Prologue
The wolves howled from the wooded depths of the Terracordula*1 Mountains, as a circle of strange creatures began to assemble. In the middle, a raven with a serrated beak waited. The glaciers that enveloped the peaks reflected the moon light and silhouetted the conifer trees. The moon slipped behind the clouds throwing the animals and the forested mountains behind them into darkness. The cloud passed, and the moon lit the spot where the raven had been, but instead of a raven a tall man stood there. His eyes seemed to draw the moonlight into their depths. But in contrast with his eyes the raven-man’s sable hair glowed iridescent shades of blue, purple, and black. He opened his arms, causing his the claws at the ends of his fingers to glint and said, “Children of shadows, become your human forms!”
In the soft light of the full moon the beasts in the circle changed one by one. A vulture spread his wings and assumed the form of bald man. He stuffed his hands into his pockets, which only to pronounce his hunched body. His eyes darted everywhere, scavenging for details. He looked to his right at the towering bronze dragon; she let out a puff of smoke and disappeared behind it. When she reappeared she was a human with talons for fingernails and flared nostrils that smoked even though she was in human form. The Minotaur snorted at the dragons display and without any sort of embellishment switched his bull’s head for a broad face. As more animals and legendary beasts transformed into humans the raven-man began to speak.
“It is time to turn the tables. The human have made a mess of this world. They can not possibly understand animals; the most precious gifts the gods gave our world. It is time that we all fulfilled our destinies and rid this planet of the regular humans and crush the Spirit Switchers who banished us from Liberthymos*2. We have as much a right to our home continent as they do. We are brothers, after all. Balance will be restored and balance brings peace! The world needs-”
He was cut off suddenly. A horse gleamed red in the night as it charged through the tall grass at the circle of monstrous beings. The raven man leapt into the air as his followers transformed back into animals and faded into the night. He came down next to the horse as it spun, kicking. Again he sprung into the air, but this time he cried to the horse, “We will not be deterred easily.” He transformed in mid-air and flew off into the dark woods.
The mare’s eyes gleamed with frustration as she walked back over the hill toward the moonlit pasture where the other horses slept.
A wolf howled in the distance as the cool summer wind rattled the window. Fern shifted her weight on the twin bed and pulled her quilt tighter around herself. In the darkness of her room all Fern wanted to do was sit and stare out the window towards the moon drenched peaks of the mountains and the blackness of the forests that blanketed the lower slopes. Her eyes glazed over and her cares floated away as she thought of running free in a pack, powerful, strong and united under the pale moon. The pack’s movements were perfectly coordinated. All the scents and sounds of the forest were both soothing and invigorating. The aroma of fir and the breath of the wind were natural and calm. Each snap of a twig, or call of an animal made energy course through the pack.
Fern shuddered and brought herself firmly back to reality, Wolves were vicious, that was common knowledge. Wolves killed livestock, and killing livestock was just as bad as attacking people. Even horses were killed sometimes. Just two weeks ago, a foal from a farm on the other side of town had been killed. A rancher’s daughter having day dreams about being a wolf was backwards enough for the town to shun Fern’s whole family.
She flopped down on her bed with a grunt. Fern restlessly got up again, and walked across the tiny room. She strolled down the dark hallway. As she glided down the wooden stairs her hand slid down the banister. Her bare feet were silent as they reached for the next familiar, but unseen tread. Fern let out a soft sigh when she reached the downstairs hallway; the light coming through the windows was enough for her to see by. When she passed the mirror, Fern noticed something strange out of the corner of her eye, and scurried back. There was nothing in her plain features to betray anything unusual, just a slender eleven year old with curly, shoulder length mouse brown hair, and lively light brown eyes that showed no sign of having been open since dawn. In fact the only part of her that even resembled the white wolf that had flashed in the mirror a moment before was that attentiveness. Fern shrugged and continued out to the typical farm house kitchen. The moonlight streaming through the skylight illuminated only the outlines of the furniture, but that didn’t matter. Fern’s movements were automatic; she knew exactly where every obstacle was. She paused half way through stuffing her feet into her ratty shoes and wondered, Why in God’s name am I putting my shoes on like I’m going out side?
The horses screamed.
Fern jumped out of her skin, stuffed her right heel into the shoe and raced to the door. She wrenched it open as a snarl shattered the night. Her heart raced, “Let it not be wolves!” She whispered franticly. Fern sprinted past the slanted shed, the barn, and the stables. She stopped her mad dash when she reached the paddock where the horses were gathered at the base of the nearest hill. Fern paused out side the gate and picked up a rock, a weapon. Buckstar, the family’s only stallion, was plunging and kicking in front of the mares. Fern’s eyes darted around the field for the intruders. Her eye was drawn to her prized mare, Hildia, who stood apart from the other horses. Fern saw a crouched figure near the white fence. It crept toward the mare.
