Drinkers With A Writing Problem

As an example of how we can use this forum, I'll post the first chapter of a project I'm working on! I would love it for you guys to give feedback or comments if you have any. Also you should post things too!

Rain



   Eluned had not seen her brother in a long time. So when he appeared outside of the dingy workshop in the pouring rain, she nearly dropped her cloth bag and its contents slithered out of the open top—thread, needles, fabric, a glove.
   “Llywelyn!” she cried, bending to pick up the mess and move out of the entranceway.
   “They’re getting soaked,” he said, and kneeled to help her. Her arms moved quickly. She had already put most of everything back—he handed her a single silver needle. They fell into each other.
   “Sister,” he breathed, embracing her with his bulky arms. “How long has it been?”
   She breathed in the scent of rain and city dust on his jacket and sighed. “Too many months. I’m amazed—shocked—to see you!” They pulled apart; Eluned examined his ruddy, square face, cheeks tinged red, curly dark locks of hair sopping and dangling with the weight of cloud fall.
   “I left early,” he said, putting his hand on her shoulder. “Well, how are you?”
   Eluned opened her mouth to speak but a roar of thunder reminded her the rain was soaking her: she felt so waterlogged that water dived straight through her slender body by osmosis. “Let’s get home,” she suggested. “It’s a little bit rainy.”
   “Ha!” Llywelyn let out one of his triumphant guffaws. “We better hurry.” He motioned for her to go forward.
   She stepped in stride with him and they moved out of sight of the workshop, away from the Alydd River and back towards town, passing scores of hooded women that huddled for safety from the rain. The rain smattered and beat these women down, heavy drops like iron yokes, copper fists, but Eluned felt the opposite, lifted, rising above the rain. She felt as a bird or a phoenix untouched by the arrows of the clouds; and not just because of her brother. Her 19th birthday was in less than four days.
   “You came just in time, you know. Four days later and I wouldn’t have talked to you,” she teased, pushing ahead, brushing the cool bubbling drops out of her way like grains of sand. Llywelyn followed, smiling.
   “I would get you to talk. You’re a chatty one, anyway.”
   “I can shut up when I like,” she responded bounding forward.
   “Wait up!”
   The rain began to slow to a steady drizzle. It felt warmer in the absence of constant bombardment and the air felt spacious, buoyant and clear, like one would imagine the scent of highest reaches of the sky. But Eluned still tasted the slight wisps of flowers from the meadow, once guarding the water now covering her, as well as the subtle scent of machinery from the abounding mills.
   They reached the road, nothing more than a field stripped of its grass in a line. The misty residue of the storm sizzled in between them and the village, obstructing the stables and blacksmith. At a leisurely pace, they continued, turned, and eventually arrived at a humble stone house, small with a roof of colorful cobblestone and a brick chimney. It sat at the end of the dirt road alone and squatting, a solitary toad.
   “What’s for dinner?” Llywelyn asked as they approached.
   “Why would I know?” Eluned opened the door and called out their arrival.
   “You still don’t cook?”
   “Still? It’s not my fault I can’t,” she said, wringing out her dark shimmering hair, a bit worn from labor, but undusted by the rain. Llywelyn stamped his boots at the entrance.
   “Who’s there?” came a roughhewn, female voice.
   “I told you, Nana, it’s Llywelyn!” Eluned walked down the hall and into her bedroom to change out of her wet work clothes.
   “Llywelyn! Impossible!” muttered Nana distinctly, hobbling in from the kitchen.
   “Very possible,” he returned, and hugged her: they looked more like father and bizarre, rapidly aged daughter than grandson and grandmother—they were a gnome and a man embraced. Nana, a wrinkled old lady, nevertheless retained big swirling eyes, crackling with a sort of fading but stalwart brightness and hazel flame.
   “It’s wonderful, wonderful, wonderful to see you,” she said, “I was afraid you went and got killed on the job.” If Eluned had heard that comment, she would have chastised her grandmother. “A duel or something.” She wiped water off of her thin brown apron. “I don’t know what you gentlemen all do down there.”
   “No, Nana, no,” he Llywelyn said, sounding incredulous.
   “It wouldn’t surprise me,” Eluned called as she came out of her room in a dry dress.
   “You must be starving. Thankfully I have a feast,” Nana enticed.
