve been looking for you. Your breakfast is waiting.” It was the nurse, Melody.

Derrick spun around at the sound of her voice and then stumbled to a knee.

“Are you all right?” said Melody as she rushed forward to help him.

Using the rail, Derrick climbed back to his feet and Melody’s hands were a solid support. “I’m fine. I just stumbled. I’m still weak.” Though his words were true enough, that wasn’t the only reason for his stumble. How could I have come across two women – on opposite ends of the continent to be sure – who remind me so much of long dead wives? Though he had seen her in his room, he had been more concerned with maintaining his feet. Yes, she’d reminded him of Mahentee, but he didn’t realize just how close her resemblance was. As if her pale brown hair, streaked with sun and her fair skin, glowing with a delicate tan weren’t enough to remind him, her light brown eyes, nearly golden, was the final piece.

Oblivious, Melody pulled his arm over her shoulder. “What you were doing didn’t look too weak to me, but that stumble sure did. Come on, I’ll help you back to your room. Your breakfast is waiting.”

Derrick moved slowly; he didn’t lean on Melody, but with a hand on the wall and her arm around his waist, he made his way back to his room, and once she had seen him settled with his meal in front of him, she returned to her rounds.

After breakfast, Derrick lay in his bed for a while, sleep was far away and the energy he’d spent was rapidly returning, so he decided to do some more exploring. Instead of heading for the balcony, he went the other direction. The nurses’ station was the hub of four corridors so Derrick turned right intending to explore the remaining two…eventually. If the balcony faced the ocean, this corridor headed south, unfortunately, it didn’t end in a balcony. Instead, it ended in a roomy lobby with a large, many-paned, darkly tinted window using up most of the southern wall with a padded bench in front of it. Off to the right, there was a TV with three couches facing it, and in each corner there were a cushy chair beside a tall lamp. Six people, all of them dressed in the going hospital attire, occupied the room.

Derrick looked around at all of them. He’d seen something like this once before though the physical activity had been much more. At the bus station, people had been boarding the bus and people had been leaving the bus and the station to go home – none of them had looked directly at another. Here, the TV was on, but only one person sat on a couch and watched it. Two people sat in the chairs picking the chairs opposite of each other as far apart as possible, one read a book, the other thumbed through a magazine. Another person sat on the bench with his back to the window reading a newspaper and a man stood near the edge of the window looking out. The last person was standing not far from Derrick, looking through the bookrack and its offerings of reading materials.

Derrick sighed, such a loss; all this company and everyone was so alone. How could a species that guarded their young so closely allow itself to become so fractured at the same time? Maybe he could heal the fractures in this room at least.

He walked into the room and pushed the empty couches to the walls. “Hold on,” he said to the ancient lady who sat on one watching the TV. He flashed her a wide smile and her surprise melted into one in return. Clearing the center of the room also attracted everyone’s attention. After he turned the TV off, he spread his arms and turned a circle first one way and then the other, meeting each person’s eyes as he found them. “If you could be anything else – anything at all, what would it be?” He turned again his question for any of them who wished to answer. “Anyone?”

“I like birds,” said the old woman sitting on the couch.

“A bird it is, then.” He sank down in the middle of the floor and pulled himself into an eggshell. He didn’t want to go too far back, so he first started to twitch here and there and then his head broke through the shell, next came his feet as he kicked the shell away. Keeping his hands resting behind his butt, he tested his newfound legs by chasing bugs and worms on the floor. After every two or three finds, he stretched, spreading his wings wide and arching his back to look up at the beckoning sky. The next step was to test his wings, strengthening them, learning how to make use of them, learning how to make use of the air. He still had to eat though so he learned how to hunt, chasing flying bugs until they led him off the ground. He was bigger now and bugs weren’t enough. He hunted mice and other small rodents, graduating to rabbits and even fish. As he got stronger and faster, he targeted other flying birds in complicated aerial battles. He finished the life of his bird by flying off into the sun. His actions won a few giggles and a gasp or two, but for the most part, everyone just stared.

He was sweating freely, but his soul still soared. He turned to the people. “All right, it’s your turn. Come on now; you have no idea how good it feels to fly.” In the end, he had to physically pull some of the people into the center of the room with him, some weren’t well enough to do this and so they watched. They were all weak from their illnesses so he only took them as far back as a baby chick hunting bugs. Talking them through everything he did. At first, they were self-conscious. The flying part finally drew his small class into the activity. Everyone was giggling as they dove and hunted; Derrick was pleased when one, and then another, admitted missing their target. No one liked to admit a miss, but in truth, hunting birds missed more than they caught while hunting – unless they happened to be very lucky.

When his flock had all flown off into the sun, they sat on the couch and bench by the window breathing hard, but smiling and laughing with each other.

Two of the people hadn’t been able to join their flight – the old woman and the man who’d been reading the newspaper with his back to the window. He had a thick cast on his leg and on his forearm. A bandage covered one eye as well. He was smiling though. Derrick helped him to move to the couch by the old woman. “It’s your turn. We’ll make it simpler for you two.” He brushed the cheek of the old woman. “You might like birds, but you get to be a flower today. You can be a bird when you’re stronger.”

