WRITERS WRITE...WRITING PARTNERS FEUD ~ AS PROMISED 2 ~ EXCERPT SNAKE DANCE ~ The Meeting
A: According to Meditations by Marcus Aurelius Antoninus, "Very little is needed to make a happy life." For me that is reading.
Z: Add a good well-creamed cup of coffee, and life is yummy good!
A: Make mine tea.
Z: Ah, yes, I nearly forgot, you are a first class tea lover.
A: Yes, but, errr, I meant, please make me a cuppa tea as you get your coffee.
Z: Only if you share the excerpt from SNAKE DANCE.
In the vast ebony chasm of space, on the planet Starling wRen, a winged chickalas with the rare ability to fly defies a submissive heritage, braving the dark legends of the Asp to be with VeIper, enemy to the Kin, the protectors of her Nestling.
Meanwhile, VeIper seeks to free his species from ethnic cleansing as well as win the awe of the beautiful and defiant wRen. Mong, a slayer, has already claimed wRen and vows to destroy those of VeIper's kind. Each seek their vision with rapacious intensity but with Mong's impervious power, the subjugation of wRen and the death of VeIper might be pre-destined.
A flash of humility engulfed him. Was he worthy of a
female so stunning and so blessed? The croon of modesty
twined a slow drone halted when remembering the words of
Stealth that cleansed the soil of the question: There has
been no other blessed like you…seek your destiny. Was she
his destiny? Were they intended to co-join?
wRen felt herself being watched and scanned the
woodlands. The hurt fawn had already disappeared, and
nothing within her sight moved except that which the wind
willed. Yet, upon a second sweep she noticed a tall, cobra
caped figure hidden at the tree line and instantly recognized
the lean, wiry shape of an asp-tribal.
There was something very appealing about the stance
of him, about the dark depths of his stare and the deeper
shading of his flesh. She never associated males with the
word beautiful, but this asp was just that. Even the doubleetched
scar from brow to neck did not distract from that
beauty. She should have fled. Was taught and told to do so.
She saw nothing to fear. Felt no fright and sensed no doom.
She just stared. Though he was a distant figure she could
make out his markings; the urge to run her hand over those
markings tugged movement. She nearly stepped forward,
and it wasn’t sense that kept her still but the realization that
his stare had become a lure. She experienced a hypnotic
draw of not just eyes but a sudden swaying movement. She
felt her body respond as she imitated that movement. Then
just as abruptly they both stilled. Neither broke the bold,
blatant stare, each seemingly wanting to memorize the
other. She wondered what he found interesting about her,
what kept him from turning away. But that was just a brief
flash of thought for she was too immersed in devouring the
visual feast of him. She noticed the hardness, the coloring,
the rugged appeal of every sculpted bodily and facial plane.
But it was his hands that caught her sudden attention. They
hung open at his side, palms out as if offering an invitation.
Even from such a distance she could tell they were large
hands, apparently strong. A sudden urgency to study those
hands, know the lines of them, the texture of them claimed
her. She wanted to turn them over, explore the intricacies of
them, and then she wanted…wanted…. She wasn’t quite
certain, but, oh yes, there was want.
What was it that kept her from looking away?
Perchance it was simply the mystique that was associated
with those of his breed. Forbidden. One simple word that
encompassed so much: Forbidden. The jiggle of it played
with marvelous fervor. Forbidden. Oh how savory that appeal
could be but wRen wasn’t of such a contrarian nature…. Or
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