Jianne Carlo - The Call of a Soul - new release & Contest

So, the pancakes are finished, everyone’s eating, and I can blog for a while.

I am so thrilled about my new release this week, The Call of a Soul, the prequel to my 2009 release White Wolf, comes out this Tuesday, March 6, 2012. It’s a page-turning erotic paranormal suspense set in rural Michigan with some hot smexin’ and an alpha wolf hero to die for! Not that his mate, Melanie, is any slouch – no way baby – she can hold her own and then some.

The cover artist, Marci Gass, did an amazing job – or so I think. Above are both the White Wolf and The Call of a Soul covers.

To me, it’s immediately obvious when you see the two covers side by side that they’re part of a series. What do you think?

I’m celebrating The Call of a Soul’s release on March 6, 2012 with a contest today.

Answer the question at the end of each post today and you’re entered in a drawing for a $20 Amazon gift certificate and a copy of one of my books. Answer either in a comment or email to me at: jianne@jiannecarlo.com, but make sure to specify your email address. Winner(s) will be announced on my website on Tuesday. Contest entries close on Monday, March 5, 2012 at midnight.

Question # 1: What genres do I write?

Cheers,

Jianne Carlo

P.S. Make sure you check out my KINDLE FIRE CONTEST – details at www.jiannecarlo.com

Excerpt: KNIGHT OF RUNES by Ruth A. Casie - PG 13

Rebeka eyed Logan. He couldn’t be more different from his brother, she thought, noting his open, friendly face. Still he had the hard look of a warrior. She watched him stand and turn in the direction of the trees—almost as if he were looking for something.

“Get up,” he called out suddenly. “Get up now.” She was on her feet in a moment, but even as she wondered what was happening, a band of men attacked from the forest. It wasn’t an act, she realized in shock as she caught sight of their sharp knives. Fantasy blended with reality, and she instinctively threw off her cloak and reached for her staff.

She’d allowed herself to get too self-absorbed. She should have heard their approach. At once, she saw her mistake, but quickly got back into the moment. She was not in optimum condition but she could hold her own. The others wouldn’t need to concern themselves about her.

She hiked up what was left of her skirt and stood next to Doward, not for protection, but as a partner. Logan stood several yards away wielding his sword, fighting off attackers as he tried to reach her and the tinker. Logan’s face was in a snarl, his lips drawn back, his teeth clenched. His body was tight yet flexible as he gripped his sword firmly, executing each swing with precision.

Rebeka took a deep breath and the music played inside her head. The strong rapid beat of the rock music unlocked that secret place inside her. She heard and saw nothing. She perceived and felt everything. She was focused, ready and totally committed.

Three men attacked her and Doward. They must have expected them to be easy prey. Rebeka took full advantage to rid herself of her pent-up frustrations where it would do the most damage. She showed no mercy.

An attacker came at her with a staff. She stepped to the side and his strike hit empty air. She brought the end of her staff up, jabbing him under his rib cage. He tried to regain his breath, and she turned her back toward him, stepped back and wound up like a spring while she tucked her staff under her arm. As she uncoiled, she leveled her staff and swung in a full arc, smashing her attacker in the face. He went down. She swiftly spun around, raised her staff and caught another intruder in the temple, rendering him helpless.

Logan dispatched his last attacker and turned to Doward and Rebeka just as she smashed another man in the temple. He smiled, let out a war cry and joined her in the battle. He didn’t want to miss any of the fun.

“For Honor!” She heard Arik’s answer to Logan’s war cry ring through the forest and sensed more than saw him arrive. She didn’t have time to look.

She and Logan, with Doward between them, stood back to back staving off the attackers. Five surrounded them now. Holding her staff in two hands across her body, she moved in a quick succession of strikes. She spun into position and caught the attacker in the throat. Windmilling her staff to put it in position, she turned to the other side and, with a low level swing brought him down at his knees. She flipped over the next man who tried to skewer her with a knife and smashed him in the groin. Another attacker took his place. She parried and quickly found her opening, cleanly leveling her weapon across his neck. He fell gasping for breath. She spun to meet the next threat and came face to face with Arik.

Briefly, the music in her head skipped a beat. An eerie silence blanketed the battle. She heard her own breathing and the echo of her heartbeat in her ears. Everything stopped as she registered the desire in his eyes. Not now, she told herself. His penetrating desire burned her to a cinder. Not now. Fighting for control, she tore her eyes away from him before she lost all concentration, feeling a sense of loss. Not now. She willed the thought of him away, and pulled her eyes from his. Time resumed its normal pace.

