Young Writers Society

Every bone in my body ached, bones I didn’t know I had were screaming at me to stop running, for the love of Stikle, stop running. My feet kept moving though, however much they protested. The only things keeping me going were the screams of the dying and clashes of metal I heard from behind me and Dota’s sweaty hand in mine. I could hear her heavy breath in my ear as we ran.
My instinct was to drop to my knees in the sand and cry like an infant, cry for the loss of my home, my village, my possessions, for the loss of my sixteenth birthday celebration; my Serani (when I would come of age), the possible loss of Ander, the only family I had left in the world and to cry for the sheer unfairness of it all.
But I didn’t, my deeper instinct, the instinct that made humans so like animals and yet so different, told otherwise, told me to keep going. And so I did. Dota and I kept going and going, until Arasia, the Beloved One, the moon rose in the sky, her and her star-children lighting the sky. Dota and I collapsed into the cleavage of two dunes, exhausted. Quietly, not even looking at one another we examined ourselves in the light of the stars and the moon. My knees were scraped from when I had tripped and fell. I had a long, thin cut on my shoulder that I couldn’t remember getting and my feet were bloody and sore from running across the sand, which had been dotted with sharp pieces of shells and small rocks.
I looked up at Dota at the same time she did to me and our eyes met. She had a small bruise on her forhead and there was a gash on her arm from where the soldier cut her. We immediately fell into one another’s arms and began to sob uncontrollably. I imagined what Ander would say, were he here. He would laugh and say “Oh kinsi, little one, my lovely scrap-girl. Don’t be such a woman.” Oh, Ander. The thought of my brother, his sword glinting with the light of the fire as he screamed for me to run and take Dota made my stomach turn. I pushed down the bile, I couldn’t be sick, I needed to be strong.
The scariest thing to me was no longer the shock and destruction of the raid, but the utter sadness of seeing Dota cry. She looked like a baby, face all scrunched up and red. It terrified me more than any enemy horde.
All through my life Dota had been my steady hand, my rock. Even when my father died, several years after my mother; who had died in childbirth with a younger sibling the gods did not destine to live when I was a young child, when I was thirteen and Ander fifteen, Dota’s family took us in, Dota held me at night when I cried, taught what my mother should have and a what a woman should know, been my sister, my mother, my friend. She even became my real sister when she married my brother. Ander often joked the only reason she married him was to be related to me.
I knew few things of the world, growing up in my small fishing village in the West Corts, but one of the few things that I did know, as well as I knew which fish was best for which illness and when to start my garden was that ‘Dota can’t be hurt.’ (It was childish knowledge, one I should have, by the age of sixteen dispelled, but I was in most aspects still a child then.) But now as I held that quivering, afraid Dota in my arms, one of my simplest, most basic truths was ripped away and for the loss of this, I also cried.

Okay, this was interesting. I'm not quite sure I understand it yet, so I'll try my best to review.

#1. Your description was awesome. I think that I want to hear about running across the sand more, though. It would lengthen out your story.

#2. There is a lot of stuff to comprehend in such a little first chapter! I was almost overwhelmed! It was still good though, so don't get me wrong on that. I'm VERY interested to see where you characters are going, and I want to see more of their personalities.

#3. Your main character seems weak and childish. Is that what you meant to portray her as? I meant no disrespect, I am simply curious.

Overall: Awesome beginning, I just want to know more about the characters and what they are running from. *gives gold star* I know that you put short story, but I think that you should continue the story!

Writing for love is a pas wrote:Okay, this was interesting. I'm not quite sure I understand it yet, so I'll try my best to review.

#1. Your description was awesome. I think that I want to hear about running across the sand more, though. It would lengthen out your story.

#2. There is a lot of stuff to comprehend in such a little first chapter! I was almost overwhelmed! It was still good though, so don't get me wrong on that. I'm VERY interested to see where you characters are going, and I want to see more of their personalities.

#3. Your main character seems weak and childish. Is that what you meant to portray her as? I meant no disrespect, I am simply curious.

Overall: Awesome beginning, I just want to know more about the characters and what they are running from. *gives gold star* I know that you put short story, but I think that you should continue the story!

#1. Thanks loads. It's funny you said that, because description is one of my worst areas.

