Chapter 3: Competition

Feels like we're flying along now! Unfortunately, that's kind of an illusion.

Here we go. First, if you need to catch, up, Chapter 1 and Chapter 2. Options, as usual: click here for the foreign site, click below to read on Gordo's arbitrary color scheme™.

Chapter 3: Competition

A sound, distinct from those made by useless creatures. This was the sort of beast they came here for, and it was difficult not to be excited by the discovery. The direction of the source told him it was a type he’d met before, though. That would be a slight disappointment.

Kadmus opened his eyes, could feel them failing to adjust to the darkness. The soft blue-green glow from the patterns on his arms and chest framed the black, accentuating its impenetrability. The light could illuminate nothing save the material that gave it.

It was a thick paste of mushroom and berry, Lummush, something all the hunters brought several pouches of.

The elder and her apprentices would use Lummush to decorate the hunters before each outing, both to help them identify each other and as some superstitious ward against danger. Many mumbled some silly poem as they drew the swirling pattern over the hunters’ bodies.

Still, he was grateful for how diligently the crone foraged for it. This paste made patience less necessary.

Kadmus pulled a glob from his pack, one that remained balled by a wrapping of damp leaf.  The foreign noise repeated: a strain like tightening leather. He hurled the sphere towards its source.

The glow appeared in sync with the sound of impact. It rested high, and the faint light was enough to confirm his target to be the beast he suspected.

He took several evasive but silent steps backward. A brief whistling preceded the puncture of soil as the creature thrust its free limbs in his direction.

The clan called them sloth-striders. They had many legs, the amount often differing for each individual, but they typically outnumbered a spider’s. Each leg had many joints, and each ended in four wicked spines.

Though the legs looked like they belonged to a bug, these were lizards. Their bodies were suspended just below the lowest branches of the enormous trees. It was high enough to allow most men to walk underneath the beasts without stooping, though trying such a thing would be suicide.

Kadmus reached over his shoulder and unslung his favorite weapon: an axe with a beard nearly as proud as his own. He was eager to bury it in the strider’s hide, but he needed to be careful. This wasn’t exciting prey, and the sloth’s meat was scant, but it was still a tremendously valuable kill. He’d hate to mangle any useful bits.

The two moved in similar fashion; after all, the first clansmen had learned to navigate this place by mimicking such beasts. The Strider hadn’t strayed from where he’d been marked, made wary by the harmless impact. This instinct would work against the beast.

Kadmus could not see, but he knew the path was clear. Stealth was now an obstacle. He charged.

His approach would have seemed silly, were it possible to watch. Each step was a leap, taken like he was crossing a river by jumping along a path of randomly-strewn boulders.

The sloth stabbed at each footfall, leading its thrusts on the assumption its attacker would take a direct approach. It would be difficult to dodge this stabbing, so the trick was to not try. The beast was reacting to him, after all. He’d just need to be unpredictable.

With a final jump, he arrived. The strider’s spearing ceased in turn, and for a moment, there was absolute silence. Slowly, the dry stretching of the beast’s joints could be heard, and the slither of its tongue betrayed the location of its head as it audited the blades on its feet for signs of a kill.

Kadmus swung for the neck, but to his surprise, the creature recoiled from the silent strike, skittering back to safety. He smiled and reached for another ball of Lummush. Perhaps this would be a better challenge than he’d thought…

A heavy thump was quickly followed by another. Kadmus heard the sigh of the strider’s wind fleeing its lungs and caught a flicker of light, flame, and spark in its blind eyes - certain signs of its death.

Kadmus held his breath for several seconds, feeling an electric mix of fear and anger. The kill was stolen.

He’d have seen the swirling glow of the clan’s Lummush marks long before a fellow hunter would have had the chance to insult him like this. Could it be anything but another beast of the forest? He’d never heard of this happening before.

He smirked and restrained his anger, just a little. This might be a fun change. Any beast capable of this was bound to be both a better challenge and a better haul.

Slight rustles and bumps betrayed the newcomer’s movements about the carcass. The munching and dragging he’d expect from the usual predators was absent. Did this new thing kill for reasons other than food?

He pitched the second ball of Lummush, which connected with a solid splat. The light painted something which resembled an ape’s oversized shoulder.

It straightened its back, and he caught a brief glimpse of glow against the beast’s head as it strained its neck to peer at its shoulder. The glow became obscured by a massive, hand-shaped shadow as it slapped at the Lummush.

The creature suspended its open palm in front of its face. After a moment, its long snout appeared in the light: an ugly, lip- and cheek-less feature. Its teeth were large and flat, a certain sign of a leaf-muncher, and it licked at the Lummush with a cow’s tongue.