   “A feast? I see that your cooking has improved in the last twenty-four hours,” Eluned said.
   Llywelyn raised his brow at Eluned. “Well you’re acting sassy.” 
   “Come off it, I’m in a good mood. I’m excited for what Nana made,” she promised her frowning grandmother. “Let’s go, let’s go!”
   They entered the tiny kitchen. A large cooking fire lay extinguished in the corner of the room, surrounded by a clatter of pots and pans. More pots and cooking utensils were hung on various pegs in the wall—even Llywelyn, who lived in the house for eighteen years, was surprised to see the sheer number of pots and pans in the kitchen. A low wooden table lay in the center of the room, draped with a tablecloth and surrounded by four uneven chairs. Nana had removed the fourth chair to make the table seem less empty.
   A pot-roast with charred vegetables—and cheese. “Cheese,” Eluned said, eyes wide.
   “That’s right, dear.”
   “Cheese!” Eluned loved cheese; it was just too expensive for regular meals. “What kind, what kind?”
   “Goat cheese from the highlands,” Nana said. “Good quality.”
   “I have not been this excited for a meal in months,” Eluned declared. She grabbed a fork.
   “Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Nana said. “Prayers first.”
   “Ah…” Smoke drifting from the pot-roast wafted a steamy, salty, rich smell into Eluned’s nostrils, daring her to eat, no, devour.
   “Llywelyn, please,” Nana said. It was custom for the eldest male to recite the first prayer.
   “Blessed be the sun and the moon, the stars and the clouds, the valley and the mountains, the rivers and the sea.” Nana covered her eyes with her hands and fervently continued.
   “Thank you, o Lord, for delivering to us this meal by your grace, and for delivering to us this companionship and our future, by your grace.”
   “Amen,” they recited. Eluned sat patiently as her grandmother opened her eyes.
   “Now you eat,” she said, inclining her head.
   Despite her hunger, Eluned ate in a measured and calm manner, one bite at a time, relishing the full taste of the thick meat.
   “So, what has your work been like?” Nana asked Llywelyn.
   “Very difficult,” he said, slicing his food carefully with a knife. “Sir Calvyn works us to complete exhaustion. He wants to ensure our success.”
   “What do you have to do?”
   “Work very, very hard. We have academic studies for two hours in the morning, followed by an early break, then physical exercises, and afterwards lunch. After that we do on-site training and workshops with other soldiers and veteran commanders. Training with the blade, with the rifle, in hand-to-hand combat, in horseback riding, and in the duties of the British soldier and training to enhance the qualities that the Crown values most. By the end of the day we are all fatigued to the point of exhaustion.”
   “Why is it so tiring? It doesn’t sound too bad,” Eluned commented.
   “The activities are very competitive. Everyone is constantly striving to best one another.”
   “Why? Do you all aim to be officers?”
   “There is a certain threshold that must be surpassed in general to become a true soldier,” Llywelyn explained, “but that does not answer why the level that the trainees compete on is so far above the necessary threshold.” Llywelyn paused to munch his food. “The temptation of rank and status drives most of the men,” he continued. “The idea of literally surging up the rapids of society lures us—it is why we decided to join the Army in the first place. I try to stay relaxed.” Eluned eyed him as he ate, knowing his personality was quite the opposite.
   “Sounds like a lot of difficult work,” she said, returning to her own meal.
   “Soldiers need to withstand intense pressure.”
   “What are the pressures though? Besides the physical ones, I mean.”
   Llywelyn stopped eating to focus on Eluned’s questioning gaze, filled with the constant force of her bright eyes and thick lashes—it was a simple force, a mere question, but everything Eluned did had a sort of indubitable veracity and conviction to it; a force of lifting dawn and beacons of feathers, a lighthouse signal beam. She thought she was just honest.
   “To uphold the soldier’s code of honor,” he stated in the elder language, “of dignity, duty, and chivalry. I may have to defend our nation someday.” The threat of the French, who lay across a sea was felt as an ever-present shadow.
   One thought crossed Eluned. “What if you fall in love? Is that allowed?”
   “Duty above all,” said Llywelyn, attempting to reply roughly as he resumed eating.
   “What if,” mused Eluned with a coy smile, “a gorgeous women needs your honored chivalry. Aren’t you compelled to ‘assist’ her?”
   “Hush, Eluned,” Nana said.