#2. I know, it's a lot. It was meant as a writing excercise to help me with the larger story this inspired, so I wasn't worried about explaining much.

#3. She is pretty weak and childish at first. Her name is Hani. She doesn't a lot of self-esteem and she has been pretty sheltered her entire life, so she's not very mature.

Overall: I plan to continue it, although I working on editing this right now. More details, description.

Every bone in my body ached, bones I didn’t know I had were screaming at me to stop running, for the love of Stikle, stop running. The only things keeping me going were the screams of the dying and clashes of metal I heard from behind me and Dota’s sweaty hand in mine

One less 'and' in the second sentence. Use a comma instead so it reads...
The only things keeping me going were the screams of the dying, clashes of metal I heard from behind me and Dota’s sweaty hand in mine.


My instinct was to drop to my knees in the sand and cry like an infant, cry for the loss of my home, my village, my possessions, for the loss of my sixteenth birthday celebration (when I would come of age), the possible loss of Ander, the only family I had left in the world and to cry for the sheer unfairness of it all.

I am not sure I would use parenthasies in the middle of a story. I'll leave this alone, it's pretty well done.


But I didn’t, my deeper instinct, the instinct that made humans so like animals and yet so
different, told otherwise, told me to keep going. And so I did. Dota and I kept going and going, until Arasia, the Beloved One, the moon rose in the sky. Dota and I collapsed into the cleavage of two dunes, exhausted. Quietly, not even looking at one another we examined ourselves in the light of the stars and the moon. My knees were scraped from when I had tripped and fell. I had a long, thin cut on my shoulder that I couldn’t remember getting and my feet were bloody and sore from running across the sand, which had been dotted with sharp pieces of shells and small rocks.

"And so I did. Dota and I kept going and going, until Arasia, the Beloved One, the moon rose in the sky."
This reads a little funny. Is the moon the beloved one? Its unclear.

I looked up at Dota at the same time she did to me and our eyes met. We immediately fell into one another’s arms and began to sob uncontrollably.

"I looked up at Dota at the same time she did to me and our eyes met"
This reads a little funny too. How about "Dota's eyes met mine as I turned to her."


The scariest thing to me was no longer the shock and destruction of the raid, but the utter sadness of seeing Dota cry.

I wouldn't change this, I like it the way it is.


All through my life Dota had been my steady hand, my rock. Even when my father died, several years after my mother; who had died in childbirth with me, did when I was thirteen and Ander fifteen, Dota’s family took us in, Dota held me at night when I cried, taught about what my mother should have and been my sister, my mother, my friend. I knew few things of the world, growing up in my small fishing village in the West Corts, but one of the few things that I did know was ‘Dota can’t be hurt.’ (It was childish knowledge, one I should have, by the age of sixteen dispelled, but I was in most aspects still a child then.) But now as I held that quivering, afraid Dota in my arms, one of my simplest, most basic truths was ripped away and for the loss of this, I also cried.

Woah! You have got some super sentances going on in here. Good imagery, but break it up.

This was one sentance.

Even when my father died, several years after my mother; who had died in childbirth with me, did when I was thirteen and Ander fifteen, Dota’s family took us in, Dota held me at night when I cried, taught about what my mother should have and been my sister, my mother, my friend.

Important information I am sure, but break it up more.

But now as I held that quivering, afraid Dota in my arms, one of my simplest, most basic truths was ripped away and for the loss of this, I also cried.

I would use the word fearful instead of afraid, otherwise it reads a little off.



Every bone in my body ached, bones I didn’t know I had were screaming at me to stop running, for the love of Stikle, stop running. The only things keeping me going were the screams of the dying and clashes of metal I heard from behind me and Dota’s sweaty hand in mine.

One less 'and' in the second sentence. Use a comma instead so it reads...
The only things keeping me going were the screams of the dying, clashes of metal I heard from behind me and Dota’s sweaty hand in mine.


My instinct was to drop to my knees in the sand and cry like an infant, cry for the loss of my home, my village, my possessions, for the loss of my sixteenth birthday celebration (when I would come of age), the possible loss of Ander, the only family I had left in the world and to cry for the sheer unfairness of it all.