The creature seemed to like what it tasted. This wasn’t strange; the hunters carried these clumps as both tools for the hunt and as food rations.

The creature was not one he’d met before, but the behavior did not lie. This was no predator, and its reaction to the Lummush proved that it could see. Kadmus wasn’t certain its death would be valuable, but the clan did not scavenge off other hunters. If a kill was stolen, it could only be reclaimed by hunting its hunter.

They still needed the sloth-strider, so its killer must die.

The worst approach against a sloth-strider was the best against plant-eaters, especially ones with sight. He’d have to hope good eyes came at some kind of cost to its hearing.

Though his steps were muted, the painted back of the beast disappeared as it turned to face him. Still, there was no urgency in its movements, no sign of agitation. He felt it a shame that his foe should make such a fatal mistake.

Guided by the glow of Lummush on the beast’s teeth, he brought his axe to cleave at where the skull brain should be. A connection was made, but it seemed blunt, and the beast only grunted in annoyance.

The warrior leapt backward, in need of distance while he tried to understand what failed. The answer came from the diminished weight of his weapon: the axe was now headless, a simple shaft. He ran his hand around where the wood was supposed to end and the steel was to begin, but all metal was gone. This was curious, as he could feel the grooves and notches that were supposed to keep the blade secure.

This was unfortunate. Good steel wasn’t something they could make themselves.

Kadmus would understand if the haft had been splintered, but with the entire shaft intact, he couldn’t fathom how the blade came loose. Since his prey had not felt the blade, only the blow of bare wood, the cleaver slipped free before contact was made. How? Did the creature do something, or was it some impossibly unlucky accident?

Kadmus smiled and cast his ruined partner aside. He drew his broadsword from its sheath and twirled it once. Would luck save this beast a second time?

He charged.

1. Were you entertained?

2. Was there tension/suspense? In other words, did you feel the kind of stress or curiosity that keeps you reading your favorite books?

3. Did you understand what was going on? Did you ever feel like the image was murky?

4. Did you ever struggle with the language? Was there ever a time you couldn't determine a word's meaning without looking it up? It's fine if you could tell what it meant from the context of the words around it.

5. If you had stumbled upon this post by accident, would you have suspected it was me who wrote it? Was it obviously amateur, or could you believe it was written by a professional?

And again, extra credit: the meta-critique! These questions deal with how this chapter connects to the rest of this episode:

A.) Was there any question that Kadmus was a hunter belonging to the same clan as Dahlia, Lyn, and Matron Cascata? 'Cause he totally was.

B.) Was the monster description excessive? Follow-up: I doubt it, but would you like MORE description of the sloth-strider and the mystery beast?

C,) Are we alright with Lummush? It's a tool we're going to see a lot of; still, did I spend too much time explaining it?

Sounds Like a Personal Problem!

This week's post has little to do with writing. I'm mostly feeling anxious, so looking for a little catharsis. Even I, the great and mighty Gord, need a shoulder to lean on from time to time. It helps to be capable of getting by with imaginary shoulders.

I've got a lot to be grateful for. I grew up in a middle class family in the United States of America, one that's more functional than average. I'm intelligent, well-fed, and have a great job. I'm safe and I'm sober.

I'm also lonely, on medication for depression, and falling short of my potential. I'm a fast learner without a mentor, a great listener without a speaker, a problem-solver without a problem. I think I was born to be a priest, but that's a problem when I'm sans a church.

My struggle really is silly. Sure, I was the middle child in a household of seven, least-relatable and often-overlooked. But there's a lot of serenity there that most people aren't privileged to. Sure, I was the subject of some bullying pretty early on. But even if it made me shy, it made my skin more than thick enough to cope with adult life. Sure, I've only ever been blessed with one relationship and it only lasted half a year, but it was rich and taught me confidence and my own limits. Every one of these clouds is as comfortable as it is ominous. There's as much to be grateful for as there is to complain about.

Still, we live in a society that pressures us to be great. Great in terms of  fortune; fortune favors the bold, and I ain't bold. I'm quiet and kind and lazy. I like to play and eat and sleep and let the ones who want to go faster pass me by. Even without the external pressure, there's something in me that wants to persevere, to always be making progress. The drive that allowed our species to survive, I think, the genetic wiring that tells us that we die when we stop progressing.

I want a girlfriend, I want respect, I want acknowledgements of adequacy. These aren't things that come to those who simply wait, but waiting is what I'm best at. It's what I'm comfortable doing. So to get what I want, I need to get out of my comfort zone.