   Llywelyn smirked. “I’d do my job.”
   “Enough, enough.”
   “Shouldn’t you be out finding a man?” Llywelyn pursued, ignoring Nana’s glare.
   “This topic—”
   Eluned set down her spoon, deeply offended. “Not this,” she said.
   “You’re 19—”
   “19! 19! I’m young!”
   “Hardly—”
   “Llywelyn. I’m not talking about this. You should know why.” Eluned stood abruptly, breathing with focus, shoved in her chair, and left the room. She stormed down the hallway, smashed into her own room, brought the door closed with a smack! behind her, and rammed her fists onto her bed and into her pillow. “Damn him!” She whipped her pillow at the window on the other side of the room and it bounced delicately off. She stood still for a few seconds and exhaled.
   That was immature, she thought as she settled on the thin quilt covering her bed. She stared out the foggy crooked window. A wide pasture extended into the shroud outside. The heavy, chill mist seeped in and coated her mirror in a sea of minute bubbles, the fizzing of white wine.
   She looked at the violin in the corner of the room—a fine, smooth brown one. Crafted with elegant curves and a slim, dusted bow. She picked it up and brushed the bow over the taut strings. The long tight hum, a divine splice in the silent air, made every inch of her skin shiver and her breath floated out, tension popped, undone, and replaced with fear. Although the sound made her shudder, it was comforting. She couldn’t play it. She had found the beautiful violin in her grandfather’s old house before they moved into town.
   “Can you play it?” she asked excitedly, swaying back and forth.
   “I can, but I haven’t in years.” He was a thin, sickly man with a quivery voice, almost shaking like the vibrato of a song. “You should have it. Maybe some day you can learn to play…” He trailed off.
   “You can’t teach me?”
   He shook his head. “I’m sorry, child.”
   Eluned remembered plucking at the strings in awe, trying to find some way to make music, but the sounds always came out muddled and confused, the “glinks!” raw and untamed, shimmering but splattered and uncontrolled, sudden impulses of energy ricocheted. Next in her mind came a boy that knew how to play—No, she thought, bursting into the present.
   It was raining again.
   She gently put the violin down and folded her hands in her lap. Listening to the rest of the house, she heard the constant rush and clatter of Nana washing dishes, in a bizarre harmony with the rain outside; she then heard footsteps coming down the hallway.
   A knock on her door. Eluned had flushed out most of her anger and sadness into her pillow and intangibly through the window.
   “Who’s there?” she asked.
   “Llywelyn.” She didn’t respond. “I’m apologizing.”
   “Come in.”
   He opened the door. His wide mouth was drawn into a taut frown. He sat next to her on the bed and put his arm around her shoulders. Eluned remained tensed.
   “I’m sorry, Eluned,” he said. She could tell he was looking at her eyes but she directed them obstinately away.
   “I don’t like being bossed around either. You know that about me.” Eluned nodded slightly and turned half towards him. “So I understand you.” She suddenly held her breath, anticipating the…
   “But we all need to keep moving forward in our lives. I’m training for knighthood. For you—there’s no more school. Hasn’t been for years. You can’t work at a mill forever.”
   “I could.”
   “But would you?” Eluned shook her head, lip bit.
   “So that leaves the alternative, m— ”
   “The alternative?” Eluned shot up, away from him. “The? Is there but one choice?”
   Llywelyn looked offended. “There’s plenty of choice involved. Let’s be calm and rational about this, Eluned.”
   “I don’t want to be rational!” Eluned shot. “I… I want…”
   Llywelyn sighed. “I know you are still upset. But you can’t ruminate on him forever.”
   “Don’t mention that,” Eluned said, angst crackling in her voice. She pushed stormy, bleak thoughts from her mind.
   He persisted steadily, his eyes gently up towards her. “Aren’t the dances fun? Isn’t there—”
   “Of course—it’s dancing!” shouted Eluned. “By nature it’s damn fun!”
   “I mean surely there is some—”
   “You want me to become the pretty little housekeeper, staying nearby to take care of Nana, and you know that—” Eluned couldn’t finish, her chest rising and falling bitterly.
