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Welcome again to WIPpet Wednesday. If you’re new around here, this is the day of the week over a dozen bloggers from around the world post excerpts from their works in progress. If you’re interested in reading some of these or joining the fun, click the smiley guy on the right. If you want to join, the rules are very simple.

  1. Post an excerpt of your WIP that corresponds to the date. (See my example below.)
  2. Use the linky (the smiley guy) to add your WIPpet to the bunch.
  3. Bow, scrape, and generally show obeisance to our gracious hostess, K L Schwengel. (Don’t skimp. She has mind control powers.)

This week, I’ll follow up on last week’s surprise with Arvid’s reaction. If you missed the surprise, don’t worry. It quickly becomes evident. Since today is the 18th, I offer 18ish lines. (And yes, my dear girl-power ladies, I know I have a man rescuing her. Don’t worry. It’s okay. She’s still tough stuff. She just hasn’t encountered this situation before.)

Quick reminder: In Arvid’s society, you’re considered an adult as soon as you complete your rite of passage. Hence the teenage men.

Arvid hadn’t been aware her mouth was hanging open. She snapped it shut. What just happened? She wasn’t even supposed to be in the center ring, how did she end up being chosen? Blood rushed to her cheeks. Ouida stepped close, linking her arm through Arvid’s and turning her in a slow circle. “Wave, dear.”

Arvid lifted her hand, her arm jerking in a poor imitation of Oudia’s graceful wave.

“You might want to smile, too. That dumbfounded look is not exactly awe inspiring.”

Arvid smiled so widely her cheeks ached.

“I guess that’s close enough.”

As soon as the High Elder reseated himself, a throng of people surged forward, their enthusiastic congratulations and admiration jostling Arvid like a river tumbling rocks. She felt lost in a torrent of hands and words.

With painful leisure, the crowd thinned and dispersed, talking excitedly as they strolled into the night. A group of teenage men, not yet battle-seasoned, loitered around, flexing their muscles, turning backflips, questioning Arvid about her game preferences, and subsequently expounding upon their seemingly unrivaled abilities to hunt said game. The boldest of them flung ungraceful innuendos in Arvid’s direction. Oya and Kiano lounged nearby, bemused smiles filling their faces. Unused to so much attention, Arvid had no idea how to discourage the men’s infatuation without causing them shame or embarrassment, feelings she rarely wished on anyone. When one of them slipped an arm around her waist and suggested her oratorical skills shouldn’t be limited to battle cries, Kiano sprang from his seat and decked the man before Arvid could sputter a response.

 

Tavern Scene by Cornelis Bega, 1664 Somehow I doubt he'll get far with the barmaid.

Tavern Scene by Cornelis Bega, 1664
Somehow I doubt he’ll get far with the barmaid.

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