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Adept Writer
Join Date: Jan 2008
Location: Bonnie Scotland
Gender: Female
Posts: 773
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Hook? 1500 words
I've been up all night wondering about this: are prologues a help or hindrance to your novel? The prologue preceding this is in WW for anyone interested. Really what I want to know is whether this, chapter one, serves as a hook to keep reading?
The long grass stood perfectly still as Ally waited amongst its stalks, listening for another yelp. She was surprised the grass hadn’t set alight under the scorching sun – it was the hottest summer on record, not too hard to believe. She was glad no one was around to see the sweat patches forming on her body, despite choosing a white vest top and long, pale purple skirt to wear to keep her cool. With scrambling fingers, she managed to find a band to pull up her titian, curly hair from her face. The view was much clearer minus the frizzy, thick hair and perspiration.
She noted the bone dry dirt; usually this pasture was muddy, filmed with stagnant water but, as the summer heat intensified, the fen had become solid. Not too far away, she could hear the water of the loch gently lapping back and forth which meant just beyond the grass, she would find the wounded animal. Within seconds she could be face-to-face with the creature that had obsessed her for the past month. Now the moment had come, she wondered why she lingered behind the grassy screen.
Her hands trembled as she reached out to part the reeds. Part of her wanted to run back for Wulver. After all, it was his trap and this was his loch – not by law, but he knew the territory as well as his own mind; there wasn’t an inch neglected by him. He wouldn’t be fazed, as she was, in this situation. In fact, when she first told him that there was something lurking around the loch, he calmly decided how they could deal with the intruder.
However, there was something more powerful than that making her stay-put. Maybe that something was to help it, save it – the idea of being responsible for its death was unbearable. That seemed logical, but wasn’t enough. The answer was far simpler, she had been the only one to witness it and she wanted to be the one to discover it now.
Four weeks ago it had been in the loch, hidden by the night but seen by the moon. Ally remembered watching it scramble up the embankment and once fully on the rocks, she had seen…seen what exactly? The memory was blurred now. She had replayed it in her mind’s eye so frequently that she didn’t know where reality stopped and imagination had taken over. It was a circle of confusion and she just wanted the truth to show itself.
With a deep breath she stepped through, her eyes immediately drawn to the red stained leaves and tangled barbed wire on the ground. A thin line of red showed the direction it had gone in. Not that she needed to follow it, the whimpering to her right told her exactly where to find it. Ally pulled out a sandwich bag from her dungarees pocket. She always came out supplied with treats. The rustling of the bag had alerted whatever lay in the grass. Silence reigned.
Ally picked a chocolate coated brazil nut from the bag and tossed it in the general direction of the once whining animal. It seemed to be well received; with a few sniffs and some crunching she was convinced it liked what it had just eaten and wouldn’t harm her. She threw another one for good measure and made her way to it as it munched.
Her curiosity had bubbled to irritation when she reached the spot.
“How did you get out here?!”
Laid out on the ground and staring up at her was Flicker. His abnormally large ears twitched at the aggravation in her voice. His long, bony tail thumped lazily behind him as his big mismatched eyes gazed up at her lovingly as he lifted his injured paw to show her. It was as if he mocked her, knowing she wouldn’t be angry when he tried to look cute.
“You deserve it for being a bad boy,” she said, trying to keep her tone harsh.
It was a pretty deep wound. The pads of his left paw seemed to have had the worst of it. A gash ran horizontally across it. His golden hair on the side of his face was a sticky crimson – he had obviously been trying to clean it himself, with little luck. He gave out a bark, looking at the sandwich bag, and licked his lips.
“Can’t hurt that much if you still have an appetite,” she laughed. “C’mon, we’ll get that cleaned properly back home.” She moved closer to help him up and he jerked away from her. “No games, Flicker. Home!” she said and attempted to get hold of him once more. He jumped to his feet and dashed past her before she could grab him by the scruff of the neck. She lost her balance and fell down, her palm stung as it as grazed over the metal spikes. She cursed to herself and got to her feet. “Flicker – get back here!” she shouted after him.
There was no point in chasing him, she knew all to well. He would be long gone. Next time she was in town she was definitely buying him a collar. There would be no more coaxing him to do what he was told; no more treats for disobedience and absolutely no hanging around waiting for him to decide he wanted to head home. This was what she would have to do now. She resigned herself to that fact quickly and made her way to the edge of the loch.
The backing rocks burned her back as she lay back and closed her eyes. It wasn’t just the heat making her tired, it was life in general. Everyday was the same; it was like being stuck in a grassy desert – society was something that existed many miles away. The silence was weighing her down, each day it gained a little more mass, making her feel like she had no air.
Her hand tickled as the blood ran from her palm, down to her wrist and followed the leather of her watch strap round before it dripped off on its own course. Ally snorted. The idea of a watch out here, where time stood still was ironic.
Just one of those days, she reminded herself.
The problem was those days were happening frequently now. She saw herself like a swan on the loch; to an observer, it was happily gliding through the water, underneath it was fighting against the current, trying to reach the direction it desired most. She was convinced that staying in such a solitary place would eventually drive her mad, which didn’t sit too well with her. After all, being at the centre of nature was where she should be happiest. It used to make her whole, now there was something missing. What that was though, was a mystery. For a while, she wondered if it were her parents. They never understood her – her beliefs were stupid, new-age garbage. They wouldn’t practice it themselves and especially tried hard to stop Ally from listening to her grandmother. Maybe that’s why they were happy to leave her behind – they had other children and probably didn’t want them dragged into ‘the cult’, as they called it. The thing was, she never felt angry about it. She was happy to stay with her grandmother. She had Lyall, her best friend, Wulver and Flicker too; her true family. She wouldn’t trade them for the world.
The lull would soon pass.
The steady rhythm of the water washing against the rock made its way back into her consciousness, reminding her that the world wasn’t as hushed as she would believe. She wouldn’t open her eyes just yet though; she would only see the hills that surrounded the loch, looming like a frozen tsunami, threatening to crash down around her at any moment.
Anyway, she would have to wait until Flicker returned; he had a mind of his own and no amount of whistling or bribing would make him do anything. He would initiate proceedings. Once he had cleaned his wound, he’d want fed again.
Find her he did. Ally woke with a start when she felt his rough tongue lick her sticky palm.
“Hey- you feeling better now?”
She rubbed his chin and laughed at his long, pink tongue flopping out the side of his mouth as he panted hard. There was no point trying to make him drink from the loch, he only turned his head away, as if in disgust. He was ready to go home, where he could drink fresh water from a running tap. He led the way, occasionally looking back to see if Ally was keeping up.
Home was a brilliantly white cottage a few hundred yards off the dirt track road that the few tourists who visited would use to reach the hills. This year, Wulver had been busier than usual and hadn’t had time to cut away the vines that clung to the side of the cottage and were now working their way towards the sunny yellow front door. It had a quirky style to it; with its small, round windows giving it a beach-feel. It looked as though it had been swept up by a hurricane and dropped at the heart of Loch Doon. Literally, since it was starting to sink on one side.
PS - it's YA
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Last edited by lilacstarflower : 07-07-2008 at 11:59 PM.
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lol
