Hey guys. Yes, another attempted novel from yours truly. Except this one I've attempted to plan and here's my frist draft of the prologue. It's generally a pretty generic-fantasy type plot, but I hope I can make it stand out a little better. I'm not aiming to get this published, really, I just want that feeling of actually completing a project I begin.
I'd just like people to critique this and edit this as well as they can. Don't hold back - I need the criticism. Also, anybody intelligent enough about horse, would you mind giving me some information about how horses act when they are very cold? And I'm not sure about the title either, but that's nothing to be worried about, it's only a working version. (I pronounce it "sub-vent-ee-o")
The horse’s steps on the icy ground were like steps counting towards impending doom. Its rider was exhausted from the lengthy ride, and had not eaten, drunk or slept for nigh on three days and nights. He was only half-slumped in the saddle, his body imbalanced and starting to slide down the right side of the horse, towards the snow-covered floor of the forest. Breath from both animal and human immediately turned into smoke-like clouds, before dispersing into the rest of the freezing air. The eyelids of the rider switched between closed and open, slowly falling down before quickly rising coupled with a swift shake of the head. The man, despite being half-asleep, kept one hand tight on the rein and the other checking and feeling for a brown pouch perpetually, as if he was worried it would be taken from him at any second, even though there had been no signs of pursuits for a couple of days.
He shivered, removing the hands from the pouch attached to the side of the saddle and instead preferring to rub his chest and shoulders vigorously in a futile attempt to get warm. The old blanket draped messily around his shoulders was covered in small bits of frost and his skin was a pale white and blue, the blood hidden deep down. The few parts of him that still displayed any signs of warmth were his ears and nose, both defiant against the onslaught of winter by illuminating themselves a bold red. He sniffed slightly, and rubbed underneath his nostrils at irritated skin, his rough woollen gloves attempting to relieve them. Brown curls tangled their way outside the bottom of hat, some dropping into his eyes, which he casually patted away every now and then.
The forest was an area of utter calm and tranquility, the very embodiment of stillness. Nothing moved except the tired horse and its battered rider, pacing themselves through the frozen undergrowth and navigating through the tall, thin trunks of the trees that, in their dark brown state, were the only relief of colour from the indefatigable whiteness of late winter. The only sounds that pierced the veil of serenity were the periodic crunches of horseshoe upon ice-covered ground, and the short sniffing of the rider.
He shivered again, but this time slower, and with less energy than before. His muscles had begun to resist his efforts to exercise, suffering from lack of heat and genuine fatigue. They seized up when he wanted them to work, and eventually he gave up trying to move them properly and fell back into his almost hibernating state on the back of the horse. The inside of his thighs were painfully swollen from too much riding and he half expected to fall off onto the cold ground and drop to some deserved rest. But he held on for a little longer. What was held inside the pouch was of dire importance and couldn’t fall into the wrong hands. Just a little further and he could pass it on safely.
The air stopped being so still. A westerly breeze began to cut through the protection of the trees and struck against the rider and his poor horse, biting into their skin and delivering further unneeded discomfort. It blew seemingly through his clothes, ignoring them and making his body automatically attempt to shiver. But there was little liveliness left, and the man had to grin and bear it. He grimaced, pushing his teeth hard against each other and forced himself through the pain.
The horse was slowing too. It had begun to shake it’s head every so often, and it’s breathing had slowed severely, similar to its rider. The man inhaled and exhaled deeply and slowly, and his neck seemed to be unable to carry the weight of his head anymore, letting it slump down onto his shoulder lazily. His heartbeat had fallen to dangerous levels, only beating every few seconds and without drive or force. He had a abrupt headache all of a sudden, which clouded his thoughts and prevented him thinking clearly – like a fog had hidden his brain and it wasn’t accessible, instead he was left with pain and a desire to collapse.
He was no longer cold. Neither was he warm – but he lost all sense of feeling, temperature, or anything. It was as if his nerve cells had packed up and died and he was just a shadow of his former human self, just a shell for blood and organs, none of which were working with any enthusiasm. The man groaned unintentionally, his body forcing himself to voice the torment that was being inflicted upon it. But it was not a loud groan, but a distant quarter of a noise, lost in the westerly wind that had picked up to begin flinging little fragments of snow and ice in the air, letting them spiral and twirl.
And unexpectedly, without forewarning or a display of pain, the horse stumbled. Trying to brace itself, the animal stepped the other way, causing its rider to lose balance.
The man was thrown off, landing back first onto the snow and ice. He hit the trunk of a tree and stopped moving, falling still, without any signs of recovery. Blood seeped through his nose, but it was not liquid in the subzero environment and solidified within seconds, leaving a red substance stuck on his face.
His leg moved. He was not dead, but nor was he truly alive – in truth he was just half way between both extremes, stuck in a middle void without feelings or desires. Except for one thought, although it was shattered and almost forgotten. He could not leave the object in the pouch; he must hide it and hope no one ever comes this way. Gritting his teeth, he managed to roll his frozen body to the side and reach for the pouch attached to the saddle of the horse. The beast was no longer breathing. Calling for his muscles to perform one last action, he pushed them to remove the brown leather pouch and hide it beneath his dying body. Such was it done, with pure faltering effort and a last breath and heartbeat that resounded in his mind, and he looked for one last time up into the sky, into the sunlight, and smiled.
