Elin Gregory

It’s that time of week again – Six Sentence Sunday – where writers all over the world give a little peep between the covers of their WIPs or published works.

It’s a simple procedure. Just register with the Six Sunday website then post your six sentences – no more no less – on the following Sunday. Anyone who wishes can get to your post from the link on the website. Most weeks I manage to read most of the excerpts and I comment quite often. If I haven’t commented it doesn’t mean I didn’t like yours. I might just have had a router hiccup, or my ancient RAM deficient PC couldn’t cope with stuff on the website, or the phone rang and I forgot I hadn’t done it. Six Sunday is one of the highlights of my week. It’s great to feel that I’m not the only one tussling with characters and trying to bend them to my will for plot purposes when we all know that my guys would probably sooner romp off to get drunk and find someone to fight.

So, this week’s Six. As usual it is from my WIP A Fierce Reaping, concerning the 300 warriors sent by King Marro to drive the Saxons out of Bernicia.

The next morning Cynon led them on a long patrol, riding east to the sea then south along the coast, in filthy weather and an increasingly filthy mood. They followed Cynon through bogs and across rivers. They swam their horses from one bay to another, scaled cliffs and felled saplings to build a bridge from poles and raw leather taken from hinds they shot with their bows. They ate well, slept huddled together for warmth in what little shelter they could find and by the time they turned homeward it was with a new sense of purpose.
“I’ll kill him,” Aeddan snarled, glaring towards the head of the column, where Cynon’s bay horse was stepping out proudly.
“And I’ll hold him down while you do it,” Cynfal agreed.

I’m a bit distracted at the moment, dears. Last Saturday my beloved dog was taken ill and the poor lad died on Wednesday. I’m heartbroken, as is the rest of the family. We’ll miss his silly big black  face. He was a PROPER dog – big and furry – and the kindest, most joyous, tolerant and caring soul one could wish to meet. ;_;

Nevertheless, it’s Six Sentence Sunday time again – you can join up on the site here.

Simplicity itself – register, then, on the following Sunday, post six sentences from a WIP or published work to the blog corresponding to the URL you registered.

As usual my excerpt is from A Fierce Reaping, my story set in Scotland and Northumbria in the 6th/7th century AD. Cynon has dismissed Cynfal, telling him to return to his friends while Cynon has a ‘word’ with his cousin, Gwion. Once back with Aeddan, Cynfal asks what’s going on.

Aeddan stretched a bit to look across to the dark corner where Cynon was standing over the harper, his hand on the thin shoulder, giving Gwion a little shake for emphasis as he spoke. Gwion seemed to be trying to distract himself from what Cynon was saying, looking firstly towards Aneurin and then along the hall.
“I’m not sure,” Aeddan admitted, “but, at a guess, Cynon is trying to get him to go back to Aeron and it would be better for all if he did – having someone like that in the hall can only be bad luck.”
As if sensing he was being discussed Gwion stared at Cynfal and again Cynfal felt the heat of lust arise, but gentler this time. The harper’s face was open and easily read. He wanted Cynfal, but there was a tension about his mouth that suggested he did not intend to give in to his desires.

I was awful last week and didn’t reply to my comments. I’m so sorry. However I think I managed to at least READ every entry on the Six Sunday  list. Well worth doing because some of them are terrific.

As usual it is from A Fierce Reaping, my story set in Scotland and Northumbria in the early 7th century AD. Some of Troop three are in the King’s hall accompanying their leader, Cynon, Cynfal has been ‘vamped’ by an edgy individual called Moried, and has been dismissed by Cynon, who wants a ‘word’ with his cousin Gwion.  Cynon is the speaker at the beginning of the excerpt.

“Oh, one thing – if I were you, I’d take care with Moried.” He nodded a farewell and left Cynfal wondering.
How much of what had been going on with Moried had Cynon seen? And just what was he so anxious to talk to Gwion about? Obviously there was one person who would be bound to know. Cynfal had often heard men complain of women’s gossip but in his experience nobody gossiped like soldiers in camp and of them all Aeddan was the one who made it his business to know everything.
Aeddan was sitting on Cynfal’s cloak, ‘to keep it warm’ he said, and greeted Cynfal with a grin.

Ignore the ‘Read More’ button. I clicked that by accident.

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