Saya

A golden winged Serrhed bird flew high above the open desert, its five foot wingspan glittering in the final rays of the setting sun. After a long day scavenging about in the scorching red sands for any little tidbit to bring back to its young it was thoroughly exhausted and ready to return to its nest. Its only disappointment was that its young would have to go hungry again tonight. It wasn’t sure how much longer the three young chicks would last with what little food they were getting, but they were Serrhed chicks after all, adapted to survive on little food and even less water. The desert was hard on any creature that dwelled within its deadly premises, and relentless to any whom fell into its cunning traps. The Serrhed bird had been taught well by its parents since it was a tiny chick, barely out of the egg.

The rocks by the edge of the desert where its chicks were nesting came into view, and with it a bizarre sound it had never before encountered. As it flew closer it caught a glimpse of what was happening far below. Hundreds of winged men were locked together in mortal combat, tearing and biting at each other as if possessed. The Serrhed bird flew tentatively closer, circling the cavernous battle field of giant arched sand-rocks with a hateful curiosity.

Hundreds of feet below, a barefoot boy scrambled deftly over the twisted spires of wind carved rock above the battle. His long fingers, unhindered by the bulk of stiff claws, swung his wiry body nimbly from foothold to foothold. He could climb far better than any of the others of his kind, and he found it much easier than flying. His wings were fully developed yet too small to keep him easily aloft. The roar of the battle below was almost deafening as claws and teeth met flesh and armor. Groups of his kind hovered in the air, preferring to wage battle above the throng of those on the ground, hissing and screaming at each other in a fearsome battle rage. The atrocious smell of mingled sweat and blood wafted up into the boy’s nostrils. The blood flow was monstrous.

Up atop the cold rocky spires the boy climbed, unnoticed, shivering at the icy night air tugging at him from all sides. He was only a boy, not yet initiated into the guard. He was not a threat. Yet the boy knew exactly what he was doing to help his clan in this battle.

He climbed, unseen, above the thick of the combat until he reached the center stronghold of his enemies. There they huddled, the King—a coward not to join his troops in the desperate struggle for their home—his consort, and three advisors behind a tight barrier of soldiers. They were not the ones he targeted.

Beside King, a young man in his mid twenties stood upright and straight, a look of sheer fighting determination possessing his sun-dark face; his eyes glinted with a passionate anger and disappointment that the King would not allow him to fight like a man. The boy felt a sudden sympathy and compassion well up from deep inside him, but he quickly suppressed it. There was no time to be distracted.

The boy’s eyes surveyed the edge of the rocky cliff he perched upon, until they came to rest on a tiny ledge jutting out of the rocky coil directly above the fray. He grinned. It was perfect. Slowly, he inched his body out upon the precarious ledge, wrapping one arm securely around the sharp edges of the rock to hold himself in place. He winced as a stray shard of keen stone bit painfully into his side. A blunt, chilling wind whipped fiercely at the tiny ledge, almost knocking the boy off balance. Grunting, he repositioned himself against the ledge, and drew his dagger from its leather sheath at his side. The knife felt warm in his hand as he peered over the edge at the hundred foot drop before him, and for the first time the boy realized the great magnitude of what he was about to endeavor. He shook his head to clear it of all stray thoughts. There was no time to rethink his position. Carefully he aimed his knife over the edge at the young man below, and flung it into the abyss.

The shocked cry from beneath was enough to tell the boy his mission had been successfully completed.

Suddenly, an earth shattering tremor split the blood soaked battle ground, catching the boy off guard and flinging him from the ledge as it disintegrated into nothing beneath his weight. His heart thundered wildly in his throat as the first sensations of falling hit his body. He flailed his undersized wings frantically in a desperate attempt to slow his fall. His scrabbling hands scraped painfully against the side of the rocky spire he’d taken refuge upon, and suddenly his wings were working, slowing the boy in his fall to certain death. Almost without thought his hands and feet found tiny footholds in the sheer cliff face of the red-tinged spire, and nimbly, as fast as his scraped and bleeding limbs would allow, he hoisted his body up the cliff and onto the nearest ledge. He lay there on the tiny outcropping, panting, and he was safe. It was none too soon either for as soon as the tremor had subsided, and the sky had ceased to rain showers of dust and rock, the boy’s mind was thrown into complete pandemonium.

