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7,7,7, my wip

Even Dr Parker had had nothing like this. Memory came-- standing before Dr Parker, scrubbed and trembling, nine years ago now, and the books had been all around and above him then. But Kit was a man now, 17. The sight and smell of the books moved him no less. Latin of course, but also Greek, Hebrew. Those were no surprise. He was well enough at home there. But there were works here in court Spanish, in vernacular French. He read French only imperfectly.

This is not the 7th page exactly-- but it is the other two, more or less. I hope I have not posted it already... I don't think so, but just in case, I will do another that I am entirely sure you have not seen.


He had gazed at himself in the shop mirror, as they worked with pins and chalk, measuring with horrifying intimacy, turning and moving him as if he were a boy-sized doll.. {} had retreated as far as she was able, half inside a folded bolt of muslin, shaped herself into a newt, small and cold with distaste.

This morning she was a fox, still sleeping circular, resting on the blanket beside his knee, her ears slack, nose beneath her tail. The fur of her ruff was winter-long, long enough to cover his fingers entirely, soft and warm, each hair tipped with silver. They yawned together,


( 2 comments — Leave a comment )
Jan. 11th, 2016 09:22 am (UTC)
Oh, those are both very good. I love your phrasing.
Jan. 13th, 2016 10:26 pm (UTC)
Ooh I am very intrigued by the fox! Who are you little fox? Why have I not met you before?
( 2 comments — Leave a comment )