The trial and execution of Dig Gens (1000 words)

[TheEndIsNigh]

LOL. Much better just a few nick picks but overall it's like someone else has written it. Well done.

Originally Posted by LukeW

Take two.

---

Inaudible at first, a new sound edged in over the lazy snap of insects in the grass, building up soon enough so that Dig became aware of the clacking hooves of at least two animals beyond the ridge. Voices, unfamiliar in tone and meaning, reached Dig’s ears, washing away the uncomfortable haze of sleepiness. While Dig could not make out the words that grew louder every moment, but, by the easy chattering tone, it was clear that the person speaking harboured little concern of attack.

Above a the crest rose a travel worn caravan, pulled along by two starved horses, their elongated heads towering above the few ponies that lived on the plains of Isan. The pitiful creatures plodded along with shaggy manes and large hairy hooves, making the creature pant heavily under its own load (how would he know).

While the Gens did not breed carpenters of resound, it was clear to Dig that this caravan was little more than a poor man’s vehicle (could add some humour here as in "little more than a joke" then explain why). Roughly hewn timbers met in messy joints so that the whole body shook and rattled over every pebble littered on the trail. A simple frame of shaped branches acted as an awning for the caravan, a sun-bleached canvas flung over the top and tied down with frayed twine to provide some protection from the weather for anyone who might hide within.

Dig’s attention turned to the two males, an adult and a child, who sat upon the step at the head of the caravan. Dig was surprised at how light their skin was. The Gens often plucked the feathers of guburra birds and left the creatures to dry out in the sun, to be consumed at leisure later on, the people now riding before Dig reminded him of the white skin of the guburra, unnaturally vulnerable to the bite of the Sun. Wide brimmed hats shaded their heads and they wore shirts of cloth and leather leggings. The older male held the reigns in a relaxed fashion, not bothering to scan for danger, probably unaware that any humans could survive on the plains for any extended period. Beside the driver poked the end of what Dig assumed to be a club, the end stretched out in a flat wedge. The child, who Dig judged to be at least two years younger than himself, sucked at the remains of a greasy bone and seemed to carry not a single concern in life.

From the carriage a woman poked her head out and chatted to the driver. Her hair had a golden tint that shocked Dig and he was immediately drawn to the soft features of her face. Lines of age had started to creep in around her eyes and her nose and cheeks were marked with brown spots. Dig felt a strange arousal of emotion by her appearance. Below her chin nestled an infant, perhaps a few months old, content to sleep in its mother’s arms while they rode together on the bumpy path.

While Dig could not perceive the meaning of the mother’s words, he found her tone and voice soothing, speaking with letters that seemed to have no start or end, but rather merged into the each new one as it came, at odds to the sharp syllabic dialect that the Gens used. This did not sound like the language of a warring people and Dig felt lost in the lilt of her voice. The driver’s reply, while gruff, came in a similar flourish of tones.

Dig’s heart hammered in his chest. His father expected him to attack the caravan and lay claim to the woman, and perhaps the older child (too old they'd kill him - he's only two years of manhood - the woman and the baby, that would be different and she would be compliant to save the child) if he did not resist, and kill the others. There was no room for compassion in the mind of a warrior and If Dig could not do this then he would never be a man among the Gens. He closed his eyes and tried to visualise a hunt, telling himself that his prey were nothing more than the dopey-eyed kuulla that he had speared in the past.

He failed.

The woman’s voice called out again and dashed the precarious image, replacing it with a swirling mess of emotion reinforced by the drumming of blood in his ears. Dig opened his eyes and saw that the caravan had passed the optimum point of attack. His back burned and his cheeks became flushed as, without turning to see, he felt the angry glare of Hep and Ulj.

It was past time.

Dig stood and let out a half-croaking battle cry, more akin to a warning shout, startling the family. He hoisted his spear as if to throw then hesitated. The driver, seeing the danger, desperately clawed at the club that waited beside him. As if the turning of the Sun had stopped, Dig watched frozen as the club was pointed at him. The pounding in Dig’s head had reached a crescendo when the club screamed at him. Dig fell backwards, hands over ears, Isilda falling in the grass alongside. The giant horses panicked at the club’s noise and sought to bolt, dragging the caravan behind them in a dangerous chase that threatened to tear it to pieces. By the time Dig sat up, his ears still ringing, the carriage was gone.

Dig waited on the trail with eyes downcast. The first blow came fast, a spear shaft slapping across his hamstrings. Dig collapsed and tried to crawl into a ball as Hep whipped him with the shaft while Ulj stomped him with Isilda’s butt, an insult within a beating.