In the heat of the fight, she winced in pain, blood trickling down her leg from her makeshift bandage. Holding her staff with both hands, she brought the end up and smashed the attacker in the eye, sending him to the ground. She twisted the staff behind her and put it in position for the next assault. Arik stood perfectly still. The attacker behind him moved closer.

She didn’t think he saw the man behind him ready to strike and didn’t wait to find out. She planted her staff solidly on the ground and vaulted high, tucking her left leg under her for balance. Arik reversed his grip on the sword and jabbed it behind him pinning the man on the spot as she threw her right leg out, kicking the enemy squarely in the temple with her heel. Arik pulled his sword out of the attacker’s chest, the man twice dead. There was no time to stop as the remaining maurders advanced. Arik fought as a man possessed, Rebeka alongside him.

Finally, the attackers lay dead at their feet.

Rebeka closed her eyes and waited for the last of the music to fade. The adrenaline spent, her thigh throbbing, she limped over to Doward.

“Who is this woman?” Arik’s voice drifted over to her. Rebeka looked up. He spoke to Logan who was cleaning a blade.

“I’d be careful taking a walk with her. She does have a way with her walking staff.” Logan laughed. He turned serious. “These men weren’t from our area,” he said, his voice casual. Arik nodded.

“Arik.” Rebeka stood a bare twelve inches from him. “They were cunning. They chose an area where we would have to split up. They must have taken the bridge apart to force us to separate. But they didn’t show the same degree of expertise in their fighting. These were not skilled fighters and they gained nothing. They were clumsy and…well, lazy. They didn’t fight with purpose. And look at their wrists.” She pointed to the outstretched arm of a dead attacker. “Each carries a mark on the inside of their right wrist, a T.” She drew the symbol in the loose dirt with her staff as she spoke.

She stopped. The men were unnaturally quiet and motionless. Their stare chilled her to the bone.

“Woman, had you waited for your proper escort this would have been avoided. Do you know how you risked the lives of my men?” His words were measured and precise.

“What?” Rebeka looked at him, astounded. “I did no such—”

“Silence.” His muscles rippled and tensed, making him look more frightening. Like a fly caught on paper, his cold stare pinned her to the spot. “Know your place, woman, and show respect. I did not give you permission to address me or my men.” He spoke in a controlled tone, but though he never raised his voice, every muscle shouted.

“What do you mean?” She wasn’t intimidated, she wasn’t cowering, and she definitely let him know it. She took a firm step toward him, setting herself scant inches in front of him. She met his stare, her violet eyes on fire. “I just saved your ass!” She saw the flare of his nostril and glint in his eye. She heard someone’s quick intake of breath. She caught them all off guard. A brief smirk lit her face. 

KNIGHT OF RUNES
                 by Ruth A. Casie
                 www.RuthACasie.com
                 www.blogspot.ruthacasie.com

Excerpt: KNIGHT OF RUNES by Ruth A. Casie - PG

England

May, 1605

I should not have stayed away from the Manor so long. Something stirs. Lord Arik’s eyes swept the surrounding area as he and his three riders escorted the wagon with the old tinker and the woman. They sped through the forest as fast as the rain-slicked trail would allow. Unable to shake the ominous feeling of being watched, Arik remained alert. At length, the horses winded, he slowed the pace as they neared the Stone River.

“The forest is flooded. I suspect the Stone will be as well. Willem, ride on ahead and let me know what we face at the crossing.”

Willem did his lord’s bidding and quickly returned with his report. “The river ahead runs fast, m’lord. The bridge is in disrepair and cannot be crossed.”

Arik raised his hand and brought the group to a halt. “Doward,” he said to the old tinker. “We must make repairs. There’s no room for the wagon at the river’s edge. You and the woman stay here and set up camp. Be ready to join us at the bridge when I send word.”

Logan, Arik’s brother, spoke up. “I’ll keep watch here and help Doward and Rebeka.”

Arik nodded and, with the others, continued the half mile to the bridge.

“I am not pleased with this new delay.”

“It can’t be helped, m’lord. We would make better time without the wagon,” said Simon.

“I’ll not leave Doward and the woman unescorted through the forest, not with what we’ve heard lately. We’ll have to drive hard to make up the lost time.”

The frame of the bridge stood solid, the planks scattered everywhere, clogging the banks and shallows. Arik leaped from his horse onto the frame to begin the repairs.