The distant clamor of the confused armies below was replaced by a deafening roar inside his head, as if thousands upon thousands of giant wings were beating simultaneously. His vision was clouded by a radiant beam of golden light that seemed to be pouring into his body, engulfing his soul in a rushing torrent of light, joining with a river that already pulsated throughout his entire body. The boy writhed numbly on the ground, his mouth working in a silent scream as the sound of beating wings became louder and louder inside his head, and the golden ray became brighter and brighter as it flowed into his unprotected body. His mind and soul were filled with the golden light, filled with the knowledge of something far greater than he had ever imagined possible, filled with a presence—no, one hundred presences, one thousand, ten thousand!—filled with such an overwhelming power the boy wanted to cry. It was too much! He could not hold it all!

Then, the power was draining. He felt the presence exiting through a newly discovered link, into a part of him that wasn't a part of him. And then the link was closed, yet open at the same time. He could still feel the power within his body, his soul, and still hear the flapping of many wings, and still see the ray of golden light. And then it was gone, buried, but still there.

The boy slumped, exhausted, against the cool rock ledge, and slept.



One hundred miles away a girl, not yet a woman, lay asleep on the floor beside her mother’s bed. Her dreams were filled with the sound of hundreds of beating wings, and a bright ray of golden light that was filling up her body and soul.

Cearo

Names would be nice. And what exactly does the Serrah bird have to do with the main plot of this so far? If nothing, strike it. While beautiful it adds little to nothing to the piece. I'd start with the boy climbing the rocks through the midst of this battle.

Other than that and a few other things this is beautifully written and sucked me in once I got past the bird. (If the story were about the bird I'd keep the bird and get rid of the boy).

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Saya

Yeah, it has nothing to do with the story...hmmm...I see what you mean. I kind of just liked the way it opened the story.

As for names, I'll reveal names later on in the book. I'm not quite ready to give the boy a name yet. Don't worry, however, for he will definately be appearing in later chapters.

Thanks again!

~Saya~

__________________
I am random...yeah...I don't have much time to formulate my sig right now...I'll get back to you on that...

Blossom

I'm gonna go with what Cearo said. The bird's nice and everything, but it seems like you added it in just to introduce the fight, which isn't necessary. Apart from that anythinggreen is changed, red is to get rid of and blue is additional comment. ^^

- - - -
A golden winged (It's a bird, so it's obvious that it's going to have wings) Serrhed bird flew high above the open desert, its five foot wingspan glittering in the final rays of the setting sun. After a long day scavenging about in the scorching red sands for any little tidbit to bring back to its young it was thoroughly exhausted and ready to return to its nest. Its only disappoinment was that its young would have to go hungry again tonight. It wasn’t sure how much longer the three young chicks would last with what little food they were getting, but they were Serrhed chicks after all, adapted (built makes them sound like robots or something ... to me ...) to survive on little food and even less water. The desert was hard on any creature that dwelled within its deadly premises, and relentless to any who fell into its cunning traps. The Serrhed bird had been taught well by its parents since it was a tiny chick, barely out of the egg.

The rocks by the edge of the desert where its chicks were nesting came into view, and with it a bizarre sound it had never before encountered. As it flew closer it caught a glimpse of what was happening far below. Hundreds of winged men were locked together in mortal combat, tearing and biting at each other as if possessed. The Serrhed bird flew tentatively (lazily just doesn't sound right in this instance) closer, circling the cavernous battle field of giant arched sand-rocks with a hateful curiosity.