Dig lost his breath as one vicious strike cracked into his ribs, snapping bone. Meaty welts rose over his back as each whipping strike laid down on him. With one final effort, Ulj rammed Isilda’s base down into the side of Dig’s head, the butt hitting the eye socket with a sickening crack.

For a moment Dig tasted rancid bile in his mouth and nasal passage before fading out of consciousness.

Over all much improved IMO - I would describe the father and son before the white skin part but I couldn't get right without completely rewriting the whole para.

Hope I helped

TEIN

[LukeW]

Thanks TEIN, always good points, especially regarding the age of the child. Unfortunately he becomes a plot device later on so I can't really kill him off. Will have to think of something.

I'm going to change all instances of caravan to cart (with an awning), as a caravan is too big for what I'm visualizing. I should have picked that up earlier.

Originally Posted by TEIN

I would describe the father and son before the white skin part but I couldn't get right without completely rewriting the whole para.

Hmm, not sure about this one. I chose to focus on skin colour first as that was what stands out to Dig the most (and is shaping up to be a major theme of the story). Maybe I need to make a new paragraph where it goes on to describe the other physical characteristics of the family?

Thanks mate

[R M Tobias]

Red is for deletions

Blue is for suggested additions. (you can probably find better options through rewrites.

Other colours are self explanatory.

Originally Posted by LukeW

Take two.

---

Inaudible at first, a new sound edged in over the lazy snap of insects in the grass, building up soon enough so that Dig became aware of the clacking hooves of at least two animals of animal hooves beyond the ridge. Voices, unfamiliar in tone and meaning, reached Dig’s ears, washing away the uncomfortable haze of sleepiness. While Dig could not make out the words that grew louder every moment, by the easy chattering tone made it was clear that the person those speaking harboured little concern of attack.

(Rewrite) Above a crest rose a travel worn caravan, pulled along by two starved horses, their elongated heads towering above the few ponies that lived on the plains of Isan. The pitiful creatures plodded along with shaggy manes and large hairy hooves, making the creature pant under its own load. (Rewrite)

While the Gens did not breed carpenters of resound (renown?), it was clear to Dig that this caravan was little more than a poor man’s vehicle. Roughly hewn timbers met in messy joints so that the whole body shook and rattled over every pebble littered on the trail. A simple frame of shaped branches acted as an awning for the caravan, a sun-bleached canvas flung over the top and tied down with frayed twine to provide some protection from the weather for anyone who might hide within. (Love it!)

Dig’s attention turned to the two males, an adult and a child, who sat upon the step at the head of the caravan. Dig was surprised at how light their skin was. The Gens often plucked the feathers of guburra birds and left the creatures to dry out in the sun, to be consumed at leisure later on, the people now riding before Dig reminded him of the white skin of the guburra, unnaturally vulnerable to the bite of the Sun. Wide brimmed hats shaded their heads and they wore shirts of cloth and leather leggings. The older male held the reigns in a relaxed fashion, not bothering to scan for danger, probably unaware that any humans (predator) could survive on the plains for any extended period. Beside the driver poked the end of lay what Dig assumed to be a club, the end stretched out in a flat wedge. The child, who Dig judged to be at least two years younger than himself, sucked at the remains of a greasy bone and seemed to carry not a single concern in life.

From the carriage a woman poked her head out and chatted to the driver. Her hair had a golden tint that shocked Dig. and He was immediately drawn to the soft features of her face. Lines of age had started to creep in around her eyes and her nose and cheeks were marked with brown spots. Dig felt a strange arousal of emotion by her appearance. Below her chin nestled an infant, perhaps a few months old, content to sleep in its mother’s arms while they rode together on the bumpy path.

While Dig could not perceive the meaning of the mother’s words, he found her tone and voice soothing, speaking with letters rhythms that seemed to have no start or end, but rather ran together merged into the each new one as each new sound it came, at odds to the sharp syllabic dialect that the Gens used. This did not sound like the language of a warring people and Dig felt lost in the lilt of her voice. The driver’s reply, while gruff, came in a similar flourish of tones.

Dig’s heart hammered in his chest. His father expected him to attack the caravan and lay claim to the woman, and perhaps the older child if he did not resist, and kill the others. There was no room for compassion in the mind of a warrior and If Dig could not do this then he would never be a man among the Gens. He closed his eyes and tried to visualise a hunt, telling himself that his prey were nothing more than the dopey-eyed kuulla that he had speared in the past.