I'm not afraid of hard work. I grew up on a farm, I know what it means to work hard. I can do it, I've proven it. But it's not pleasant, and if something's not pleasant, I won't do it unless I know the effort will be worth it. If it were a marshmallow test, I'd pass. The thing is, I can't buy the idea that the work society suggests I do will yield the marshmallows they claim it will. The issue isn't that my gratification is delayed. The issue is that there's no guarantee of gratification.

There's not a lot to take away from this; only a sense of my primary obstacle. I realize that certain risks could lead to a better situation, should I win their gambles. But if I don't take the gamble, I get to keep playing, and I love playing. So it's a choice of: sacrifice playtime for a chance at greater rewards, or refuse to ante up and have my guaranteed contentment. It's not as black and white as that, in reality, but that's how I perceive it. The obstacle is overcoming that perception.

Still, there are other factors that interfere with this. We live in a society that's 'in the black.' While we still have lots of problems, the world is in a better place than it's ever been: infant mortality is down, disease and hunger are on the back foot, arts and culture are thriving. There's nothing I can do well that someone out there can't do better. I can't get by without me, but the world can. That fact feeds my complacency.

I think I'm alright going through life without being all that special. Maybe it's a reward, or at least a respite, from some super-difficult past life or something. If that's the case, though, I wish I were more capable of enjoying this.

Arbiter Chapter 2: Dance Lesson

If you haven't read the "Prologue", then you probably should before venturing into Chapter 2.

The second chapter, sooner than I anticipated. Again, I'll give you the option of reading it elsewhere. May be easier on the eyes.

Otherwise, click below.

 Chapter 2: Dance Lesson

This seemed cruel. Dahlia must have heard the speeches a thousand times, but she couldn’t have understood until now. This was why they said hunting was so hard, and no amount of talent would make it any easier.

The beast before her didn’t make much sense. Its claws and muscles were nothing to scoff at, but its shape didn’t seem to make good use of those features. Its belly hung a meager distance off the ground, one man’s worth suspended along five pairs of stumpy legs. Its tail extended that same distance behind, counterbalancing the weight of an almost-as-long neck, which ended in a snout that resembled an oversized scallop.

Dahlia thought scallops were supposed to open, though. This one didn’t look like it did. How did something with a body like a lizard and legs like a bug grow fur like a cat, anyway?

The problem wasn’t the fearsome tremors she felt as it stamped and brayed. The problem came from its quirks. They made it seem cute, like Jedrek or Trent or Lyn. She’d decided to hunt in order to protect and provide for those people. She never expected it might mean hunting beasts that resembled them.

With a deep breath, she closed her eyes and recalled the old lectures. “The leaf has as much right as the doe, who has as much as the wolf, who has as much as the hunter. They might kill to eat. They might kill to not be eaten. Either way, the killing is righteous. That is the tragedy of survival.”

There were hints of how hard this would be, but all the carcasses seemed so ferocious when she saw them after the violence was done. She’d never seen this side, when the beast was docile and scared. She stood between it and its home, the forest behind her, and all it wanted was to move past her. She very much wanted to let it go.

But she wouldn’t. With a deep breath, she drew her knife and assumed an aggressive stance. How long will this fill their bellies? How many winters will the hide last, and how many of my kin will it keep warm? It’s more than enough. I will do this.

She was thankful for its reaction to her charge. It looked more like the monsters that the hunters were always dragging home. Its eyes seemed to have malice now, its claws becoming more prominent than its adorable spots. The roaring sounded feral and aggressive, as though it were the one that forced this fight. The hardest part was over.

It turned and threw its neck at her, but without momentum, she was able to just slide over the blow. Its ten feet shuffled busily to continue the turn, and though the tail lashed fast enough to do damage, she was given plenty of time to predict and vault the appendage.

She stopped abruptly when she realized it was still building speed. The next pass would be bad…

With a pitch forward, she abandoned her footing and used her arms to cushion her head. Gravity barely brought her prone before the beast jumped into a full spin. She could both hear and feel the tail and neck whipping over her, at least once each. They would have broken her in half, had one of them hit.

At least guilt wouldn’t be an issue anymore. She didn’t know why, but she was sure this would be so.

Its landing shook the ground. The beast’s body coiled and its feet scrambled to kill the remaining momentum. Despite this opportunity, she was distracted by a collective cry of concern.

She’d tried to forget she had an audience. Their reaction to the animal’s acrobatics wasn’t welcome.