As the mountain lion pounced, Hildia reared and plunged down at the cat with lightning speed. The mountain lion swerved away from the plummeting hooves and snarled. It hurdled onto Hildia’s back. Fern felt herself shaking as instinct took over and she charged at the battling pair. At the last possible moment she flung the rock at the mountain lion. The rock made contact with its side. It turned, its luminous yellow eyes flashing, as it leapt at the cowering girl. Then, Fern lost track of everything.
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I hope this is better than the original. I changed it from 1st person to 3rd person.
Edited!
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Canary word: Present
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125,018 Literary Works • 672,857 Reviews
Thanks for the reviews! I really appreciate it. I edited it, and tried top fix some of the things you all mentioned. I hope its an improvement.
All right! So, I've read over your original prologue, and I think you've done a good job with revising it. I see you've also extended it a bit, which is also good.
Now, if I may offer a few comments and suggestions?
Great opening line. I'm assuming you were going to add footnotes to Terracordula and Liberthymos?
"Clave-like" eyes? I looked up "clave," because my only knowledge of the word is from band, but all I could find were musical terms. Not sure how it might describe the eyes... Perhaps you meant something else? Also, I don't think of a raven's beak as being particularly menacing. And you need a comma in that last line after "said."
Good. I like it.
So... overall! I think it's an interesting idea, and I'm very impressed with your writing. That I could see, you had no typos or grammatical errors, really, and it's a great start to an interesting story.
Okay, I don't have time for an in-depth review, but here are my general impressions:
You spend too long on describing how the animals transform into people; by the second transformation, I get the idea. I agree that the adjectives are too heavy... let the nouns do the work! Fern seems to talk to herself too much; is she actually saying all that out loud? If not, then take out the quotes and italicize her dialogue to make them her thoughts instead.
A helpful writing adage (right below "Show, don't tell") is R.U.E., or Resist the Urge to Explain. Sentences like this made me feel like you were trying too hard to explain something:
Don't try so hard; show her daydream in a vivid way, a way that will make the readers want to be wolves themselves. Then show her inners struggle so the readers can see it. Don't try to force the information-- let it flow through the characters.
Hope this helps!
Cheers,
~Shafter
Smaur style: Fishr is about to dissect everything.
First, and foremost, for the love of sanity, please no more adjectives! For some reason, writers believe an accurate solution to beef up their story is to use an adjective at least once in every sentence or worse, two to three in one! This method is genius. Oh yes it is so. If ever a writer wants to watch their reader run away screaming, please over describe with an abundance of adjectives.
Personally, I describe very little, a few lines at most. And when I absolutely have too so my reader can visualize a basic outline, I often look for specific examples before I write my description. Yes, I’m that anal, and a perfectionist. Here’s an example from one of my stories, I just finished writing several weeks ago. Pay attention please:
To bring minor life to my new character, Baxter, I went inside a local mall. I had a vague idea how I wanted him too look. Basically old but old is such a simple word. I wanted to show that Baxter was indeed unattractive. An hour later, I found my man! I wrote down a few notes I spotted concerning his facial features. This guy’s hair was gross! It hadn’t been washed in days. Notice my observations in the mall were put forth into my description, and without directly telling the reader that Baxter is aging, the reader should already notice this, plus, he’s about as good looking as a dog’s butt. That was done in five lines, and that’s all the reader will see for physical description. Baxter has a minor role.
Also take notice: Now, I know I said earlier, several adjectives in one sentence usually will kill a story. And that’s what I did in a few sentences. However, using metaphors, in conjunction with adjectives, that distraction is mildly derailed but the description needs editing too. I'm not perfect either.
Now, the story itself.
Uh, when have you ever saw a black tree? ; ) Perhaps a silhouette of trees since I’m guessing it’s night time? If the setting is at night, it’s unclear. There are however, trees in Africa with darker grain of wood, which is called ebony. The forests are now protected so finding ebony anything is scarce and rare.
Why was the beak menacing? This is a prime example were description is now acceptable. Was it spikey, unusually large, imposing? Was the beak long and narrow, capable of breaking bone? Perhaps teeth are visible? Show us please.
Ah. So you tell us there’s darkness but weren’t we already in darkness before in reference to the black trees? Explain.
You really do like this color, yes? ; ) Be careful with redundancy. Try experimenting with other colors as they correspond with the dark imagery taking place.
*
I apologize but I have to leave. I’ll try and finish up soon. Until then, the first paragraph is a bit bland. Try taking my advise, and experiment with metaphors and adjectives together as one. When I come back, I hope to see less adjectives, and some editing done to it.
Cheers!