But waiting on my critique partner while she tears apart DOM SANDERS left me time to focus on it. And I am super excited to share a small excerpt with all my readers. Keep in mind, this is a rough, rough, rough draft. :) And please feel free, as always, to leave me a comment!
The nimble ruler danced around his road block and rushed down the hallway toward the alighted arch which led to the gardens. His man Mavey, a tall and silent stone of a servant, awaited him there, a cup of brew steaming on a simple tray in his hand. The king removed his hair cord and shirt, laid them over the manservant’s arm, and sipped at the hot drink offered him. The sweet tang of honey and earthy bite of sage slathered his tongue and made him sputter.
“Privacy, Mavey,” he stated, and received a curt nod in return.
Nearly nothing did the twenty-two year old king’s heart more good than the refreshing walk through his garden. It boasted the only lush landscape in the entire world: twined in vines, adorned in ornamental grasses, and bedded in floral design, fragrant all.
But today, this green gift of the Great Essence could not overpower the guilt that had riddled its way into his mind through the previous night’s dreams. It taunted and tugged at him in shifting shadows to the sounds of horrific screams, and jerked him awake with sweat on his brow and remorse in his chest.
Tucked behind a glacial pool sat the holy building where King Ropay spent most of his time. His destination was thus, and he wasted no time getting there. The only solid door in the entire fortress groaned in welcome as he pressed the wooden face inward.
As soon as he shut himself up inside, he turned to face the dark and whispered, “Tudatsi? Priest, are you here?”
When no voice replied, he exhaled and vigorously rubbed his ears until their peaks ease back to their normal, round shape. The persistent itching he endured all day finally ceased, and he relaxed like tea seeping into water. He heard the faint gurgle of the holy fount at the back of the space as his sight adapted to the dimness. He could barely make out the God’s Hand alters as he ambled past them, but he knew the curve of each wrist and finger better than he knew his own limbs. Pausing at the third left alcove, he nodded at the Giving Hands tipped toward him and muttered a thank you before moving forward again.
At last he reached his purpose, the Great Alter where six trails of Blessed Water exuded out of a zenith hole in the mountain wall and welled in a basin below. Here he knelt, letting his fingertips dabbled in the liquid, attempting to cool the anguish coursing through his veins.