She pushed herself up as she considered. That probably looked okay, didn’t it? It hadn’t hit her, and if the beast intimidated her peers, she’d get more respect for slaying it. Yes, her showing was bound to be good…

She was rushing her prey while her mind was on her audience. It pedaled backward from her faster than her instincts anticipated, and with her focus elsewhere, she didn’t realize what its arched neck meant. When it straightened into an abrupt thrust, she was completely unprepared for the blow. The force of the scallop snout against her stomach threw her off her feet and onto her back.

“Right, hunt’s done.” The matron’s hand cupped her shoulder as she sat up, startling her. Hadn’t she been back with the others?

“Nothing’s done!” She shrugged the hand away and tried to get back on her feet. “It’s not like it hurt me!”

“It definitely hurt ya.” Despite the fact that they were the same height now, the matron scooped her up with one arm. “Killed ya, I’d say.”

“Then how’m I arguin’ with ya?!” The younger woman knew that no amount of struggling would let her escape the matron’s grip. Not the physical kind, at least.

“Bled ya at the tummy. Take a look.”

The younger hunter obeyed as the matron shifted to carry Dahlia over her good shoulder. Red dust caked her hide tunic, marking the spot where her prey had struck.

“Colordust? Why’s it got colordust on it?” The clan could make the stuff in any shade they liked, but she didn’t understand why a beast would be wearing it.

“Same reason it’s got the muzzle.”

“Muzzle?” Dahlia stared at the beast as the matron draped her over her good shoulder. The scallop wasn’t part of its body? Looking closely, she supposed it could be red wood.

The beast’s continued agitation distracted her from the muzzle. It, too, didn’t seem to think the fight was over.

“Soko,” the matron called.

“Lyn,” the patron reacted by addressing the girl at his side. “Go.”

“Yes, patron.” Lyn moved with trepidation, but still ran to obey.

The matron grunted as she watched Lyn go. Dahlia thought she heard disapproval and disgust in the noise. Dahlia didn’t want Lyn to do this duty either, but for a different reason. The thought that Lyn might be ready for duty before her was mortifying, even if Lyn’s duty was much safer.

The beast reacted queerly to Lyn as she approached. It tried to keep its own body between the matron and the young tamer, as though it were protecting its own calf. After that initial increase in its agitation, though, Lyn’s cooing started to take effect, and the beast began to calm down.

The matron sighed in relief and began to walk towards those that had gathered to watch. Something about the tension in the matron’s shoulders told Dahlia that Soko wasn’t going to have a pleasant evening.

Dahlia gritted her teeth. It was too soon for the matron to be thinking of lecturing her colleague. They weren’t done talking.

“Matron-“

“No, Dahlia,” she interrupted, as though she knew what Dahlia wanted to say. “I’ll show ya why yer dead in a minute. Don’t work yerself up. You did better than I expected.”

The matron may have meant it as praise, but Dahlia didn’t feel any better. She averted her eyes as they drew closer to their kin. The matron hadn’t let her finish her performance, but she doubted they’d account for that in their teasing.

“Isn’t often we find this kind o’ quarry outside the woods,” the matron addressed Dahlia’s peers as she bent to unload the student from her shoulder. “Anybody else want a shot at this poor bladelash ‘fore I turn it o’er to Soko?”

Dahlia glanced at her peers, and was surprised to find so many pale faces and nervous shivers. This wasn’t the reaction she was expecting.

“Bring that colordust here, wouldja?” The matron beckoned at the boy carrying the clay pot of it. Once he obeyed, she thrust her hand inside it. “The first steps towards bein’ a hunter involve workin’ up the nerve ta kill an innocent beastie and learnin’ how not to be afraid of it killin’ you. I di’n’t think any of you were even that far yet, but Dahlia woulda killed this here ‘lasher if it let her. It’s also clear she’s too dumb to be afraid of it, even though it killed her.”

Some of Dahlia’s peers snickered as the matron pulled her hand out, her arm dyed crimson down to the elbow.

“Now, now, it’s a good thing. I’ll have failed you lot if I can’t teach you to be so dumb. Dahlia’s jus’ lucky it comes naturally to her.”

Dahlia didn’t know if she was being praised or insulted, so she continued scowling at the ground.

“However you look at it, Dahlia has taken them first steps. The biggest thing she lacks is something we haven’t talked about yet. Today I’m going to show you lot what a dance looks like.”

“Dance?” Dahlia cocked an eyebrow at the matron. “We see those every night, at the fire.  How would dancing help us hunt?”

“It’s a different step, lass.” The matron turned to one of her fellow hunters. “Blind me, wouldja?”