   Llywelyn stood up, hands raised in defense. His brow twitched angrily. “Why are you so offended by the way things are—”
   The way. Eluned could rarely articulate her frustration but she felt that this about summed it up: something about “the way”. She brusquely exited her room, straight through the house and out the door. Glancing behind her she did not see Nana; she slammed the door, hearing Llywelyn calling her inside, asking Nana to make her relax.
   She took several deep breaths, holding the door behind her. Don’t come out. Stop thinking about it. She shielded the face from her mind and prison bars spread around her thoughts.
   She stood outside, fingers slipping off the knob. The rain had slowed down again to a constant but light stream of ambivalent touches, elongated brushes against her clothing. Slight trails of tears remained.
   “Haven’t I had enough?” she voiced.
   Enough waiting.
   Eluned picked up her foot and examined her tattered leather shoes. Her white feet glowed inside and she followed her own step as she pushed forward. Feeling a wind at her back, Eluned moved away as the sun suddenly streamed through falling clouds in a desperate ray, washing the side of her view in a shower of sparks.
   Enough wondering.
   She didn’t know where she was going. Much of the mist had vanished as fairy dust and she stuck to the road she knew, into the center of town. She passed the woodshop and six houses, the silversmith and the church. Eluned was going in the other direction.
   Enough indecision.
   Llywelyn’s words had made her sick to her stomach and she just needed to get out somewhere, away from the murky and controlled Alydd River, even towards the Uncharted lands would be better than this town. Besides his careless mention of the past, the expectation of nothing was what really hurt her: was her destiny as determined as it sounded, but then again, why wouldn’t it be?
   Enough.
   Eluned, a relatively tall young woman in her evening gown, swept through the town. She had streaking dark hair, plaited behind her head with a green ribbon, and hazel eyes. It didn’t take long to reach the countryside. A paved road dived towards civilization but she walked the other way.
   Breathing the advent of night air and noticing the expanse of indigo ballooning in the eastern sky, she could continue. Already night had begun to prey.
   She paused. The wide field in front of her provided no direction or advice, so she went forward. Wind soared over the exposed skin at her ankles and forearms, chilling them. She realized she shouldn’t go too much farther.
   But shouldn’t… shouldn’t… why not? Eluned thought, and she kept moving.
   The field rose into a hill and then fell into a depression, then a bigger hill with jutting rocks. A fox chased a rabbit by. The birds had gone to nest for the night and she felt the breath of stalking wolves swirl around her skinny ankles. Over one hill and around the sweeping arcing arm of the next, rising above thick thorns and trees clustered in wooded groves below. The waving grasses jostled at her progress and misty gray clouds sifted in the sky. The hoot of an owl below.
   One step after another, along the dirty edge of the hill, pebbles pushed off the edge by her feet. She squinted ahead the sight of a rock structure in the distance. She gasped.
   Eluned swore she saw a figure swiftly dart around the distant structure. Eyes widened, she scrutinized the object, but it consistently faded in the evanescent light. It didn’t reappear.
   So she began to walk towards the structure, which surfaced as a jagged gray boulder, cutting out of the grass like the laid egg of a tremendous roc. It was rough and lined as aged elephant skin. She started to move around it but her foot suddenly slipped out into nothing—the drop below descended into yew trees, branches crooked and angled. Holding tightly to the rock she swayed out to look around, but the rock extended, obscuring the view. Muscles tensed, she suddenly realized it had stopped raining. The air had cleared again; perhaps even the clouds receded.
   Her heart now pounding softly but rhythmically, Eluned went back around to the field on the other side of the rock. It slithered to its own tail-like end. Disappointed, she rubbed the uneven surface—she felt strange dips and lines. Glancing at her hand, she saw the marks of inscribed words beneath it, in the elder language.
   “I survive,” it read.
   Eluned murmured the words aloud. “I survive…” She stared into the swamp of the night. She continued moving her finger along the rock in a row, encountering more character, knifed into the boulder. “Those who live by… my creed… shall survive,” Eluned said, following the words across the screen. It reminded her of the legends of old, some old poem. She continued examining the rock until she shockingly came across what had fluttered into her memory. She read, translating as best she could:
   A creed unborn
   Neither shattered nor worn
   It shall survive on the stones
   That weather all storms,
   Along with those who live by it.
   Some old proverb or poem. She didn’t know exactly where it came from and she felt like she was misplacing the words in her mind, mixing phrases; the elder language confused her.
   “We survive,” she read. “Who?” she wondered aloud.