I am not sure I would use parenthasies in the middle of a story. I'll leave this alone, it's pretty well done.


But I didn’t, my deeper instinct, the instinct that made humans so like animals and yet so
different, told otherwise, told me to keep going. And so I did. Dota and I kept going and going, until Arasia, the Beloved One, the moon rose in the sky. Dota and I collapsed into the cleavage of two dunes, exhausted. Quietly, not even looking at one another we examined ourselves in the light of the stars and the moon. My knees were scraped from when I had tripped and fell. I had a long, thin cut on my shoulder that I couldn’t remember getting and my feet were bloody and sore from running across the sand, which had been dotted with sharp pieces of shells and small rocks.

"And so I did. Dota and I kept going and going, until Arasia, the Beloved One, the moon rose in the sky."
This reads a little funny. Is the moon the beloved one? Its unclear.

I looked up at Dota at the same time she did to me and our eyes met. We immediately fell into one another’s arms and began to sob uncontrollably.

"I looked up at Dota at the same time she did to me and our eyes met"
This reads a little funny too. How about "Dota's eyes met mine as I turned to her."


The scariest thing to me was no longer the shock and destruction of the raid, but the utter sadness of seeing Dota cry.

I wouldn't change this, I like it the way it is.


All through my life Dota had been my steady hand, my rock. Even when my father died, several years after my mother; who had died in childbirth with me, did when I was thirteen and Ander fifteen, Dota’s family took us in, Dota held me at night when I cried, taught about what my mother should have and been my sister, my mother, my friend. I knew few things of the world, growing up in my small fishing village in the West Corts, but one of the few things that I did know was ‘Dota can’t be hurt.’ (It was childish knowledge, one I should have, by the age of sixteen dispelled, but I was in most aspects still a child then.) But now as I held that quivering, afraid Dota in my arms, one of my simplest, most basic truths was ripped away and for the loss of this, I also cried.

Woah! You have got some super sentances going on in here. Good imagery, but break it up. And again, I question the parenthasies. I think it could be hurtful to the integrity of your stpry.

This was the sentance.

Even when my father died, several years after my mother; who had died in childbirth with me, did when I was thirteen and Ander fifteen, Dota’s family took us in, Dota held me at night when I cried, taught about what my mother should have and been my sister, my mother, my friend.

Important information I am sure, but break it up more.

But now as I held that quivering, afraid Dota in my arms, one of my simplest, most basic truths was ripped away and for the loss of this, I also cried

I would use the word fearful instead of afraid, otherwise it reads a little off.



Great piece, and I hope you post more!

"And so I did. Dota and I kept going and going, until Arasia, the Beloved One, the moon rose in the sky."
This reads a little funny. Is the moon the beloved one? Its unclear
~
I realize that. I really don't need all that info in there but I put it in to add in some information about the world. Arasia is the moon goddess, who's referred to as The Beloved. It was unnessacary but I couldn't help it.

Every bone in my body ached. Bones I didn’t know I had were screaming at me to stop running, for the love of Stikle, stop running.

Dota and I kept going and going, until Arasia, the Beloved One, the moon rose in the sky, her and her star-children lighting the sky.

Very awkward sentence. I can't decide, but I know there is something wrong with the verbs, particularly the 'lighting' coming after 'rose' and 'kept'...

Even when my father died, several years after my mother; who had died in childbirth with a younger sibling the gods did not destine to live when I was a young child, when I was thirteen and Ander fifteen, Dota’s family took us in, Dota held me at night when I cried, taught what my mother should have and a what a woman should know, been my sister, my mother, my friend.

I think someone else has mentioned this, but I'll say it anyway.
This is an insanely long sentence. It really needs to be broken up.

I knew few things of the world, growing up in my small fishing village in the West Corts, but one of the few things that I did know, as well as I knew which fish was best for which illness and when to start my garden was that ‘Dota can’t be hurt.’

Once again, nice sentence, it's just too long.

(It was childish knowledge, one I should have, by the age of sixteen, dispelled but I was in most aspects still a child then.)

I don't think that this sentence needs to be in parenthesis.


Overall? Good job. It's short, yet conveys a good deal of info about what is happening, and what had happened without seeming like blatant info-dumping.