“Cascata,” the hunter gave her bad shoulder a look of concern.

She replied with a gentle smile. “It’s a ‘lasher outside the woods durin’ daylight. If the normal hunt carried this ‘no war’ guarantee, I’d still be huntin’.”

This seemed to comfort the man, which confused Dahlia. As he tied a strip of hide over the matron’s eyes, Dahlia wondered when the matron would finally explain what war was.

“Now Dahlia’s dance wasn’t too bad, considering she’s never done it before. But the sun’s ‘bout as high as it’s gonna get, and if you’re gonna dance with one of these in there…” the matron motioned at the woods. “…then ya ain’t gonna be able to use your eyes the way that Dahlia was.” 

Dahlia and her peers all turned to look at the woods. If one squinted, they could just make out the first enormous tree trunks within the blackness of that place. The unnatural ceiling of cloud hanging low over the forest – their older kin claimed that the trees rose above it – made a kind of filter for the sunlight, breaking it into golden rays to mark the threshold at the forest’s edge.

The clouds covered an enormous area. Outsiders called this place the Dawnless Woods, because it was darker than a moonless night in there. To the clan, it was simply ‘the woods,’ and their lives were made possible by what the hunters were able to bring out of it.

None of them questioned why the matron would need to blind herself to demonstrate the kind of dance she talked about. If a hunter was to kill a bladelash within that darkness, then they’d need to avoid its deadly-fast neck and tail without being able to see.

The prospect intimidated Dahlia. It had been hard enough when she could see the strikes coming. She couldn’t imagine how that could be done without using her eyes. Still, the larger part dreaded the knowledge that the matron would prove, without a doubt, that it could be done.

“Lyn,” the matron called. “I’m ready ta start. Wouldja come on back for me?”

Lyn hesitated. “Matron, must we kill him? After so much torment…”

The matron donned her reassuring smile again. “I’m killin’ it in the same way it killed Dahlia. That’s all. Maybe you could ask it join the herd afterward?”

Lyn’s relief was infectious. She gave the beast one last coo before jogging back towards the group.

The matron strode confidently to stand between the beast and the forest. It watched her go, its head cocked with an aloof curiosity. Dahlia had always wondered how Lyn and the other tamers managed to calm their herd whenever something spooked them. She’d always assumed it was because the animals knew their handlers, but from the way that Lyn had instantly befriended this wild bladelash, Dahlia knew there must be something more to the art.

Several moments passed. Despite being blindfolded, the matron seemed to be staring her quarry down. As if taking a cue that only she could see, she began to walk toward the bladelash, holding her red-dusted left arm in front of her to keep it from rubbing against her clothes.

The beast reverted back to its rage. It stamped and postured menacingly, warning the matron to respect its space. The matron ignored its good advice, encroaching without any sign of hesitation.

The moment she came within reach, the beast began to repeat the routine it used against Dahlia. The matron avoided the first, slower swing of the neck much the same way her student had. She wrapped her arm around its neck as she bent against the motion and flipped over, so smoothly that it almost seemed like the blow passed through her.

The maneuver left a red spiral of colordust around the bladelash’s neck. Dahlia clenched her jaw. Killed it already. When Dahlia had done this part, she hadn’t thought of using her knife to slash the neck veins. She’d been too focused on avoiding the blow.

The matron held her left arm at an angle to her side as she continued her stroll. The beast’s fur had taken all the red off the underside.

The animal continued its spin to bring the tail hurtling towards the matron, but with a casual flourish of her feet, she skipped over this second lash.

Dahlia sharpened her focus as the bladelash entered the final phase of its spin, the one where it would jump. When she considered how she might confront a bladelash in the dark, the only solution she could conjure was to duck under this final attack when the timing felt right. She knew what the matron would want to say about that, though.

That would mean you timed things out while you could see the creature. To hunt in the woods, you need to be able to slay a beast without ever having lain eyes on it before. You need to be able to sense the strike, discern its nature, and calculate your response all without seeing it.

The movements of both the bladelash and the matron seemed to slow as Dahlia watched. In its first rotation, the animal’s legs had needed to alternate steps. A few had remained planted so the body could pivot on them, and the others shuffled to propel the spin. Now that the circular motion was started, though, all its feet were on the ground, and its knees were bent.

They all stayed this way for only a fraction of a moment, but that fraction was important.

The grass and weeds under its paws strained, flattened, or broke. Their neighbors sort of rippled in the tiny wind created by the creature’s muscle tension as it began to rise. Something about the entire environment seemed elastic as the bladelash jumped.