Hundreds of feet below, a barefoot boy scrambled deftly over the twisted spires of wind carved rock above the battle. His long fingers, unhindered by the bulk of stiff claws, swung his wiry body nimbly from foothold to foothold. He could climb far better than any of the others of his kind, and he found it much easier than flying. His wings were fully developed yet too small to keep him easily aloft. The roar of the battle below was almost deafening as claws and teeth met flesh and armor. Groups of his kind hovered in the air, preferring to wage battle above the throng of those on the ground, hissing and screaming at each other in a fearsome battle rage. The atrocious smell of mingled sweat and blood wafted up into the boy’s nostrils. The blood flow was monstrous.

Up atop the cold rocky spires the boy climbed, unnoticed, shivering at the icy night air tugging at him from all sides. He was only a boy, not yet initiated into the guard. He was not a threat. Yet the boy knew exactly what he was doing to help his clan in this battle.

He climbed, unseen, above the thick of the combat until he reached the center stronghold of his enemies. There they huddled, the King—a coward not to join his troops in the desperate struggle for their home—his consort, and three advisors behind a tight barrier of soldiers. They were not the ones he targeted.

Beside the King, a young man in his mid twenties stood upright and straight, a look of sheer fighting determination possessing his sun-dark face; his eyes glinted with a passionate anger and disappointment that the King would not allow him to fight like a man. The boy felt a sudden sympathy and compassion well up from deep inside him, but he quickly suppressed it. There was no time to be distracted.

The boy’s eyes surveyed the edge of the rocky cliff he perched upon, until they came to rest on a tiny ledge jutting out of the rocky coil directly above the fray. He grinned. It was perfect. Slowly, he inched his body out upon the precarious ledge, wrapping one arm securely around the sharp edges of the rock to hold himself in place. He winced as a stray shard of keen stone bit painfully into his side. A blunt, chilling wind whipped fiercely at the tiny ledge, almost knocking the boy off balance. Grunting, he repositioned himself against the ledge (repetition of ledge - maybe you could use another word?), and drew his dagger from its leather sheath at his side. The knife felt warm in his hand as he peered over the edge at the hundred foot drop before him, and for the first time the boy realized the great magnitude of what he was about to do (incorrect use of endevour). He shook his head to clear it of all stray thoughts. There was no time to rethink his position. Carefully he aimed his knife over the edge at the young man below, and flung it with surprising strength (you didn't need the "into the abyss". We already knew where he was throwing it, but this tells us a little bit more about him).

The shocked cry from beneath was enough to tell the boy his mission had been successfully completed.

Suddenly, an earth shattering tremor split the blood soaked battle ground, catching the boy off guard and flinging him from the ledge as it disintegrated into nothing beneath his weight. His heart thundered wildly in his throat as the first sensations of falling hit his body. He flailed his stupid undersized wings frantically in a desperate attempt to slow his fall. His scrabbling hands scraped painfully against the side of the rocky spire he’d taken refuge upon, and suddenly his wings were working, slowing the boy in his fall to certain death. Almost without thought his hands and feet found tiny footholds in the sheer cliff face of the red-tinged spire, and nimbly, as fast as his scraped and bleeding limbs would allow, he hoisted his body up the cliff and onto the nearest ledge. He lay there on the tiny outcropping, panting, and he was safe. It was none too soon either for as soon as the tremor had subsided, and the sky had ceased to rain showers of dust and rock, the boy’s mind was thrown into complete pandemonium.

The distant clamor of the confused armies below was replaced by a deafening roar inside his head, as if thousands upon thousands of giant wings were beating simultaneously. His vision was clouded by a radiant beam of golden light that seemed to be pouring into his body, engulfing his soul in a rushing torrent of light, joining with a river that already pulsated throughout his entire body. The boy writhed numbly on the ground, his mouth working in a silent scream as the sound of beating wings became louder and louder inside his head, and the golden ray became brighter and brighter as it flowed into his unprotected body. His mind and soul were filled with the golden light, filled with the knowledge of something far greater than he had ever imagined possible, filled with a presence—no, one hundred presences, one thousand, ten thousand!—filled with such an overwhelming power the boy wanted to cry. It was too much! He could not hold it all!

