This is part of a book I’m writing as we go. A blog book if you will. Yeah, I know that’s not how people are supposed to go about writing/publishing/promoting books, but I’ve never been a fan of rules.
My previous post was the forward to it.
It’s too late. The fire is dying.
Shhh, I think I hear something.
Huddled around the dwindling fire, the women spoke with haggard voices that suited their aged faces.
They listened carefully for any movement, the smallest sign that tonight would bring what they had long waited for.
Leaves rustled in the distance, followed by the sharp snap of a twig.
Hurry, he’s coming! Bring the oil!
They placed the pan with the oil on the fire and soon a strange earthy aroma melded with the warmth from the fire. The rustling in the woods was coming closer. Even the fire seemed to quiver with anticipation.
Remember, he doesn’t know. It is not for us to tell him.
Shhh, he’s here.
The women’s knowing eyes looked at last on the face they had seen only in their visions…the frightened, dirty face of the boy who stumbled out of the woods.