The matron could feel that elasticity, Dahlia was certain. The matron could sense what was happening to the plants or the soil or the air, or maybe all of them at once, and those gave her the same information that Dahlia’s eyes did.

This was certain, because the way the matron bent her knees and fell back to rest on her good arm was timed too perfectly. She wasn’t guessing that the bladelash would strike now. She was reacting to her dance partner’s step, following his lead.

Dahlia doubted she could mimic this dance without instruction, but she now understood that it was a dance.

The beast spun a full circle as quickly as a tamer could crack a whip. The head and tail flew by so fast and so close to the matron’s belly that her clothes rustled. Its feet plowed up clods of soil and weed as it landed and fought to kill the rotation.

The matron was back on her feet with one thrust of her arm. She performed an exaggerated pantomime, grabbing an imaginary spear from her back before assuming a lunging stance. Before the animal could recover its balance, she pounced, driving her shoulder into its flank in a way that would have buried most of a spear into her prey.

This left another red mark on the beast’s fur where the colordust on the back of the matron’s arm had rubbed off. She killed it again.

Her tackle had staggered the beast even more, but it still recovered quickly. The matron followed it as it backpedaled away from her the same way it had from Dahlia. Only this time, when it arched its neck to drive its scallop into its attacker like a striking snake, the matron reversed course.

The beast’s thrust stopped just short of the matron’s midsection, and as it hung there, she brought her good elbow down and her left knee up. The wooden, scallop-shaped muzzled was pinched between the limbs and crumpled easily. It fell away from the beast as it flinched.

Without the muzzle, the audience could see why the matron had said the beast killed Dahlia. Its snout was actually a horizontal crescent of razor-sharp bone. Had it not been muzzled, the beast’s snout would have buried itself into Dahlia’s belly as easily as one of the hunters’ enormous axes. In fact…

Dahlia glanced at the axe slung across the back of the hunter who blinded the matron. The blade’s crescent matched, it had the same metallic glint to the bone, and she could even see where the eyes used to go, near where the blade was attached to the haft. There was no doubt. The bladelash’s snout was so lethal, the clan’s hunters didn’t need to change much in order to salvage a new weapon from a successful kill.

The matron had been right. If Dahlia’s fight had happened before they’d muzzled her opponent, it would have killed her. It hadn’t even needed the advantage that darkness would have given it. There was more to the hunt than she’d expected.

The beast and its hunter faced each other for several second before the matron turned away. With a slow and rhythmic gait, she disengaged and called to Lyn.

“I s’pose you’ll be wantin’ some time with it, Lyn? He’s all yours.”

Dahlia glanced around at her peers and was relieved to find them in awe of their matron. While Dahlia wasn’t as good as she had hoped, she was still ahead of the other hunters-in-training.

Lyn began to jog towards the beast, but stopped after a few steps.

“Patron, may I name it?” she turned to ask Soko with a glee that Dahlia had never seen in her before.

The tamer patron shrugged his permission, and Lyn sprinted towards her new best friend.

Dahlia strolled to meet the returning Cascata, but it soon became clear that she wanted to have words with Soko first.

“I expect Lyn could use your help, Soko.”

“No,” the patron replied with a sly smile. “This is her duty now.”

The matron narrowed her eyes and frowned. “I also think she’ll be fine, but why risk it?”

“I’ve been trusted to teach the tamers, Cascata. This is my decision, not yours. Lyn will tame this ‘lasher without instruction.”

Dahlia grimaced and looked to Lyn. The bladelash had a blissful glaze to its eyes as Lyn rubbed its head like she would a puppy’s. She still didn’t like the idea that Lyn was ready for her duty before Dahlia, but she supposed it wasn’t so bad. Lyn wasn’t the type to brag about it.

The matron’s eyes remained locked on her colleague’s. “The clan trusts you, but that trust can be lost. It’s too soon to be pushin’ her out the nest, Soko.”

“It’s not.” The patron wasn’t intimidated. “She can fly, so she will. Or she’ll fall. It’s important that some fall. It would be bad for the forest if all chicks flew.”

“Not ours,” Cascata growled.

“I don’t have to answer to my equals, Cascata. So why should I have to answer to a mere fraction of one?”

Dahlia glanced at her matron’s bad arm as she realized what Soko was saying, then fixed him with a scowl. While Dahlia agreed that some risks should be taken, anyone who thought less of Cascata because of her injury was bound to be wrong; so wrong that she began to think maybe the matron was right to worry about Lyn.

