As a wanna-be writer I spend most of my time slaving away at my WIP, or work in progress. Today, I'm posting the first page of my YA Fantasy for you to read. I hope you enjoy.
Trin’s head snapped up. She stared forward, eyes wide, thin hands trailing to her sides. The handle of the butter churn sank into the thickening liquid and the rhythmic sloshing quieted. A tremor ran through her small body and she blinked as sudden images swarmed her mind.
“What’s wrong with your girl?” Gerterude’s voice shattered Trin’s concentration and she looked up. The village seamstress’s square form blocked the light from the open door, plunging the one-room cabin into near darkness.
Mama glanced between Trin and Gerterude before forcing a pained smile. “Back to work, Dear Heart. Your face looks like an ancient’s. Don’t pucker it so.”
Trin bit her lip and hung her head, but the pounding in her chest drew it back up. She whimpered.
Mama’s head inched up at the sound. She turned away from her visitor, eyes narrowing, mirroring the compression of her full lips. Trin bit back another whimper, knowing the look said, Be careful! Keep silent!
“Mind the churn, Dear Heart.”
Trin reached out and grasped the work-smoothed handle, but paused after the first sucking plunge. “Mama,” she whispered, licking her lips as she found her voice. “I’m afraid.”
“Are you, Dear Heart?” Mama’s hand holding the dress patterns trembled.
Trin nodded, noting how her mother’s forehead crinkled in response to her words.
“Silly child, there’s nothing to be frightened of.” Gerterude stamped her foot on the whitewashed stone floor. “Mille, you must do something about her. She’s five winters old! And queer. Always saying things.”
“Trin,” Mama said, low and still. “Go find your papa.”
Trin twined her small fists into the hem of her dress to dry her now sticky palms before rising off the three-legged stool. “But, Mama, the men are coming.”