He started from a seed. Talking this time from the beginning, he encouraged a feeling foot to take root and then a tentative leaf to reach for the nourishing sun. Then there was another leaf followed by longer branches and more roots. The whole exercise took far less overall time than the bird did, but slow stretching and growing was taxing to their limited abilities. It was very rewarding to see their smiles widen even further when Derrick explained that the flowers they were pretending to be were smiling at the sun.

When he was finished, he saw three nurses watching from the door. He smiled a mischievous smile at his flock and his flowers, and swept the nurses into the center of the room. With them, he became the hunting wolf and they became three young rabbits for the wolf to play with. His words led them into the scene and under the encouraging laughter of the patient-spectators, the nurses played along. They dodged and tried to flee, hanging close together, each taking turns trying to hide behind another. Laughing, the nurses looked nothing like rabbits, but the threat of Derrick-wolf was unmistakable as he played with them. “I’m not very hungry, I’ve just eaten breakfast, but I will take one of you if I can’t get more. Who knows when my next hunt might be.”

He carried the hunt until his quarry began to tire and then he allowed them to perceive an escape. As they fled past, he pounced, carrying nurse Melody away from their line, causing one to run out of the door faster and the other to turn back into the room.

Irresistibly, Melody let out a shriek when Derrick’s teeth touched her throat where it met her shoulder.

Laughing, Derrick held Melody until she caught her breath recovered from the embarrassment of actually screaming. Everyone was laughing out loud, his three most recent prey were more tentative about it, but they still laughed.

Their less than subdued antics caught other attention and Nurse Carlyle was now watching. “This is a hospital, not a playground. People are trying to sleep.”

The three nurses all filed past her murmuring some sort of “yes ma’am” if they said anything at all, leaving Derrick standing in the center of the room. “Play is healthy. It builds strength and confidence. With strength and confidence comes healing. You can plainly see the difference.” He took a step closer to her. “Or are you more interested in keeping your patients as patients than you are in seeing them heal?”

No emotion showed in the woman’s face. She merely said, “Go back to your room. Dr. Federal will be making her rounds soon.”

Derrick turned to his impromptu class and said, “Same time, same place.” Then he too walked past the woman, moving slowly, staring at her eye to eye until she glanced away. Back in his room, behind his closed door, Derrick sank into his chair. He was exhausted and the morning was scarcely half-gone. Just as he was starting to doze off, he made himself get up and take a shower. The less than warm water revitalized him.

He was just heading for the bed when Anya came in. With his head buried in a towel, he didn’t see her. Not until he turned to sit on the bed did he know he had company and by then she was holding out clean pajamas for him. The smile on her face said she had been there for a few minutes at least.

“You really should wear clothes all the time around here,” said Anya.

“So I see,” said Derrick as he dressed himself.

“How are you feeling today?” she asked as Derrick was tying the string on his pants; he left the shirt on the chair.

“Weak as a baby,” said Derrick. “It’s really rather frustrating, but I’d rather go home. I can recover just as well there as I can here.”

“Possibly, but I’d rather keep you here until you’re more yourself. Your breakdown has me concerned. You’re not strong enough to weather another one by yourself.”

“I don’t think I’ll be breaking down again, not like that. Tell me something though. Who exactly is Melody?”

“Melody? Oh, you must mean Melody Sanders. I don’t know much about her personally. She’s been working here two years now and she seems to be a very reliable nurse. Why do you ask?”

Derrick sighed, but he’d started this conversation so he had to finish it. “You know about my memories?”

“Yes.” Her word was tentative.

Derrick sucked in a breath and plunged ahead. “I think she may be one of my own descendants. It’s rather unsettling.”

“I should think so. What on earth lead you to that conclusion? You didn’t say anything to her, did you?”

“Those kinds of memories are hovering rather near the surface just now and it popped up, and no, I didn’t say anything to her, nothing that she caught anyway.”

“Well don’t, she would never understand. Saying things like that could get you a padded cell all too quickly.”

“I certainly don’t plan on saying anything to her, or to anyone else. I just thought you might know if it was true. I thought she might belong to a druid family or a branch of one. It must be just a coincidence; a child was born but I’m not sure if there were any other descendants. It must be just a coincidence. Another thing; Nurse Carlyle, are you sure she has her priorities right?”

“She’s head nurse for this floor during the day shift and she runs a tight ship. Why do you ask?”

“She was very angry with me when she saw some of her patients laughing.”

“She was? They were laughing? I think that’s wonderful. I’ll have to have a talk with her. Why don’t you get some rest? I need to continue my rounds.”

“I am resting,” said Derrick.

“Then get some sleep,” she said, chuckling as she turned for the door.

Derrick watched her go. He liked her, a lot. She was easy to talk to and she seemed honest in her answers, but he hated sleeping during the day without very good reason. It generally didn’t agree with him very well. Though he hadn’t had any night terrors since he’d regained his memories, he preferred to sleep at night unless he could earn a day’s sleep by staying up all night.

He elevated the head of his bed some and lay back. If he fell asleep, so be it. If not, well, he still rested. He slept.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

And if you'd like to know what led up to Melody's need for protection, just ask and I'll post that next week.

At this point I've decided that the druid joining is off. Derrick will keep his distance, though continuing to protect her.