“I haven’t asked you to. I’m offerin’ advice, not givin’ orders. Watch her, Soko.” Cascata donned a cocky smirk. “And watch yer mouth while yer at it.”

Soko gave an aloof scoff before turning to walk towards camp.

Dahlia and Cascata watched him go for several seconds before the matron broke the silence. “Spend too much time with the beasties and yeh start to think like one. Anyway, how ya feelin’, Dahlia? Yeh unnerstand why we ain’t sendin’ ya into the woods yet?”

Dahlia had been dreading a lecture ever since the matron had stopped her hunt. Now that there was no sign of any such thing, she felt inexplicably giddy.

“Will you teach me how to dance?!” She clasped her hands together and held them to her chest.

“Aye,” Cascata smiled matronly. “Yer ready.”

Dahlia threw her fists into the air. “Yes! Let’s get started.”

“Whoa there, lass.” Cascata chuckled. “Lyn might need us to hang around to teach her pet that we ain’t its enemies. We riled it up good.”

This didn’t damper Dahlia’s mood any. She was sure the matron just wanted to make sure Lyn didn’t lose control of the bladelash before she was sure it was tamed. Dahlia thought this was best, since Soko refused play his part.

Besides, Dahlia thought as they began their careful approach. There’s one other thing she can teach me while we do this.

“Matron, you mentioned it again. What is war?”

Cascata gave her a sidelong glance, frowning in consideration. “That’s a heavy lesson. I’d need the elder’s help, too. But we can do that ‘fore we try dancin’, if ya like.”

Dahlia noticed the matron’s mood had become somber, but still, she wanted to know. She nodded.

“Alright. Let’s learn our new friend’s name, first.”

“Moondancer,” Lyn heard this last part, and called the answer to them. “He’s Moondancer.”

“Moondancer?” Dahlia repeated teasingly. “I don’t see it. How about Bonebeard, or Axesnout?”

“No, Dahlia,” even in protest, Lyn seemed timid. “His nose looks like the moon and he danced with you and Matron Cascata. Patron Soko did say I could name him…”

“You’re right, you’re right,” Dahlia chuckled. She liked to tease Lyn, but she had to be gentle. Besides, the blade did look like a crescent moon. “He’s Moondancer. How ya feelin’, Moondancer?”

The bladelash glanced dumbly at her before turning its attention back to Lyn. Dahlia was a little relieved that the beast seemed to forgive her. Perhaps it was just too dumb to remember, especially now that Lyn was doting over it. Dahlia was convinced she could hear it purring as Lyn lovingly scratched and cooed.

“I’m glad yer family and not food, Moondancer,” the matron placed a gentle palm on the beast’s brow.

“Matron, why can’t they all be family?” Lyn asked.

“Well, first, that choice belongs to each beastie,” the matron replied. “Second, starving is just as sad as bein’ eaten. Until the world’s better, everyone’s gotta hunt, beasts and people both.”

“When will the world be better?” Lyn’s voice sounded just as naïve as the question.

“When people can make meat grow out the ground,” Dahlia teased.

Cascata laughed. “It’s true, Dahlia. Only ya sound like ya don’t think that’ll ever happen. Don’ be so sure. Always someone out there who can surprise ya.”

“Then while the world isn’t better,” Lyn bit her lower lip and considered a moment. “How do you know when it’s okay to kill?”

“That’s easier than ya think.” Cascata got a sad look in her eyes. “When killing means less death. That’s when it’s okay. ”

Alright, so first:

1. Were you entertained?

2. Was there tension/suspense? In other words, did you feel the kind of stress or curiosity that kept you reading Harry Potter/The Da Vinci Code/your favorite books?

3. Did you understand what was going on? Not behind the scenes, mind you; hopefully it's obvious that there are things I'm not going to tell you yet, events that are referenced but not explained. Did you understand what was happening in the present? To put it another way, did you feel like you could follow the action?

4. Did you ever struggle with the language? Was there ever a time you couldn't determine a word's meaning without looking it up? It's fine if you could tell what it meant from the context of the words around it.

5. This one may not be fair, but if you had stumbled upon this post by accident, would you have suspected it was me who wrote it? Was it obviously amateur, or could you believe it was written by a professional?

6. Did you have trouble with any dialogue? Were you ever unclear on which character was currently speaking?

And then, for extra credit, we go into the meta critique. Feel free to simply go off your memory of the prologue, but if you're feeling really motivated, skim through it again!

A. Was it clear that the "Dawnless Woods" in this chapter was the same area that Robin Priest altered during his battle with Miracle? You know, when he turned off the lights before attacking Miracle with his black hole-type spell. Were you able to make the connection between that area and the Dawnless Woods?