Then, the power was draining. He felt the presence exiting through a newly discovered link, into a part of him that wasn't a part of him, but wasn’t. And then the link was closed, yet open at the same time. He could still feel the power within his body, his soul, and still hear the flapping of many wings, and still see the ray of golden light. And then it was gone, buried, but still there.

The boy slumped, exhausted, against the cool rock ledge, and slept.



One hundred miles away a girl, not yet a woman, (Britney fan, per chance?) lay asleep on the floor beside her mother’s bed. Her dreams were filled with the sound of hundreds of beating wings, and a bright ray of golden light that was filling up her body and soul.
- - - -

You've got a good writing style, and this piece was very well written. It seems like a good story so far and I hope to read more!

Blossom x

Saya

Thank you Blossom! I've been pining for a review like that for a long time now, and all I seem to be getting lately is "wunderul, i lUrv3 it!!1111".

Thanks for pointing out those things.

Quote:

A golden winged (It's a bird, so it's obvious that it's going to have wings)

Yeah, I see what you mean, but what I meant by winged was that it had golden wings. *thinks* I'll probably have to add a hyphen between "golden" and "winged" for the proper effect.

Thanks so much once again, and I hope you'll continue reading!

~Saya~

__________________
I am random...yeah...I don't have much time to formulate my sig right now...I'll get back to you on that...

Saya

The low mountains to the west glowed with a brilliant flame of fire as the last burning fingers of sunlight disappeared into the great desert, casting the barren plains into a wintry chill. Kalira Caashien shivered, drawing the folds of her heavy night cloak tighter around her body. The night’s frigid air contrasted greatly to the sky high temperatures of the sun lit hours that forced all living creatures to wish they could shed every piece of clothing covering their sweltering skin, but the blistering sun was enough to detain them, for its fierce radiation would burn any bare skin left uncovered to a crisp. The full moon shone radiantly in a darkened sky that barely ever experienced the cool shadow of a cloud to cloak its brilliant hues, and thousands upon thousands of tiny pinpricks of light spread across the heavens like many grains of Madha seed sowed in the fields of dry dust.

The Hiraa Saighan, the cold-death wind, was blowing in from the north as it did every night, to freeze the day’s work into nothing. It was a wonder anything was able to grow in this land with such erratic weather patterns and very little rain. Kalira figured these barren grass lands, only forty miles east of the great desert, were not much better than the dryness of the desert sands themselves. At least the prairie harbored soil, albeit of poor quality, and crops had a tiny chance to grow and give off a good harvest.

Night fell very quickly upon the prairies of north east Ecalaric, shrouding the land in darkness and chasing the sweltering heat of the sun away in the blink of an eye. It was dangerous to be caught out in the cold night without warning. For one, if you were not properly equipped there was a good probability that you could freeze to death. Also, this close to the northern border of the uncivilized wild lands there was no telling what might be lurking out within the darkness.

The Rocks of the Bat Men bordered the edge of the desert, between the low foothills and the endless sea of sand, only thirty miles away. That was another factor that added terror into the lives of the people of her village—the fearsome Bat Men of the desert. Humanoid creatures, they sported a pair of giant bat wings projecting out from the back of their shoulders, and instead of soft, rounded ears, two long, leathery bat ears twitched on either side of their head. Dull human teeth were substituted for sharp, pointed fangs. Easily breakable fingernails became stiff, flesh-tearing machines. All in all, these creatures known to the people of Ecalaric as the Bat Men were entirely fearsome to behold. They offered no mercy and killed without a second thought. Living only thirty miles from one of their prominent strongholds left the small town of Alaaria completely open to any attack.