“Hand me that planking.” Arik pointed to the nearest board.

Simon grabbed the plank and examined it. “Sir, these boards have been deliberately removed.”

Arik took the board and lifted it before him. An arrow whooshed out of the trees, and slammed into the plank’s edge. Willem pulled his axe from his belt as Arik and Simon drew their swords. In a fluid, practiced movement, Willem spun and found his mark. He sent his axe flying. The archer fell into the river and was swept downstream, Willem’s axe still lodged in his forehead. A dozen or more attackers broke through the stand of trees.

Arik tossed the board into the river and readied his sword. The enemy was poorly dressed carrying clubs and knives. There was only one sword among them. The leader. Arik’s target.

“They plan to pin us here at the river’s edge. Come, we’ll take the offensive before they form up.” They moved forward, driving a wedge through the enemy’s ragged line, forcing what little formation they had to scatter and fight, each man for himself.

A man, club in hand, rushed at Arik. Before the attacker could bring his weapon into play, Arik pivoted around him. He raised his sword high, and slammed the hilt’s steel pommel squarely on the man’s head. Arik moved on before the man’s lifeless body dropped to the ground.

Willem and Simon, on either side of Arik, advanced through the melee. Their swift continuous swordplay moved smoothly from one stroke to the next, whipping through the air. They slashed on the downswing and again on the backswing, sweeping their weapons back into position to repeat the killing sequence. The knight and his soldiers steadily advanced, punishing any man who dared to come near them.

“For Honor!” Logan’s war cry carried from the small camp to Arik’s ears.

Arik stiffened. Both camps were now under attack. He pulled his blade from an attacker’s chest. The body crumpled to the blood-soaked ground. Arik breathed deeply, the coppery taste of blood in the air. “For Honor!” he bellowed in answer. His men echoed his call, arms thrown wide, muscles quivering, the berserker’s rage overtaking them.

The remaining attackers paled and fled headlong into the forest.

Motioning to his men to follow, Arik raced toward the camp. He could hear the shouts, and cursed himself for not seeing the danger. He crested the hill and came to an abrupt halt.

Logan’s sword ripped through the air as he protected Doward. The tinker drew his short blade and did as much damage as he could. But it was the woman Arik noticed. Her skirt hiked up, she twirled her walking stick like a weapon with an expertise that left him slack-jawed. She dispatched the attackers, one by one, in a deadly well-practiced dance. A man rushed toward her, knife in hand. The sneer on his face didn’t match the fear in his eyes. She stepped out of his line of attack, extended her stick to her side, and holding it with both hands swept the weapon forward, striking the attacker across the bridge of his nose. Blood exploded from his face in an arc of fine spray as his head snapped back. Droplets dusted her face creating an illusion of bright red freckles. As he fell, she reversed her swing and caught him hard behind his knees. He went down on his back, spread-eagled. She swung her stick over her head and landed a precise and disabling blow to his forehead that knocked him unconscious.

As she spun to face the next threat her eyes captured Arik’s and held. In the space of an instant, time slowed to a crawl. Her hair slowly loosened from its pins and swirled out around her. His breath caught and his heartbeat quickened as a rapturous surge raced through his body. Something eternal and familiar, with a sense of longing, unsettled him. In the next heartbeat, she tore her eyes away, leaving him empty. Time resumed its normal pace. Another attacker lay at her feet.

Arik joined the fight.

KNIGHT OF RUNES

by Ruth A. Casie

www.RuthACasie.com

www.blogspot.ruthacasie.com

Romance Over the Centuries

Not too long ago I found a great post on Sapphire Phelan’s Passion Center. She had a great overview of the history of romance over the centuries. She provided insight into the etymology (origin) of words, history of romantic practices, and how love and marriage has changed over the centuries.

The need to procreate and to be close to another person hasn’t changed over the centuries. It’s part of who and what we are. What has changed is how we go about it. The romance of it all.

Sapphire’s post starts with the Greek explanation of the four types of love, philia, brotherly or familial love, eros intimate or romantic love, storge an affection or fondness and agape a selfless or spiritual love.

The definition locked down, she begins her march through time. This is what I found so intriguing. She acknowledges the brutality of the ancients raiding villages to capture wives, and moved on to the Medieval custom of arranged marriages for property, monetary and political alliances. She also provided the origin of honeymoon.

