Today is Saturday, and that means it’s time for another Stream of Consciousness Saturday post. This week’s prompt is “cold/hot.”
Since I’m in the midst of another busy weekend as a hot sauce vendor with Chef Bluebeard’s Flavor Enhancement Sauces (craft fair today, and a farmer’s markets tomorrow and Monday), I’ve decided to combine the prompt with my two Story A Day pieces for today. The first is a battle between two sisters who have been fighting since childhood. The second is a character trying to sell another character on something. Both were written in stream-of-consciousness style (almost) without editing.
For Solemates (Trueborn Series): This novel chronicles the long-awaited coming-together of a starfaring man and a planetbound woman who have shared a deep telepathic bond since they were children – but have never actually met.
Niaan shivered, despite her coat. The cold and dark were soaking into her, tasting of ashes and a mate she couldn’t feel.
Did Kaivelt yet live, or had her burned to ash while his ship moved toward them, bright as a firestar in the night?
“We must nay stop, sister.”
But Niaan did nay listen. She could nay. All was the searching after Kaivelt, in her mind and in the sky. The firestars held her with their cold heat, and she could nay move forward – until she saw the lifepine.
It was nay near as tall as Osiraan, but it would allow her to see the firestars, and search the skies for the first signs that Kaivelt’s ship was coming – and mayhap some proof that he yet lived.
“Do nay go into the trees, Niaan.”
Vaara moved to stand before her, teeth bared and ruff lifted. She would fight, if Niaan allowed it – but, in that breath, Kaivelt surged into her, and she was aflame, scorched by his Burning. Hotter than the firestars was the force of his being in hers, and it demanded without words or thought.
It needed, with the instinct of Huntlust and the need to survive.
She cried her need, his need out into the night, and drove down and beneath Varaa’s belly, snapping up as she passed, so that the Canivaarii would be distracted and unable to set fang to her. Then she was past, and near to the trunk, barely scaping the snarling jaws of her half-twin and gaining the tree.
Up she went, with nay a care for the wolf below; Vaara would nay climb, even for this, and so she was safe, and alone, and Kaivelt’s flames filled her, seared her blood and her breath with slicing talons of need.
No time for a bower, now. They were all flame, all need, hot fire and cold night air. She found a crook in the tree’s trunk, and wedged herself into it.
And then she gave herself to Kaivelt, and to the fiery weaving between them.
For “Highly Classified Drabbles”, a young woman must come to terms with an irreversible act she committed seventeen years before, and which she was later compelled to forget. I used the prompt words listed below.