The first attacks in sixty years had begun almost six months ago, when Jae Kavall and his young son Jirun had been attacked and forced to abandon their only pair of oxen by two of the fearsome creatures. Father and son had narrowly escaped with their lives. Jirun had found his way back to the village—a little dazed, but other wise unhurt—calling frantically for help for his father whose knee had been torn open in a desperate attempt to defend his son and their oxen. Lord Kaisen Lataari, on whose land the people of Alaaria lived and worked, had given the family no compensation for their loss. Illai Kavall, the oldest boy who was only twelve, and his brothers had been forced to work the heavy plow manually while their father’s torn ligament slowly healed, saving up enough funds to pay the rent, buy new oxen, and keep the growing family of six alive.

That was neither the last nor the worst of the attacks either. Only the month before, three young girls—Millori Sarhei, and Saliaa and Jayra Orahn—had been abducted while out in the fields gathering Red Sadok for their mothers late one afternoon. The angry parents had sent a desperate plea to Lord Lataari to send troops after the girls, or to give them permission to retrieve the girl’s themselves. The cowardly Lord would not grant the terrified parents anything, and so the tiny village huddled together in terror, paranoid that any minute figure in the distance was another Bat Man come to attack their homes and take away their daughters. Fourteen people had been slaughtered at the hands of the merciless Bat Men in the past six months, and no one knew what had brought on this sudden, undeserved onslaught from the desert. Some young men had grown so tired of hiding in fear, almost day and night, and their blood had begun to grow restless and angry. They wanted to gather what little force they had amongst themselves and lead a fight against the Bat Men, permission from Lataari or not. The older and wiser men of the Alaaria cautioned them against it, and the woman cooled their tempers off. There were no more than two hundred people in Alaaria and its surrounding country side, let alone enough able bodied men who were able to march and fight. The odds would be against them, five hundred to one.

On this glorious night, however, Kalira banished all the troubles of her life from her mind, thinking only of the good. Jaiden Rahnde, Gadi Rahnde’s handsome seventeen year old son, had smiled at her that morning as she and her mother made their way to the northern fields where they’d been assigned to help Kaelin Durhil and his family harvest their field of Madha plant. With no men in their household, it was not legal for Kalira and her mother to have their own plot of rented land to farm, so each year those without a man in their household were assigned a different family to help. At the end of each harvest they were given one quarter of the family’s pay. As soon as Jaiden’s teasing blue eyes had met her own brown ones, and that wonderful smile as been thrown in her direction she had blushed a flaming red—almost as red as the sands of the great desert she was sure—and riveted her eyes to the tops of her dusty work slippers. She’d wished she’d been wearing something better than her worn and dirty work dress and white head scarf.

Jaiden Rahnde was the desire of all the girls in Alaaria with his tall handsome features, bright blue eyes, golden hair, and muscular arms built up from many long hours at the plow. His smile was enough to send any young girl head over heels into true love.

Kalira shook her head to clear it of such thoughts. Jaiden Rahnde would never look at her twice with her plain brown eyes, long nose, and ratty reddish-brown hair, the color of dirt. She was by no means beautiful, nor tall or fully developed. She had no pretty dresses or trinkets to wear, as did many of the other girls in town who came from families with a man to support a plot of land. She was just plain and un-beautiful, not the kind of specimen any man would find attractive.

Sighing heavily, she pushed aside the thick Kaita—a large, thick-skinned desert fox—skin hanging that was suspended across the doorway, and peered inside the darkened house. Her mother was sleeping soundly upon the thin straw tick palette pushed up against one corner of the room, exhausted from the long hours spent picking the needle sharp Madha plant Lord Lataari ordered sown in these prairie regions by the desert. Kalira had taken to sleeping on the floor in place of her mother since she had passed her fifteenth lifeday almost two months ago now, the day she had officially become a woman. She did not want the decisive firmness of the hard earthen floor further worsening the growing stiffness in her mother’s bones. She was a young woman. Her body was still tough.

