I hate headaches.
Since I'm too lazy to do much else, I'll just put up the extract and let you see it, hang on...
This is the same excerpt from my NaNo profile, Dawn.Fire.Angel
“So, what’s with you and Ava?”
“Ava?” Surprised out of his bad mood, Altair looked at Rowan, forgetting to shake off the water. “Who’s Ava?”
“Aria’s daughter?”
The image of the already-gray foal flashed through his mind. “Oh.”
“Yeah. What’s up with you and her? Sounded like you were pretty protective of her, huh?” Rowan flashed Altair an impish grin. “Waiting for her to grow up, I bet. She’ll be right pretty too.”
“There’s nothing between me and her at all,” Altair objected. “She just reminded me of my half-sister, Sanar. She was really sweet when I visited her earlier.”
“Who, your sister or Ava?”
“My sister.” He shot his companion an amused look – the said companion shot him a disbelieving one, to which he replied with a scowl. “I’ve never seen Ava before,” he insisted. “This is the first time I’ve met her, I swear.”
“Sure,” Rowan muttered with a grin. “Sure you have.”
Altair rolled his eyes. “I lived near Winrel, okay? And my mother is near the Plains. I’ve never met Aria or her foal. You can ask her tomorrow.”
“Maybe I will,” Rowan replied with a smirk. Altair stared at him blankly, as if to say, whatever you say, Rowan.
Finally, the palomino replied, “Have fun with that,” and turned away. “Where do you usually sleep?”
“It’s just around here – just around that clump of trees, it’s big enough to fit at least five, but we like the space... here, turn here.”
The two horses turned into a small space. Altair looked around at the sky-high foliage that made a perfect roof for rainy days, and the lush grass beneath them, looking fresh after the long winter. The trees around them formed an almost perfect natural circle, giving him a certain feeling of security. There were flowers as well, filling the space with their sweet scent. He could hear the stream bubbling nearby, running laughing through the reeds and over the stones, the perfect lullaby. He took a deep breath, loving the place already. It certainly was beautiful – he wondered if every other alcove was as pretty as this one.
Nicolas and Ares were already lying in the grass, chatting easily about something; in unison, they looked up when Rowan and Altair entered.
“Hey man,” Nicolas greeted them. “Pick your spot,” he added to Altair, who moved towards the back of the circle and slowly got onto his belly. Ares shifted so, between the four of them, they were all in a circle – Rowan, Nicolas and Ares facing in, while Altair lay parallel to both Nicolas and Ares.
Altair lowered his head and shut his eyes, sleepily listening to the other three’s banter. They were talking about random things, like pranks they should pull this year that might not kick them out, classes they liked, teachers they liked, teachers they disliked, classes they might pull said pranks in, and, most amazingly, the fillies they’d met.
At this, Altair decided that he’d rather Sanar stay away from this place until he taught her how to take care of herself, even despite Balthazar’s assurance that fillies and colts were separated for this very purpose. He suspected that Nicolas, Rowan, and even the seemingly brainy Ares would be able to pull off what they call ‘picking up fillies’.
It wasn’t long before he was fast asleep.
He was running again, this time across an open plain, with a stream beside him. Around him he could hear clashes of metal, screams of metal, of pain, and of the dying.
But all his anger, all his rage, was fixed on the fleeing horse before him, its seemingly dark mane and tail flying through the air, like a mist in the moonlight. He pressed himself for more, wanting to catch the horse, ignoring the thunder of hooves behind him, and the quick, panting breaths of wolves...
Wolves?
He screamed out a challenge – they were coming, they had betrayed them all! The enemy... the enemy had chosen his enemy over them. “Traitors! Traitors!”
The horse in front of him slowed, and turned around, standing behind the corpse of another horse. Altair slowed, seeing the dead horse’s face – no, it couldn’t be... “No! No, no, no!” he screamed, and stopped, rearing, screaming his distress, screaming, screaming until he could scream no more...
The tall horse in front of him smiled, and, with a flurry of movement, a dozen bloodstained fangs glinted in the moonlight.
To bed!
