Okay, you crazy, hazy-brained, cross-eyed Nanowrimoers! And sane cowards, like myself, who watch you from the sidelines and secretly envy your determination.
What was the last thing you wrote? Post it in the comments below. It doesn't have to be perfect. It doesn't even have to be good. It just has to be YOURS.
The first bird of morning trilled with freshly-wakened enthusiasm somewhere on the castle roofs as Faldur strode down the walkway of the circular courtyard where he had first arrived. A troop of mounted soldiers waited there, the best of the half-elevjan who served the King, with Mel at their head. Tall of stature and strong of girth, clad in the King’s armor, their breath steamed in the pre-dawn chill along with their horses’.
Faldur hoped that as a display of the King’s favor, they would so impress Chalmeth as to make use of their swords unnecessary, but he was glad to have the swords just the same. He clasped hands with Mel, and then turned to the groom who held Strider for him. The dory seemed small and lost beside the tall, gleaming horses; the upper curl of his thick horns came only to the nearest one’s withers. He butted Faldur impatiently.
“We’re going,” Faldur murmured. “We’ll bring her home.”