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Post by Riley on May 19, 2012 20:16:56 GMT -7
This is the summer that I'll write Ha'rai. I am seriously so close. Anyway, until I have chapters, I will put up whatever nonsense relevant to Ha'rai I deem internet-worthy. Bear with me, please.
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Post by Riley on May 19, 2012 20:20:50 GMT -7
The first item: Some details about vena life, written as if they were notes taken by an informal anthropologist: The men stand at about a meter and a half -- that is to the top of their heads. Their ears extend a couple of inches beyond that, though they are still well short of typical human stature. Most of the time, they stand very straight, though with grace and ease and none of the rigidness of young men trying to show off. Sometimes, the vena will walk on their hands and feet (which makes their resemblence to foxes so much more obvious), also with an air of naturalness. This form of locomotion isn't truly "crawling," as they walk just as fast (and can run faster) while doing it, not to mention that it is on hands and feet not hands and knees. For that matter, their legs -- hind legs, I suppose -- are shaped much like that of a dog or horse, with a gambrel and hock rather than knees and ankles. They seem to find my legs' shape very peculiar and interesting, even more than I do theirs. I was asked by a small child (who indicated my legs) if I was in pain, and her sentiments seemed to be shared by many of the tribe. To this question, I smiled and said no. It's their tails that fascinate me. Although they do not serve any practical purpose aside (I suppose) from balance, they are surprisingly dextrous. It's clear that they lack muscular strength. However, they swish and fling and (pardon the connotation) wag in not only numerous ways, but in a precise and controlled fashion. It seems everyone knows where the tip of his tail is. As far as clothing goes, they wear only their fur which is thick and satiny. Some, the hunters, will wear belts around their shoulders and hips, on which they tie their knives and things. Their chief, a woman named Salai, also wears a coat sewn from the pelts of feredogs. She explained that this is because she has been sick of late and her fur is becoming thin leaving her cold and (to my surprised that it concerned her) immodest. The people have the tendancy to pick up small things between their fore-fingers, rather than use their thumbs. This I noticed especially with food. I made mild inquiry about it -- that perhaps it was for purposes of sanitation or tradition -- but nobody seemed to know what I was talking about, so I dropped the subject. There needn't really be any purpose to it at all...
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Post by Riley on Jun 2, 2012 9:57:11 GMT -7
I've been writing some character themes for Ha'rai and the others.
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Post by Riley on Jun 2, 2012 10:20:03 GMT -7
Here's something I wrote last year (bear in mind that at this point, it's not completely accurate to the story) to practice style: A gentle prinkling came with the snow. More rapid than the pitter-patter of rain, and less harsh than the hiss of hail and sleet, but still there. Definitely there. It was a curious thing, to not be able to see the mountains. Ha’rai’s tribe had spent the winter in the valley, ever beneath the watchful peaks. Of course snow had come then, too, and the mountains had vanished behind the clouds; but never so much as this – especially not when they were at the foot of the canyon, when the mountain’s towering presence was impossible to forget. Aside from the prinkling – which, if it wasn’t listened to, faded away – there was no noise whatsoever. Always an eerie silence with snow. No birds, no wind. Trees and things in the distance hazed away into the nothing of white. Ha’rai could almost believe that the glen he sat in was its own lonely little world. Ha’rai clapped his feet together, to knock the snow off. He wouldn’t mind waiting if he was dry. Cold didn’t bother him, unless it came with wet, too. Sometimes it was cold-but-dry – especially during autumn, but not now. Now was supposed to be springtime, and indeed, it had been very warm days before. But, storms came without warning, and bore snow more often than anything else. Looking around, Ha’rai wondered if he was in the right place – or if the time was right. It was impossible to judge sunrise when the whole sky was seamless gray, and hard to tell one canyon glen from another when the walls were barely visible. There were four peaks jutting high out of the opposite canyon face, the farthest one just a silhouette. On the near side, there was an impressive conifer tree standing above the others on the way up the steep wall. Ha’rai hadn’t taken note of them, until now that they were barely there. He shifted, trying to keep his feet out of the mud. The snow was falling, but it hit the ground more like rain, and a muddy trickle flowed over pebbles on the pathway up the canyon. Around him were bare branches, with clumps of snow sitting on them, but clear droplets clinging to them beneath. The creek would be very high, if Ha’rai could even hear it. It was too far through the falling snow A springtime snowstorm. I'll put up some character sketches later today. They're the same ones as in the video.
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Post by Riley on Jun 2, 2012 20:51:56 GMT -7
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Post by Riley on Jul 13, 2012 21:55:28 GMT -7
I read an article about adding detail to narration, and whipped this up:
A chilly wind barged through an otherwise warm early-spring afternoon. It was annoying to Nata, though not surprising, as such gusts had been visiting all day to interrupt the sun-warmth. But, just as each rude breeze before, this one stomped off to bother somebody else, and the quiet fragile pleasantness of the day returned. Nata was weaving something. She didn't quite know what it was; it had made very clear the fact that it didn't want to be a basket when two stalks broke and the rest refused to thread properly. A lop-sided mesh of dry bristlegrass was taking form in her hands, and she needed only figure out what it was before the pile of unwoven stalks beside her ran out. Considering the size of the pile, she would have plenty of time to decide. Apparently Skefna had misunderstood when Salai asked for a few stalks of bristlegrass to repair a small hole in a basket. He had returned with a bundle that took two arms to contain. After a few laughs, the surplus was given to the children for toys, and would later become bedding. Only Nata hadn't yet grown bored. Vai and Ha'rai left shortly after Skefna mentioned seeing some remaining snow on the riverbank. A few hasty promises to Salai that they would be safe, and off they went. Nata thought maybe her woven creation might make a good gift for them. Perhaps, she considered, it could be worn on the head.
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Post by Riley on Aug 6, 2012 12:03:26 GMT -7
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