A muffled sound outside the shack made Kalira dart through the Kaita skin door; her heart was hammering a hole in her chest. She sat still for a moment in the pitch blackness, listening to the silence of the night. She heard nothing but the deep breathing of her sleeping mother across the room and the ragged hammering of her heart. Slowly, she let out a relieved sigh and the breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding. She could’ve sworn she’d heard the beating wings of a Bat Man from the sky, coming to carry her away by night. No one would know what had happened to her if she were abducted, not until morning at least, and that was the scary part.

Shakily she stood back to her feet and cautiously peered out into the chill of the early night. Seeing nothing but the openness of the sky and its thousands of stars she carefully slipped out into the cold once more and leaned guardedly against the rough grass-thatched side of her home. There was no explaining why, but she felt suddenly safe. Even though her shack was situated on the western edge of the village dwellings she felt no fear of attack. Maybe this unknown surety had to do with the unwavering presence of her mother from within. Her mother had always been there for her, to guide her and lead her through any trouble. She had always felt safe around her mother ever since she was a little girl, and nothing had changed that fact, even as she had grown older and matured into a blossoming young woman.

She closed her eyes, letting the cold wind caress her face and the stray strands of hair that had fallen loose from her white head scarf. She smiled, imagining what her next meeting with Jaiden would be like. Maybe he’d smile at her again. Maybe he’d even ask her to the Harvest’s-End dance that was happening in two weeks.

“I’m so stupid,” She mumbled under her breath, angry at herself for letting her mind even begin to wander in that direction. She’d already been over this. Jaiden would not look at her twice let alone ask her to the Harvest’s-End dance, the biggest social event of the year! She really needed some sleep.

As she turned to step over the threshold and into her home once more, she heard another sound behind her, but this time she knew it was directly at her back. She whirled around to face the Bat Men she knew would be hovering behind her and tried to scream, but she could not. Fear gripped her chest like an iron clamp as she stared up in terror at the lone Bat Man hovering just fifty feet away. She had expected more than one, but even one in itself was terrifying. She knew he could overpower her without a second thought. His giant bat wings appeared even larger in the darkness of the night, the skin stretched across them rippling with muscle at each flap of his wings. Golden cat-like eyes glinted with an evil light in the dark, and his long braid of gray hair told Kalira that this Bat Man was no longer young. As she trembled in terror against the rough thatched wall of the one-room shack her eyes met those of the Bat Man’s, and she fell into a world completely separate from reality.

She could see a river of molten gold running through his entire body, flowing with a throbbing, decisive beat; it was synchronizing with the beating of her heart. She could see it flowing through this grotesque creature hovering before her, just as she was sure he could see it flowing through her. She could feel the golden river pumping through her veins, feel it giving her life, giving her breath. It was the very essence of her being. As she saw the river of gold she could hear the beating of many wings; hundreds upon thousands of wings beating in her head—WUMP, wump, wump, WUMP, wump, wump, WUMP, wump, wump—the same beat she felt within her soul.

Inside of herself she could see the gray haired Bat Man’s river reaching out to her own, attempting to draw her closer to him, attempting to bring her river to his. Kalira felt anger welling up from deep inside of her. She would not let this foul man touch her soul! He would not taint it with his filthy river! Suddenly she was back inside her own body once more, back inside reality, and the winged man was screaming, his face contorted with pain and rage. Kalira shrunk back up against the wall of her home and watched in paralyzed terror as he convulsed. Then his body was still, except for his giant wings that kept him aloft.

“I know who you are!” He hissed in warning, his face twisted into a mask of pure anger and hate, “You cannot escape me now you elusive Jazrah rat!” And with that he wheeled about, and flew off toward the Rocks of the Bat Men. Kalira watched him go until he disappeared out into the night as she tried to gain control of her trembling limbs.

Shakily, she pulled herself off the ground and stepped inside. Her mind was completely numb. All she knew as she slipped out of her work slippers, lay down on the floor beside her mother’s bed—who had not even stirred during the entire incident—and fell into a restless sleep was that the bare earthen floor beneath her body was cold.