He failed. (Nice!)

The woman’s voice called out again and dashed the precarious image, replacing it with a swirling mess of emotion reinforced by the drumming of blood in his ears. Dig opened his eyes and saw that the caravan had passed the optimum point of attack. His back burned and his cheeks became flushed as, without turning to see, he felt the angry glare of Hep and Ulj glare angrily at his back.
Would Dig use these words?

It was past time.

Dig stood and let out a half-croaking battle cry, more akin to a warning shout, startling the family. He hoisted his spear as if to throw then hesitated. The driver, seeing the danger, desperately clawed at the club that waited beside him. As if the turning of the Sun had stopped, Dig watched frozen as the club was pointed at him. The pounding in Dig’s head had reached a crescendo when the club screamed at him. Dig fell backwards, hands over ears, Isilda falling in the grass alongside. The giant horses panicked at the club’s noise (scream? rancor?)and sought to bolt, dragging the caravan behind them in a dangerous furious chase that threatened to tear it to pieces. By the time Dig sat up, his ears still ringing, the carriage was gone.

Dig waited on the trail with eyes downcast. The first blow came fast, a spear shaft slapping across his hamstrings. Dig collapsed and tried to crawl into a ball as Hep whipped him with the shaft while Ulj stomped him with Isilda’s butt, an insult within a beating. (Nice!)

Dig lost his breath as one vicious strike cracked into his ribs, snapping bone. Meaty welts rose over his back as each whipping strike laid down on him. With one final effort, Ulj rammed Isilda’s base down into the side of Dig’s head, the butt hitting the eye socket with a sickening crack.

For a moment Dig tasted rancid bile in his mouth and nasal passage before fading out of consciousness.

It's showing some real improvements. I think you are at your best moving the action forward or towards moments of tension.

I think your stumbling block is when you try to say or do too much, which takes you away from your strengths. Sometimes the best way to engage a person's imagination is through what's not there.

I also think you should tap into the mythology of the gens and metaphors with the flora and fauna where ever possible. It's a real strength to your writing

[LukeW]

Thanks RMT, I've taken yours and TEIN's suggestions and changed things accordingly. Most of the things you pointed out with I tend to agree with.

The one thing that I'm not entirely sure on is this:

Voices, unfamiliar in tone and meaning, reached Dig’s ears, washing away the uncomfortable haze of sleepiness.

You're suggesting that I remove the two commas here, but as I see it "unfamiliar in tone and meaning" is a subset clause to the main sentence and should therefore be surrounded by commas. That's what I've been taught but at the same time I do muck up a bit when it comes to comma usage.

I would like it if someone could clarify on this one.

Cheers

[R M Tobias]

Originally Posted by LukeW

Thanks RMT, I've taken yours and TEIN's suggestions and changed things accordingly. Most of the things you pointed out with I tend to agree with.

The one thing that I'm not entirely sure on is this:
You're suggesting that I remove the two commas here, but as I see it "unfamiliar in tone and meaning" is a subset clause to the main sentence and should therefore be surrounded by commas. That's what I've been taught but at the same time I do muck up a bit when it comes to comma usage.

I would like it if someone could clarify on this one.

Cheers

I don't think it's wrong, and I'm not pulling you up on grammar. I thought given the number of commas present, removing those two made it flow a bit better. Only my opinion though, I don't think there's anything grammatically wrong if you want to keep it as is.

[HareBrain]

I agree with the others, this is better. Still needs a bit of tweaking, which TEIN and RMT have pointed out, but you've done a good job of addressing the issues that arose from the first version.

Agree that the second para needs work. The horses' heads "towering over" the ponies' suggests the ponies are actually there, for one thing.

The line about the guburrah birds also felt a bit awkward, but it probably only needs a punctuation tweak or something. But the idea is good.

[chrispenycate]

Originally Posted by LukeW

Take two.

---

Inaudible at first, a new sound edged in over the lazy snap of insects in the grass, building up soon enough

why "soon enough"?

so that Dig became aware of the clacking hooves of at least two animals beyond the ridge. Voices, unfamiliar in tone and meaning, reached Dig’s ears, washing away the uncomfortable

uncomfortable? I've always found it very pleasant

haze of sleepiness. While Dig could not make out the words that grew louder every moment, by the easy chattering tone it was clear that the person speaking harboured little concern of attack.

