Young Writers Society

Hey, this is my first story posted on this site AND my first day on the site. I just started writing this today, its the beginning of the first chapter of my book called "The Journals"..though this isnt an official title. Sooo, check it out. Tell me what you think: need more description, terrible dialogue, flows like a dammed river, ect. and also make sure to tell me if there is a book i can help review for you...

THE JOURNALS

Chapter 1

Legends

Bren pressed his back against a grimy tree, glancing nervously around at the forest of willows.

“Keep your sword ready, Bren,” said Nimterrin brightly from his hiding place behind a seperate tree.

“I’ll need it?” Bren asked.

“Its quite possible,” said Nimterrin. “Though I must say I doubt that we will be attacked tonight.”

“Why not, sir?”

“They wouldn’t risk it. And, you are with me,” he said simply. “Ah, the messenger from the town. He has a report for us, I believe.”

Nimterrin stepped out from behind his tree, taking a few steps forward then stopping and turning back. “Sword, Bren.”

Bren nodded, drawing his long sword from the scabbard on his back and resting the naked blade on his shoulder. Nimterrin was instantly swallowed into the darkness. He could hear whispering—but could not see the messenger anywhere. He had not even heard him come up.

Nimterrin came back seconds later. “It seems we won’t be going into the town after all. We need to continue through the forest to the house of my friend. Are you alright, Bren?”

“I’m fine,” Bren said.

“Good. Follow me then.” Nimterrin began through the forest of vines, dangling from the tall willows.

Bren was careful to stay close behind him. He had a strange twinge of worry in his stomach, as though something had happened that Nimterrin had not bothered telling him.

“How far is it to your friend’s house, sir?” Bren asked, struggling to stay in sight of the old man.

“We could be there in a couple of hours,” he said. “But that’s without delays.”

“Do you think that we will have many delays, sir?” Bren asked. He was beginning to breathe hard now. He had found running in soggy mud to be a lot more tiring than running on hard dirt.

“I’m afraid I don’t know,” Nimterrin said. He stopped abruptly at a dirty creek, moss-mantled rocks strewn across its muddy bank. “I believe this river will take us directly to our destination if we follow it. But we don’t want to be to close to the river. We’ll follow it from off to the side.”

“Wouldn’t it be faster just to travel along the riverbank, sir?” Bren said.

“That it would. But we can’t chance the fact that the river is being patrolled. We’ll have to follow from a distance,” he said.

“Who is your friend, sir?” Bren asked. “And does he have it at his house.”

Nimterrin stopped and turned around. “The man’s name is Stick. And yes, he should have it have his house. Unless we get unlucky.”

“Unless he’s dead when we get there, you mean?” Bren said indignantly.

“Oh, I highly doubt that the enemy would dare try killing Stick," said Nimterrin cheerfully. "It would be more of a loss on there part in the end.”

“Then what—”

“I’ll explain when we get to Stick’s house. We have to be moving on, and quickly. Follow me,” Nimterrin said. He turned and began once more into the thick of vines, brush, and trees, careful to stay a few paces away from the river.

Bren followed, cloak flowing behind, as he kept as close behind Nimterrin as he could manage, plunging through the soggy soil. They came to a place in the river that fell into a black waterfall, stabbing into a small black lake at the base of the falls. Rubbish, moss, and plants were strewn across the bank of the lake and many of the roots of the willow trees were growing out of the water.

“Where…are we…sir?” panted Bren.

“If memory hasn’t failed me, Stick's house should be somewhere around—ah, I remember,” he said, and he began to lower himself down the rocks towards the floor of the falls.

“Who would ever want to live in a place like this?” Bren asked, glancing around at the grimy banks and distorted shaped trees.

“A person in hiding,” Nimterrin said.