Every Thursday I try to get out to my Writing Group. One of the exercises we do is spending 10-15 minutes writing on a random word or phrase and just seeing what happens. I call it the Writing Slam! (I don’t think anyone else does though.)
While they are a bit rough, they are still good fun.
I saw a fellow member had posted their Slam on their blog, so I said to myself, “Self, you need to steal that idea!” Then I did.
They came in the night. Blood curdling screams pierced through the silence of Motto humming to himself as he dressed the last of the wild game before turning in for the night. The screams were combined with the bone chilling yarls of beasts, and Motto knew that this undressed last pheasant would have to wait.
The hunter hurriedly grabbed his bow and what arrows had not been ruined in today’s hunt, and fled the safety of his personal treetop fortress.
The yarls had been distinctive, and Motto had already been certain what was attacking the village. As he suspected, it was the Wyres. Thin lithe beasts with wicked claws, dull flesh grinding teeth, and dirty black fur streaked with bright crimson.
The creatures had smelt easy human prey, and Motto winced as Mrs. Partlebee was chased off camera by three of the savage beasts. Horrible noises left little doubt in his mind what had happened to his neighbour and Motto loosed an arrow and struck one emerging creature in the scraggy shoulder. Motto cursed at his foolishness at missing the heart as it was the only weak spot in the horrible beast. The Wyres were angry now, and had a fresh target. The leader, still with arrow sticking out of her flank, jumped towards Motto’s treetop sanctuary, wicked claws at the ready.
White Wolf Kick!