Above a crest rose a travel worn caravan, pulled along by two starved horses, their elongated heads towering above

all right, they're taller than the ponies; but the construction suggests there are ponies there for comparison.

the few ponies that lived on the plains of Isan. The pitiful creatures plodded along with shaggy manes and large hairy hooves, making the creature pant under its own load.

While the Gens did not breed carpenters of resound,

Is that renown? Echoing woodworkers seem an odd description.

it was clear to Dig that this caravan was little more than a poor man’s vehicle. Roughly hewn timbers met in messy joints so that the whole body shook and rattled over every pebble littered on the trail. A simple frame of shaped branches acted as an awning for the caravan,

with

a sun-bleached canvas flung over the top and tied down with frayed twine to provide some protection from the weather for anyone who might hide within.

Dig’s attention turned to the two males, an adult and a child, who sat upon the step at the head of the caravan. Dig was surprised at how light their skin was. The Gens often plucked the feathers of guburra birds and left the creatures to dry out in the sun, to be consumed at leisure later on,

semicolon

the people now riding before Dig reminded him of the white skin of the guburra, unnaturally vulnerable to the bite of the Sun. Wide brimmed hats shaded their heads and they wore shirts of cloth and leather leggings. The older male held the reigns

reins – he's not regal

in a relaxed fashion, not bothering to scan for danger, probably unaware that any humans could survive on the plains for any extended period. Beside the driver poked the end of what Dig assumed to be a club,

with?

the end stretched out in a flat wedge. The child, who Dig judged to be at least two years younger than himself, sucked at the remains of a greasy bone and seemed to carry not a single concern in life.

From the carriage a woman poked her head out and chatted to the driver. Her hair had a golden tint that shocked Dig and he was immediately drawn to the soft features of her face. Lines of age had started to creep in around her eyes

comma

and her nose and cheeks were marked with brown spots. Dig felt a strange arousal of emotion by her

strange formation. "His emotion strangely aroused by", perhaps?

appearance. Below her chin nestled an infant, perhaps a few months old, content to sleep in its mother’s arms while they rode together on the bumpy path.

While Dig could not perceive the meaning of the mother’s words, he found her tone and voice soothing, speaking with letters

letters? surely words or sounds

that seemed to have no start or end, but rather merged into the each new one as it came

each merged with the next as it arrived, contrasting with

, at odds to the sharp syllabic dialect that the Gens used. This did not sound like the language of a warring people and Dig felt lost in the lilt of her voice. The driver’s reply, while gruff, came in a similar flourish of tones.

Dig’s heart hammered in his chest. His father expected him to attack the caravan and lay claim to the woman, and perhaps the older child if he did not resist, and kill the others. There was no room for compassion in the mind of a warrior and If Dig could not do this then he would never be a man among the Gens. He closed his eyes and tried to visualise a hunt, telling himself that his prey were nothing more than the dopey-eyed kuulla that he had speared in the past.

He failed.

The woman’s voice called out again and dashed the precarious image, replacing it with a swirling mess of emotion reinforced by the drumming of blood in his ears. Dig opened his eyes and saw that the caravan had passed the optimum point of attack. His back burned and his cheeks became flushed as, without turning to see, he felt the angry glare of Hep and Ulj.

It was past time.

Dig stood and let out a half-croaking battle cry, more akin to a warning shout, startling the family. He hoisted his spear as if to throw then hesitated. The driver, seeing the danger, desperately clawed at the club that waited beside him. As if the turning of the Sun had stopped, Dig watched frozen as the club was pointed at him. The pounding in Dig’s head had reached a crescendo when the club screamed

Screamed? A scream os high pitched. More a roar.

at him. Dig fell backwards, hands over ears, Isilda falling in the grass alongside. The giant horses panicked at the club’s noise and sought to bolt, dragging the caravan behind them in a dangerous chase that threatened to tear it to pieces. By the time Dig sat up, his ears still ringing, the carriage was gone.

Dig waited on the trail with eyes downcast. The first blow came fast, a spear shaft slapping across his hamstrings. Dig collapsed and tried to crawl into a ball as Hep whipped him with the shaft while Ulj stomped him with Isilda’s butt, an insult within a beating.

Dig lost his breath as one vicious strike cracked into his ribs, snapping bone. Meaty welts rose over his back as

"with" rather than "as"? Or possibly "was laid"?

each whipping strike laid down on him. With one final effort, Ulj rammed Isilda’s base down into the side of Dig’s head, the butt hitting the eye socket with a sickening crack.

For a moment Dig tasted rancid bile in his mouth and nasal passage before fading out of consciousness.

[LukeW]

Thanks Chrispenycate.