I hadn’t realized that today’s courting rituals was rooted in medieval chivalry. “The importance of love in a relationship emerged as a reaction to arranged marriages. Still, it was not considered a prerequisite in matrimonial decisions. Suitors wooed their intended with serenades and flowery poetry… Chastity and honor were highly regarded virtues. In 1228, women first gained the right to propose marriage in Scotland, a legal right that then slowly spread through Europe.”  This era saw the rise of romance in literature and on the stage, albeit only men performing.

Loves spoons were all the rage in 17th century Wales as a way for a suitor to state his case. In England, chivalrous gentlemen sent a pair of gloves to the object of their affection hoping they would wear them to church on Sunday as a sign of their acceptance. The Renaissance had its own customs keeping in mind that the main goal was to produce children.

During the Victorian Era courting was very formal and controlled. As Sapphire mentioned, “It became a sort of art form among the upper classes.” There’s a great web site by Michelle J. Hoppe that gives all the particulars for Courting the Victorian Lady.

Today, romance still blooms. Many of the traditional methods of dating are no longer of much use to either sex these days. Though some of even the oldest ideas are still considered romantic in our times, many are not practiced simply because they do not seem to fit in our modern world. To me romance is soft and tender quiet words spoken, small things done without asking, It’s time alone as well as time with friends. It’s a touch, a kiss, a whisper, and sometimes even silence.

What is romance to you?

Hi, I'm Ruth A. Case. I'm a seasoned profession with over twenty-five years of writing experience but not in writing romance. No, I've been writing communication and marketing documents for a large corporation. Over the past years, encouraged by my friends and family, I gave way to my inner muse, let my creative juices flow, and began writing a series of historic time travel romance novels. I live in Teaneck, New Jersey, with my husband. We have three grown children and two grandchildren. 

My debut book, KNIGHT OF RUNES, published by Carina Press, is a historical time travel romance and is currently available. EXCERPTS: Come back today after 2:00 pm ET and witness the attack on Lord Arik. Later, at 7: pm ET, be there as Rebeka shows him the stuff a modern woman is made of.

Discover strong men and empowered women as the face unexpected challenges. Watch their stories unfold as the encounter magic, danger, and passion. Join them as they race across the pages to places where love and time know no bounds. I hope they become your favorite adventures.

Calen (BK 1 My Soul To Keep Trilogy) by Rie McGaha

BUY HERE

Blurb:

When Calen MacLeod begins having dreams of an ethereal beauty who beckons to him, he passes it off as just having an itch he hasn't scratched in a long time. But when he leaves on a journey to find her, following the directions she's given him in his dreams, he begins to doubt his sanity. And when he finds himself high in the Mackinaw Mountains in a secret fortress with unicorns and a pink and white castle, surrounded by women, each one more beautiful than the next, it's a fantasy no man would want to wake up from. But Arianna is the only woman for Calen.

The women of the Fortress have lived in peace, hidden away from the humans who tried to annihilate them all. But now a 500-year-old demon is out to destroy the women's matriarch, Ariella, and he'll stop at nothing to complete his mission. When Calen MacLeod shows up, he throws a wrench into Damon's plans. Never let it be said Damon isn't ready for anything, but when he kidnaps Arianna and takes her to modern day San Francisco, is he ready to meet Calen, who will stop at nothing to save his ladylove?

Calen by Rie McGaha - EXCERPT

Calen dipped under the water to rinse and came up with a splash, and almost choked when he saw her standing at the water's edge, staring at him. Afraid to move a muscle, he feared she'd disappear if went toward her. He watched, mesmerized as she raised her hands and slipped the thin gown off her shoulders, letting it pool on the ground at her feet. He made a strangled sound as he drank in the sight of her nude body. Never had he seen anyone so beautiful. She took one slow, careful step at a time until she stood less than arm's length from him. Silent and still, he held his breath.

She reached out to him, placed her hand on his bare chest, and let her fingers slide beneath the water over his stomach. He placed his hand over hers and stepped into her. Reaching for her, he touched her silky hair, and let his fingers fall to her shoulders. She was so small, he thought as he looked down at her, the water that barely reached his ribcage rose to her chest, causing her breasts to float and making hard peaks of her nipples.

He grasped her around the waist and lifted her to him. Her hands laced around his neck, weaving through his hair as his mouth met hers and he drank. She opened to him with a sigh and wrapped her legs around his waist. His hands fisted in her hair, pulling her head back as he took the kiss deeper. The air sizzled and popped, the earth tilted, and the wind whipped the branches of the trees. Desire ripped through him, and he pressed her, demanded more from her, and she gave willingly.

