|grey skies abound|
But it's on my mind. Today is cloudy and cool. Bad enough storms are expected that a concert was actually moved from Red Rocks to an indoor venue. I've never heard of that happening. Obviously the band isn't as bad-ass as U2.
We're noticing some leaves on the ground already, and faint changes in leaf color, too! We're in full monsoon, with clouds and storms every weekend. It gives most of us hope for a wet (read: SNOWY!) winter.
The upshot currently is that I didn't have to go to jury duty (yay, civic duty; boo, loss of time) so today is a Writing Day. And with the clouds and such, it's all good. Here's a fresh snippet.
Draken knelt and wiped his sword clean on the dead swordsman’s thigh. His wounds had done the job but lacked the efficient finesse of an expert. Doubtless his performance would be a topic for his next training session with Tyrolean. “Who are they?”Aarinnaie scowled. “A rebel faction I’d infiltrated. And you ruined my cover.”“It looked fair ruined when we arrived, given they were holding knives on you.”“It was just a fight to prove my worth to them. An initiation.” Irritation clipped every word.Draken shook his head. “I know you feature yourself my assassin and spy--”“Who else have you got?”He ignored that. “They look like ruffian mercs. Hardly worth your time.”“No.” The word sounded like an arrow hitting stone. She drew a breath and straightened her shoulders. “That one,” she nudged the giant dark man with the toe of her boot, “is the son of the most powerful islander bloodlord, Castana. This is a full-on rebellion."