Here's a little tidbit from the manuscript for you to enjoy this lovely Autumn morning (or afternoon, or evening - whenever it is for you):
The smell hit his nose before any sounds touched his ears. It was the odor of sweat, stale coffee, and the deep, earthy musk perfumes preferred by the elves.
Wekthusia ground to a halt, wings tensing. He cast out rapidly with his magical sense and encountered the buzzing aura of not one, but three spellcasters. Hastily, he retracted his magic and glanced behind him. He didn’t want to go back into that nest of elves, truth be told.
Sucking in a breath, Wekthusia grabbed at a small charm worn on a chain around his neck. He watched as the air rippled around him, signaling that the charm’s power had been activated.
A split second later, five elves walked into sight. One wore a red-striped feather that signified some sort of commander, if Wekthusia remembered correctly. He watched as the elves approached his position and chattered in low, soft voices. None of them even glanced at him.
Within seconds, they reached the spot where the priest was standing and continued past, one of them passing through Wekthusia as if he were a ghost. Wekthusia dared not exhale until they were several steps away, for the effects of the inter-dimensional charm only blocked him from physical sight and touch, not sound. And now that he’d used it, he’d have to wait a full twenty-four hours for it to recharge.
The elves continued along their way, conversing about recent reports from the coast. Wekthusia thought he heard a snatch of something about Neth, but that wasn’t so unusual, anymore. Ever since the war, Neth activity had been up in almost all sectors of Siege, along with a few areas outside the continent.
He was just about to release the charm when something one of the elves said caught his ear.
“Did you find the Lauina yet?”
Wekthusia’s eyes snapped onto the speaker. It was the elf wearing the red-tipped feather.
Another elf made a gesture.
“Not yet,” he said, “but it’s around here somewhere. Our spell net will …”
That was about as much as Wekthusia understood clearly, but he got the feeling that whatever else the elf was saying was unpleasant. The commander snorted and made a remark about “practice” when the Lauina was found.
Wekthusia’s stomach churned. The Illismonah knew he was here—and they were looking for him.
Pretty short, sorry. The working manuscript is still just shy of 29,000 words. I'm still working toward my Spring 2019 goal for completion of the first draft, even if I have to start writing in the middle of the night to get there.