His mouth bruised hers as their tongues mated, and his hands slid down her back, over her bottom, and he lifted her. The tip of his hardness pressed against her; with one movement he could be buried deep inside of her. A growl rose from his chest as he fought the urge to slam into her. He would not take her like this, not the first time. So he forced himself to break the kiss, to pull back, and sucked in a lung-full of air. She tilted her head as he looked into her eyes.

"Not like this," he said on a ragged breath and carried her through the water to the bank. He scooped up the gown she'd worn and carried her to the bed he'd made by the fire. He set her on the pallet and used a clean shirt to dry her, then slid under the blanket and pulled her in close to him. She curved into his body like she'd been made for him. He rose on one elbow and looked deep into her eyes.

"I don't even know your name." He kissed her forehead, her eyelids, and her cheeks.

"Arianna," she said softly.

"Arianna." He repeated her name reverently, like a prayer.

He kissed her again, gently, and sucked her bottom lip into his mouth. Her breasts pressed against his chest, and the kiss went deeper. She followed him, kissing him back like it was something they'd done time after time. Moving his hand down her body, over her flat stomach, and down her legs to the soft flesh of her inner thighs, his fingers searched, until she shifted, and he found the center of her heat. He moved a finger over her, and the downy hair parted for him as she raised her hips to him.

While gently stroking her clitoris, he watched her face. She gasped, and her eyes flew open. Gazing into her clear, blue eyes, he continued to stroke her. When she gave in to the sensation, her eyes glazed, and he slipped a finger inside her. His tongue flicked over his lips, then he kissed her again, while she wrapped her fingers in his hair and lifted her hips, writhing beneath him. Stroking the taut little nub, he brought her ever closer to the edge, until she dug her nails into his skin and arched beneath him, shouting her release.

Moving up her body, he sucked a nipple into his mouth and laved it gently as he positioned himself between her legs. When she looked up at him from beneath thick lashes, a contented smile curving her lips he slid into her slowly, stopping when she gasped. He kissed her temples, inhaled the scent of her hair, and forced himself to remain still until she relaxed again. He entered her little by little, stopping when he met the barrier of her virginity.

"It's going to hurt you," he whispered hoarsely. "I'm sorry, but it'll only be for a moment."

"I know." She kissed his lips and ran a finger over his brow.

"Hold on to me." He pushed into her, and she sucked in a breath at the intrusion. He stilled, allowed her to adjust to him and then moved slowly until he was buried inside of her. "Are you all right?"

"Mmmm," she purred, "more than all right."

"You feel so good." He moaned and pressed into her as far as he could. He moved. She moved.

"Just like that," she murmured.

Blog Blast 2011

Calen (BK 1 My Soul To Keep Trilogy) by Rie McGaha

BUY HERE

Blurb:

When Calen MacLeod begins having dreams of an ethereal beauty who beckons to him, he passes it off as just having an itch he hasn't scratched in a long time. But when he leaves on a journey to find her, following the directions she's given him in his dreams, he begins to doubt his sanity. And when he finds himself high in the Mackinaw Mountains in a secret fortress with unicorns and a pink and white castle, surrounded by women, each one more beautiful than the next, it's a fantasy no man would want to wake up from. But Arianna is the only woman for Calen.

The women of the Fortress have lived in peace, hidden away from the humans who tried to annihilate them all. But now a 500-year-old demon is out to destroy the women's matriarch, Ariella, and he'll stop at nothing to complete his mission. When Calen MacLeod shows up, he throws a wrench into Damon's plans. Never let it be said Damon isn't ready for anything, but when he kidnaps Arianna and takes her to modern day San Francisco, is he ready to meet Calen, who will stop at nothing to save his ladylove?

Calen by Rie McGaha - EXCERPT

"Da, we've returned with news you aren't going to like," Caleb called out.

William stood and turned to the trio. He raised his brows as he looked them over. "So who's this then?" He nodded toward the boy in Calen's arms.

"That's what you're not going to like, Da. We need to get the babe here to Margaret for care, and then we can tell you the tale."

William pulled the rope, and a loud bell rang out. A moment later, Margaret came in from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a cloth.

"What is it you're wanting? I've bread to finish kneading if you want it for supper," she said, looking at William.

He sighed. The woman had no respect, but without her he'd have never been able to raise his sons after their mother died.

Margaret turned toward Calen and Caleb and opened her arms to them. She walked over and wrapped all of them in a hug.