__________________
I am random...yeah...I don't have much time to formulate my sig right now...I'll get back to you on that...

Blossom

Okay, I won't give this a detailed crit just now, but just from the first paragraph you're sticking too much description in. Description is good and nice, but your writing just seems to flowery and distracts from the story. I'll show you what I mean:

The low mountains to the west glowed with a brilliant flame of fire as the last burning fingers of sunlight disappeared into the great desert, casting the barren plains into a wintry chill. Kalira Caashien shivered, drawing the folds of her heavy night cloak tighter around her body. The night’s frigid air contrasted greatly to the sky high temperatures of the sun lit hours that forced all living creatures to wish they could shed every piece of clothing covering their sweltering skin, but the blistering sun was enough to detain them, for its fierce radiation would burn any bare skin left uncovered to a crisp. The full moon shone radiantly in a darkened sky that barely ever experienced the cool shadow of a cloud to cloak its brilliant hues, and thousands upon thousands of tiny pinpricks of light spread across the heavens like many grains of Madha seed sowed in the fields of dry dust.

It would sound just as good written using simpler language, like this:

The low mountains to the west were silhouetted again the burning sun, as it slid down into the desert, leaving the barren plains with an almost wintry chill. Kalira Caashien shivered, wrapping her cloak tighter around herself. The cold night air was in sharp contrast to the daytime's high temperatures, when all wished they could shed the clothing that covered their sweltering bodies, but couldn't for fear of being burnt by the blistering sun. Now, however, the full moon shone radiantly in the dark sky, with little cloud to cover it, and the thousands of stars were spread across the heavens like the grain of the madha seed scattered over fields of dry dust.

Do you see what I mean? Try to mix short, simple sentences with the long, complex ones, to keep the reader interested. Using loads of description like that can overwhelm a reader and make them put the book down, thinking "I can't be bothered to read all that".

I give it a more in-depth crit sometime next week, but you have a good story there.

Blossom x

snorrie

It just didn't flow well for me. Your writing seems labored. I think you're trying to hard and not finding your voice. The sentences sound clunky. Don't give up though. Your writing will improve with time and experience. Good luck.

Saya

Hmm...yes I do see what you mean now that you point it out. I've been pushed and pushed for quite a while now to add more description, but I guess it got to a point where I went a little overboard eh? On the first forum I was critiqued on (I still go there occasionally) their unspoken motto was pretty much "there is no such thing as too much description" so I guess I never really thought about over-flowering your writing. But, now that I think of it, many of the writer's stories on that site just repelled me because their language was so hard to understand. I swear, some of them must have read the thesaurus as they wrote because every single word that could have been simple was changed into something incomprehensible. Anyway, I'll tone it down a bit and see how it comes out.
Thanks!

Labored? That's odd. I thought I was writing veyr well. Everything I've written for the past year has been labored. I can't seem to write anything, or continue ideas I've started. With this one I thought I was doing good because I was so motivated to write. Odd. *shrugs* I'll rewrite it someday, and improve it.
Thanks anyway!

~Saya~

__________________
I am random...yeah...I don't have much time to formulate my sig right now...I'll get back to you on that...

snorrie

Just a quick sample.

Quote:

After a long day scavenging about in the scorching red sands for any little tidbit to bring back to its young it was thoroughly exhausted and ready to return to its nest.

Too long, winded. Make it simple. You loose the reader when you try to sound writerly. 'about in' is not needed; scavenging takes care of that. 'bring back' and 'return' is redundant. 'Little' is the same as 'tidbit'(redundant). I'm not going to tell you how to rewrite it, because you seem very protective of your writing. Understandable. Good luck.

Saya

No that's fine. I don't mind comments on how to rewrite or improve. I'm just a little confused about how my writing is 'labored' because I thought I was doing well with the writing. Anywho, I do see what you mean, and I'll figure it out eventually.

__________________
I am random...yeah...I don't have much time to formulate my sig right now...I'll get back to you on that...