B. Was the prologue too long/did it provide too much information? Dahlia and the clan is where our attention is going to remain for the remainder of this book. Seeing as nothing in this project is set in stone, would you like to see the prologue chopped a bit? At least two people have already said they would, but would you cut more now that you know what comes next?

"Room for Improvement" is a Relief.

This one's about characters and progression. Stories are interesting because something increases from its starting quantity, even if that something is considered negative. By negative, I mean 'hey, the glass might be half empty, but at least that puddle on the floor is growing!'

Children grow up, detectives compile clues, monsters add notches to their hatchet handles, Walter White gets closer to making an incredibly stupid mistake...

Really, Walt? Why would you put that on the toilet? Also, why'd you tell the white supremacists where you were, then proceed to NOT warn Hank of that fact?

We're getting off topic, but you get my point. Whether the goal is good or bad, the story builds on (or towards) something.

We can see how much we like progression by examining the common complaints people make. Harry Potter gets criticized because whenever the budding wizards learn a new trick, the reader knows it's going to conveniently solve every problem later on in that book. That would almost be okay if they didn't proceed to forget about that trick the next time it would come in handy.

More examples: after a few seasons, Lost was more the 'status of the writers' than the title of the show because you can't keep answering questions with more questions. Dragonball Z gets criticized because it's a loosely-connected series of the heroes and villains exchanging ridiculous and imbalanced power-ups; they essentially take turns being invincible, really. 

I guess we can just call that 'anime' at this point.

The only way Bleach could disappoint me more is if this nozzle survives it.

My point is, all these criticisms point to flawed progression. Harry Potter was obviously really successful, but the lack of old tricks in new books hurt our ability to believe. Lost tried to deepen the sense of madness and conspiracy and mystery as it went along, which would have been progress if it weren't for the fact that the writers didn't have any sort of vision for where they were taking the viewer. And we may as well face it, the only reason we kept with DBZ is because we had a guarantee that the bad guy would get what was coming to him in a really cool-looking fight. It wouldn't ever make real sense, Goku would just come through because he's Goku.

 Give us a break, we were in middle school. It worked in middle school.

I think we like stories because they're parables. They're life lessons in bite-sized packages; hard lessons the reader can learn more easily because of the protagonist's struggle. In a story with a happy ending, its audience likes it because good behavior is rewarded.  Alternatively, because the Montagues allowed themselves to remain caught in the cycle of revenge, they got their Leo killed. To be fair, Leo's deaths lose some impact as they keep happening, but it's still a tragedy! The Montagues are an example of how NOT to act. In either scenario, should the story continue, it's important that the characters remember what happened in earlier episodes of that series.

If the character forgot about an old conflict, then it's like you're telling the reader that the old event must not be worth remembering.

Most any story that receives any praise whatsoever has an obstacle that the protagonist can't overcome at the beginning of the story.They either have to progress and persevere, or succumb to the struggle and fall into a progressively-worsening downward spiral of consequences. The protagonist progresses or the consequences do. Either way, we need a big contrast between the situation at the beginning of the story, and we need a logical progression of events to tie those two together. 

Right now, Arbiter's taking something of a coming-of-age approach. I don't think it's the cliche version, though. Step one is to expose the audience to a world so huge and harsh that even the adults have to cooperate just to have a chance at surviving; the kind of Darwinian environment that really makes you appreciate having a bed and blanket to hide you from the monsters out in the night. Step two is to have a monster wander into the protagonists' safe place, let it rampage a little bit, then have the adults handle it with a little help from the protagonists. From there, we slowly increase the flow of 'monsters' and slowly ween the 'help from adults' factor until the new generation becomes strong enough to stand on their own and, ultimately, become the protectors of the last generation.

Nothing sounds new about this; where I want to deviate a little is really emphasizing society as the character that's constantly improving (with each generation learning hard lessons easier than the last through the merits of both generations, both as great teachers and great students), and also by going much more into the difficulty of cooperation. I really want to highlight how difficult it is to create a cooperative relationship between a team of very different personalities, then drive home just how much of a constant struggle it would be to maintain such a relationship. Good teamwork doesn't continue easily just because things clicked once.

Even that doesn't sound very new, but I guess if I could really convey the ideas in two paragraphs, writing fiction wouldn't serve any purpose, would it? "Show me, don't tell me." We'll get there. Regardless of how I want to apply it to Arbiter, you get why progression is important in a story.

So tell me: which stories have presented the most satisfying sense of progression for you?