"My boys are home." She put a hand on each of their faces and patted their cheeks, and nodded toward the boy. "And what have we here?"

Taking the child from Calen, she hugged him to her breast, then looked at the two  grown men with questions in her eyes, but they shook their heads.

"Later," Calen said.

Margaret nodded. "Aren't you a sweet one?" She cooed to the little boy. He nuzzled closer to her, and she hugged him tightly.

"How old are you now? Can you show me?" He held up four fingers. "Oh, well aren't you a big boy then. Can you tell me your name?"

"Arion," he said barely above a whisper.

"Arion," Margaret repeated loudly and then headed back toward the

kitchen door.

The three men watched until the pair disappeared.

"He wouldn't even look at us," Caleb said with a shake of his head.

William grinned. "Like all of us, I s'pose he knows Margaret will get what

she wants, so it's just as well to give it to her and get it over with."

Blog Blast 2011

Calen (BK 1 My Soul To Keep Series) by Rie McGaha

 BUY HERE

Blurb:

When Calen MacLeod begins having dreams of an ethereal beauty who beckons to him, he passes it off as just having an itch he hasn't scratched in a long time. But when he leaves on a journey to find her, following the directions she's given him in his dreams, he begins to doubt his sanity. And when he finds himself high in the Mackinaw Mountains in a secret fortress with unicorns and a pink and white castle, surrounded by women, each one more beautiful than the next, it's a fantasy no man would want to wake up from. But Arianna is the only woman for Calen.

The women of the Fortress have lived in peace, hidden away from the humans who tried to annihilate them all. But now a 500-year-old demon is out to destroy the women's matriarch, Ariella, and he'll stop at nothing to complete his mission. When Calen MacLeod shows up, he throws a wrench into Damon's plans. Never let it be said Damon isn't ready for anything, but when he kidnaps Arianna and takes her to modern day San Francisco, is he ready to meet Calen, who will stop at nothing to save his ladylove?

CALEN by Rie McGaha - EXCERPT

He had seen his father lying on the ground with blood running from his head. And he saw the men ripping his mother's clothes until her skirt hung in shreds, baring her from the waist down. They had tied her hands and threw her over the chopping block and fell on her one by one. The little boy didn't know what they were doing, as they slapped her, shouting and laughing all the while her cries and screams scared him, and he covered his ears. The men were strangers to the child, but one stuck in his memory. Tall, with long, dirty hair, he wore all black and had whiskers all over his face, and this man hurt his mother more than the others. The little boy cried as he watched the men and he saw the flash of a silver ring on the tall man's finger as the man's plunged through his mother's back. The blood ran down her body, down the chopping block onto the dirt.

The boy ran then. He ran back to the place where his mother had hidden him in the dark, secret corner of the hut and made himself as small as he could under the furs. He heard the men come inside, and heard their laughter as they tore up the place. They broke what could break, kicked over the table and stools, and cursed when they didn't find anything of value to steal.

"Burn it!" One of the men shouted.

"Nay," the man with ring said. "We don't want to attract attention. Leave it be and mount up. We have to find the boy!"

The little boy was so afraid, he stayed hidden under the furs all the rest of the day until it was nearly full dark. But as night fell, his full bladder drove him out of his hiding place. He had to climb under and over logs that once made up the walls of his home. That was when he found his parents lying on the ground. He stood there crying, and pee ran down his leg. He went to his mother first and shook her, patted her back and called to her over and over, but she wouldn't answer him. He then turned to his father and shook him harder, but he didn't answer either.

As the full moon rose over the forest, he sat down and wailed. After a while he fell asleep and when he awoke, it was still full dark. He shivered, and used the moon's light to his way back into the hut. Dragging the furs behind him, he went back out to his parents' side. He covered his mother first, laid between them and shared a fur with his father.

When he woke in the morning, he searched through the hut and found some bread and dried meat to eat. With no concept of time, the child slept, ate, played in the dirt, and waited for his parents to wake up.

The next morning, the child awoke to the sounds of men shouting. Fearing the mean men had returned, he ran into the remains of the hut and slid under the fallen logs to the secret corner hiding place. He heard the horses snorting and the men talking. Their voices sounded grim and low, not like the loud laughter of the ones who’d hurt his mother. Shaking with fear, he lay still and tried to make himself very small so they wouldn't notice him. He heard them as they walked around the hut, and the sound of  the fallen logs being moved around told him they were inside. A very big hand picked him up, but he was too afraid to open his eyes.

* * * *

Blog Blast 2011